“You do me an honor.” I turn to face a young man advancing towards me with a smile. It takes a moment for me to realize that I am photographing what must be his home. And in fact, I am even photographing his painting, that of an odd creature that catches my attention every day as I pass on my walk with the dogs. It decorates a flower-box hanging above a cobble-stone passage, mere steps from the Arena.
“I have always wondered what this little guy means,” I stammer out. It is not often that conversations are started between strangers in Arles. “Ah, he is the God of the Bulls.” His French has a Spanish accent. I widen my eyes in surprise and so he continues. “You see, he glows like the sun. And here, ” he points to scraggly traces leading off on the right hand side,”these are the spirits of all of the bulls that were killed in the Arena.” We both turn to look to where the souls had come from, the stone arches rising to the sky. “They come to the God of the Bulls and make him strong.” I see the red behind the figure, the dark red of blood. “And so you have him here…on your house…” I try to find the words, “to protect you?”
There is a pause. That wasn’t quite what I meant to say but between his accent and my own, there is something lost in the air, hanging. But we look at each other and nod. I nod again, we wish each other “Good Evening” and I turn to go.
Camera in hand, I continue my path but my thoughts are elsewhere. I remember that le Feria de Pâques, the Easter Bullfights is fast approaching.
There will be more souls for the God of the Bulls soon.
I love your ARLES TOO!YOu should do a picture book on ARLES!!!
I gather that if he painted it..he has some sympathy for the poor animals? beautiful shots of your lovely Arles.
These images are stunning, Heather, but I'm equally entranced by your wandering, by your chance encounter, by the rarity of strangers speaking and how pleasurable and rich those moments can be. Souls, perhaps for all the gods and some, shining.
It's hard to believe that in this day and age, in the "first world" status no less, that bull fighting is still carried on and celebrated. Not even your beautiful photographs will still my boiling blood at the thought of it.
Lovely images Heather. How I envy you with your wanderings around Arles. How interesting that such a simple, graphic painting has so much meaning. Being a animal lover, I do not understand bull fights. Such cruel entertainment.
xxTracy.
I love your Arles. You share it with us in the most exquisite way.
I've seen posters in Arles for "bull games," which I understand do not include killing. Is that correct?
What a joy!
And, so so pretty.
xx's
Beautiful, Heather. Your words and photos completely took me away and I feel as if I am standing on that street in Arles with you, having a fleeting conversation with the man of the God of the bulls. Thanks for taking me out of my corner of the world and bringing me to yours! XOXO
Fleeting encounters such as yours with the young man often leave me thinking about them for days, wondering about the meaning of it all.
Lovely, lovely textures. The blue wood (shutters?), the warm wood carved flower. Ah.