While I was visiting my family in the States, I would occasionally think about Provence and my life in France in order to try and regard it with the blessing of remove. I was surprised by how much I longed for the region itself, for the land and its life. Certainly, it has taken root in my heart and not necessarily due to its more obvious charms, of which there are many. No, just as I used to visit certain paintings in the museums of Manhattan so often that I began to consider them as friends (including several Van Goghs whose landscapes would later become a part of my daily life in Arles), so too certain characteristics here have wooed my attention and become dear to me.
Chief amongst those is patina, the glow of time’s way. I missed it’s imperfections dearly while in Michigan and wondered if its presence gives one a certain permission not to be brighter, faster and stronger but just to be. There is such psychology in our surroundings. I am fairly certain that I have written this before but patina is forgiving. And I love it for that as well as the sheer beauty present within “I endure.”
I know that quite a few of you are impatient to see our new home but she is not yet ready for her close-up. There is a point during every move (and I have been through so many – eight in Manhattan alone, including one that I accomplished solely via subway) when things get much worse just before they get better and we are right in the thick of it. Remi is downstairs sanding the parquet floors and I will have to tackle the boxes in the dressing room as neither of us have anything clean to wear. Each morning I still wake up bone tired, my head in a fog. But oh, how it is worth it. In the quiet of the evenings, I light the candles and we both listen, trying to decipher what the house is telling us to do.
So for now, I hope that you will be contented with two posts featuring some of the details of our new village. I took these photos quite some time ago – long before we had found our house – and have been saving them for our arrival as something of a promise to myself.
And now we are here. Painting and creating traces that will one day become patina of its own.
Heather, this is so beautiful!!!!
xx
My great-aunt used to live in a 500 year old house. Sometimes the paint would flake off the walls and the layer beneath would become visible – a different colour, a different time. I would wonder who had painted it and why they chose that colour. There's something special about age and patina, something that endures beyond ourselves. Have been having some trouble commenting on your posts. Hope this one makes it through.
(Oh dear. I'm not sure if this is a first comment or a second… The connection burped.) Well, it's certainly worth saying twice if I am – your words and images capture the sensual quality of patina à merveille. (I linger over stone walls when I'm in Paris and run the palm of my hand across their surfaces. Nothing quite like it.)
xo
Lovely, Heather. Your wise words about patina make me wonder if that is why I keep so many older, worn, time-soften treasures around me. It makes me happy to see that you've already zeroed in on the beautiful details of your new village – and hopefully that helps combat the chaos and pure exhaustion of making a new house a home. I'm glad that you are taking the time to listen to what the house tells you and know you will make it yours in no time! Happy settling in. XOXO
I could look at those colors forever and never tire of them. The stones seem to breathe and whisper, "look at us, we have been here always." Serene.
Thank you for capturing and sharing these details. It was a treat well worth waiting for. And as for aging patina…. I am working on improving my appreciation for that every morning when I look in the mirror ;-). Parquet floors, a dressing room, oh my! Another post that will be well worth the wait.
As I clicked on this new post, I realized, with glee, that we would get to explore a whole new village with you! These are wonderful, and I couldn't agree more with your assessment of the virtues of imperfection that patina displays – hear, hear!!! I'm so glad you are seeing Provence anew after weeks in Ypsilanti; we miss you but are so glad that you have a beautiful new home and are back in the place that makes your heart sing!
An aging patina leaves an indelible mark and I think those of us who have the good luck to visit or, better yet, live in areas appreciated and maintained for their antiquity are indelibly imprinted. As a native Southern Californian, I did not grow up with anything remotely vintage outside of the Spanish missions. Traveling opened my eyes to the beauty of "old". Moving east allowed me to live in the midst of architecture loving preserved. Ironically, the "mid-century" (1950s) California ranch style of my childhood is now considered vintage.
Truly, a beautiful post…how I miss the patina of my childhood….and try re-creating it in my American home
I love how much "personality" these places have…so so beautiful.