Sweep out the cobwebs, shake out those shadows. Sometimes we need to go right back to where we started.
In Arles, after moving in and wandering the cross-caught streets, I fell fast in love with the tales of its shutters and doors. Cliché, absolutely, and some would say that I should now move beyond those facile waters…but…but…there was a day, not so long ago, when the sky was so blue that it tricked me back to the beginning of seeing one street as I had in the before of before, allowing me to dip in just one more time.
Instead of hurrying along the far too narrow sidewalk, I stepped out into the rue de l’Amphithéâtre, camera in hand and lifted. I had easily half an hour to spare before my doctor’s appointment. All was quiet, the tourists still sleeping. The light was flirting. A passer-by gave me a slight nod of recognition, someone else from the center of town. I love Arles before showtime. When history stretches and yawns before settling in to be admired.
Now I can add my own little histories to its two-thousand some years that are more patient than I will ever be. On this particular stretch alone I remember…my mom and I struggling with our suitcases on the bumpy pavement against a winter Mistral wind on an early descent from Paris to visit an apartment that would not work out. Being invited to a party where rooms opened upon rooms until fading into darkness and everyone was trying too hard to be casual. Pulling Ben and Kipling out of the way of a roaring car, music blaring, with only inches to spare. Perfect imperfect these memories, just like the patina scribbled on the surrounding walls for all to see. No need for them right now.
So I snapped back, quite literally with a click-click, present-bound and looked without judging and felt a tiny lift of joy without judgement too. The worn faces above the doorways winked conspiratorially before I turned into the shade of an alley, a short-cut but also a window closing. It is funny that it is no longer one of the more fashionable streets to live on, despite leading directly to the Arena (or maybe because of it); it clearly once was and perhaps will be again. Sometimes, we need to go right back to where we started.
That bright but saturated green is my favorite color…it always resonates with me. I probably decided to purchase the house we live in because the kitchen used that green (to brilliant effect). I learned the hard way, however, not to use that color on the trim of the outside of a mid-century modern house surrounded by the greens of deciduous and fir trees. The painted green did not live happily with the very different greens of the trees or the house's absence of architectural distinction. Learning, Leslie in Oregon P.S. I enjoyed and learned so much from this post!
I ADORE OLD DOORS………….especially with PATINA!
XO
Wonderful color & patina in these photos, Heather. I also love the bare vines that cover the doors & that amazing stone face! Enjoyed reading the recollections you had while walking those streets. You said it best with "perfect imperfect".
xoxo
But thank you so much for asking!
Yes, I have had that same look! And of course you take photos all over Malte…I would too!
I love that story. And it is absolutely what I love about Arles and talk about a lot during my walks – how the city is not stagnant but keeps growing and using what is already there. The outline of the Centre Historique is basically the same as it was at the height of the Roman period. In our first house we had a big block of stone in the cellar from that time that was part of Emperor Constantine's Roman baths…
I am so curious as to which house belongs to your friend!
And yes, all of Arles is haunted… 😉