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Suspended in amber

For various reasons, it has been a bit of the Summer that Wasn’t. No visits to the beach with sandy puppers in tow or rosé-drenched apéro’s in a flowerly bower. In a certain sense, we knew it would be so–it was in the Planning as Remi is knee-deep, slowly pushing a three year long project into home, leaving me a loopy amount of time to reason and read. And so I have been taking in the words, taking in the words until I am full and restless. Quand c’est trop, c’est trop.
In this lull of in-between, I have let myself get trapped in amber, like a prehistoric fly. In my emptiness, I have built up a routine to create structure in all of this floppy space. A very relaxed version of métro, boulot, dodo. Dullness weighs my body down and thoughts cease to swing. Yes, there are elements of routine in Arles that have a perfume of gorgeousness about them but if I am not seeing them, well, I might as well be sleepwalking anywhere. Luckily my camera can rearrange my focus when I cannot.
The streets of Arles are solid but also shady and shaking. I have lived here for eight years now, quite some time for a nomad like me. I walk them in patterns and loops, where the dogs lead, I follow. That too can be dulling blind until the light shifts and on the wall in front of me and an angle aligns or a sign is revealed, one that I had somehow never seen. A bit of magic and blink are the must of these little gifts. It is a moment that inevitably makes me smile and snaps the amber quick to set me buzzing free.

“I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.”

–The Two Gentlemen of Verona, William Shakespeare


So no great adventures for the moment, friends, just little, local ones.
Thanks for being along for the ride.
Have a wonderful weekend.


A rose by another name

A rose by another name and yet it calls with a scent so sweet. To fall into a color, it’s warmth like a dip into the sea. 
I need perfume in my life, in all of its forms. Admittedly, it is my olfactory coffee or glass of wine, seeing me through from morning until night. But those liquid elixirs that we dab and spritz–or walk through in a cloud à la française–what magic they make. I have been thinking about this since yesterday, after reading yet another fine post by Lanier Smith at Sents Memory. While Lanier usually writes an exquisite short story inspired by a certain perfume before reviewing it, yesterday’s discussion fell to the House of Guerlain, one of my favorites as their long-standing use of quality ingredients endears their products to my fickle red-head skin. 
Different scents for different lives within lives or even lives within a day. It is a tool of the least utilitarian sort possible, to cajole or coax or proclaim certain aspects of who we are or wish to be. When I was acting, I would always choose a perfume for my character (my favorite match being Fendi’s “Theorema” for the role of Cleopatra) and a quick inhale at the wrist backstage would always cement me in the circumstances. These days with my memory as wobbly as a child in her mother’s heels, I can reach back in time via certain perfumes as directly as Proust biting into that spongy madeleine.
A bag made of red voile is tucked in the back of my medecine cabinet, one that previously held a welcomed gift of Rouge Hermes from my sweetheart but now is a retirement home for nearly empty bottles of deeply loved scents. I pulled it down gingerly, knowing that I had something from Guerlain in there. Ah yes, Jicky. Created in 1889, it was something of a revolution, being one of the very first to use a mix of essential oils and synthetic molecules and the first to be designated by the word perfume. Take that, Coco Chanel. 
I annointed myself with the tiniest bit and inhaled. It smelled differently somehow! Had it turned? No. Had I changed? Yes and no but that wasn’t it. But oh, it felt wonderful to be wearing it again, to be wrapped in something so…familiar…Later in the day that nagging feeling hadn’t left me. A quick search on the internet gave me the answer–Jicky’s olfactory notes? Lavender, rosemary, bergamot, rose. Yes! La Provence! How hadn’t I thought of it sooner?
In this context, it evokes something else entirely than when I wore it roaming the steely corridors of Manhattan. I no longer need a ticket to escape but can take in the blossoming roses all around me. A rose by another name and yet still as sweet.
I am wearing it now…

“… O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.”
–Act Two, Scene Two. “Romeo and Juliet” by William Shakespeare

Saturday treasures, part three

Hungry? These are just the leftovers, taken to illustrate my guest post at the amazing D.A. Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy, one that responds to her insightful post on American’s waste of food.
To see D. A.’s post: click here.
To read me waxing lyrical about Provençal markets: click here.

Still hungry? 
For the original Saturday Treasures, click here and here!
I’m off to the market. I may even brave a visit to the Flower Man…

Have a wonderful weekend! Enjoy et Bon Appetite! 

Summer Gold in Aix-en-Provence

I would make a poor alchemist as gold is not a word I cling to. And yet, each summer I am drawn like moth to flame as the stones of Aix reflect a vibrant luminosity.

Eyes distilled with a liquid prism, I wander and bask in the hue.

Come into my Lapidaire…

History, history. Draped around my torso and puddling at my feet in the longest gown. When I walk its train stretches behind me and around here in Provence. The hems kiss such Roman stones and Gothic spires in just an every day kind of way. I am grateful for the comfort, the fine company.
So when I discover a true atelier of time’s treasures, I can’t help but share it with you, most certainly one that is hidden in plain sight. The Musée Lapidaire has been housed in the 17th century chapel of the former Jesuit College since 1933, smack on the main artery of Avignon. But today, perhaps so many people are busy with the contemporary folly of lécher les vitrines of the H&M across the street that they don’t bother to part the massive red curtains at the entry.
Well, it is their loss. The Greek, Roman and Paleo-Christian statues, vases, funerary monuents, mosaics and sarcophogi are gorgeously accentuated by the white stone Baroque architecture. And while I am, unsurprisingly, a great admirer of Arles’ own anitiquities museum, I must say that the Musée Lapidaire has a mighty fine collection, one that is beautifully presented in such a small space. Surprises abound, most especially over the magnificent Greek vases that were bought in the 18th century from the aristocratic Nani family of Venice. I don’t think that I have seen anything like them during my travels so far. I was equally delighted by the Etruscan terra-cotta pieces, including the langorous reclining damsel below. However the museum’s oeuvre-pricipale dating from 50 BC, “Le Tarasque de Noves,” which depicts a flesh-eating monster (one still popular in Provençal lore today), gave me the giggles.  
I bowed my head apologetically and pulled la robe d’histoire tighter around me as I continued on.

Le Musée Lapidaire – Collection Archéologique du Musée Calvet
Chapélle des Jésuites
27, rue de la Republique
84000 Avignon
Open from 10am to 1pm and 2pm to 6pm, closed Mondays
Admission: only 2€!
http://www.musee-lapidaire.org/oeuvres-antiques/fr/home


I want to send a very sincere thank you to all of you that so kindly sent birthday wishes via comments or email. They delighted me to no end and bring nothing but happiness, the best gift of all…

Yes, I had a wonderful time and so am passing it along, wishing you a wonderful week ahead!
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