Oh dear. It's been a while.
Nov 1st, Giverny, Café, France
Giverny is beautiful, a riot of flaming autumnal colors, set against broilingly violet sullen skies and romantic little ancient cottages. It is a glorious, pensive, and slightly melancholic place; it is no wonder that this is where Monet set up. Sometimes the colors are such that I feel I cannot see anymore. Or, conversely, they are such that I feel my vision becomes piercingly clear and crisp, as if I have just woken from a long sleep and am seeing properly for the first time. The people in this café seem content and it is warm. This, with the colors, makes me miss home and heightens the pain of being away from my family during the holidays, a first for me.
So, that gives you a small sense of what Giverny was like. For those of you who don't know, Giverny is where Monet lived and worked. It is very beautiful. While I was in that cafe, there was awesome French music playing. It was a nice respite from the bitter cold of the day and there were comic book images all over the walls, and lots of light coming from a window in the ceiling. I was super excited, because usually I just hear American music everywhere, and the French music I do hear is super poppy, so I kept asking the names of the different artists. The chef (he was wearing a blue striped chef hat and had a pipe sticking out of the corner of his mouth at one point) took a box off the shelf, rifled through it and handed me two cd's which he said were for me to keep! I was super happy. When I payed for my coffee, I handed him a flower that I had picked in the hills before going into the cafe, and he smiled and tucked it behind his ear.
While I was painting in Monet's garden (it was Halloween, incidentally, so my face was all painted up like a mask) I became a Japanese tourist attraction. A bunch of old Japanese ladies came up to me, huddling around and cooing. "Kawaii!" (cute!) They said, pointing at me, and then (assuming I was French) pointing at my drawing and saying "Belle-u!" Then they each took turns sitting next to me on the bench and having their pictures takes, several of them making the stereotypical peace sign with their fingers. It was a somewhat surreal experience.
Monet's garden is stunning, by the way, even in autumn when the flowers are all wilted. The colors are flabbergasting. The last day, I stayed in the garden until they kicked me out, so I had the whole lily pond to myself for a while. It was great. It was raining, but I thought it was worth it.
ART.
We also had a sculpture workshop with world famous sculpture Greg Wyatt. You know, like ya do. You can see some of his work here: http://www.g-wyatt.com/gallery.html
Anyway, he spoke in a monotone that I found hard to pay attention to at first, but as he is actually a genius, I suddenly found his words hitting me as I started to work, and all our sculptures turned out really cool. And he only had two days with us! Also, he arranged for us to get a tour of Kubertin, the foundry that Rondin used and for whom is is the resident artist. As if that wasn't enough, he is also paying for them to make a bronze of each of our bas-relief sculptures that we made, which is 60-70 euros a pop! All in the name of furthering the arts. What a guy. We talked about trees and Shakespeare together for a while. He is an intelligent fellow, and I feel very fortunate to have met him. He won me over by using King Lear as a metaphor to explain a point he was making.
A cool thing to demonstrate the quality of Kubertin: When Rodin worked with a foundry for the first time, he would make a point of leaving a fingerprint on the sculpture somewhere. If, in the final bronze, he could no longer see his fingerprint, he would not work with the foundry again.
And they are going to bronze something I made! Eeee!
Tomorrow I will try to write about Venice. I just got off a train from Paris, but I started the Giverny post a while a go and forgot to put it up, so I thought I'd get that out at least.
Goodnight!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Before the Bus
So I never did finish writing that post. You'll just have to ask me about Nice later.
Last weekend I went on an archaeology fieldtrip to Quinson which is pretty and in the middle of nowhere. We did "experimental archaeology." That is, they showed us how to knap flint, we built fires with friction, threw spears and did ancient archery. It was pretty cool, except for the freezing rain and nauseating bus ride. I am not even someone who gets car-sick! Guh.
This is a brief blog, as I have to leave in a few minutes. I am going to Barcelona! I am very excited. I have never been to Spain, and a book I finished recently took place in Barcelona. But what I am really excited about is getting my hands on some manchego...
Had midterms this week, passed with flying colors. Finally managed to finish a painting in the countryside. The bus driver looked at it and called me "la petite Cezanne" forever more. He smoked fat old cigars and had the Frenchest voice I've ever heard. It was awesome. Again, freezing cold though.
Today I had a four-hour essay-exam for Marchutz, comparing two paintings that were different drafts of the same subject by John Constable. It was hardcore.
Also, I finished my first sketchbook here, which is crazy as I don't think I've even been drawing that much. Anyway, I bought another one today and a set of oil pastels which I intend to capture Barcelona with.
My critique is next week. Wish me luck.
Then I will be in Giverny for five days, learning about Monet and Rodin, and then it is my mid-semester break and I am going to VENICE. OH MY GOD.
Not that I've been dreaming about going to Venice since before puberty or anything. Certainly not.
Last night Jacob had a talk with me. He said that I have a veritable gold mine of talent and that I am not putting it to use. He said that I am twenty-one already, and with all that talent I should be established, successful, and famous by now, that I need to spend more time working on my arts and less time talking to friends and goofing around on the internet. I think it was the most flattering scolding I have ever received.
Here is me painting and listening to Radiohead, as I mentioned in the last post. I love you all.
Last weekend I went on an archaeology fieldtrip to Quinson which is pretty and in the middle of nowhere. We did "experimental archaeology." That is, they showed us how to knap flint, we built fires with friction, threw spears and did ancient archery. It was pretty cool, except for the freezing rain and nauseating bus ride. I am not even someone who gets car-sick! Guh.
This is a brief blog, as I have to leave in a few minutes. I am going to Barcelona! I am very excited. I have never been to Spain, and a book I finished recently took place in Barcelona. But what I am really excited about is getting my hands on some manchego...
Had midterms this week, passed with flying colors. Finally managed to finish a painting in the countryside. The bus driver looked at it and called me "la petite Cezanne" forever more. He smoked fat old cigars and had the Frenchest voice I've ever heard. It was awesome. Again, freezing cold though.
Today I had a four-hour essay-exam for Marchutz, comparing two paintings that were different drafts of the same subject by John Constable. It was hardcore.
Also, I finished my first sketchbook here, which is crazy as I don't think I've even been drawing that much. Anyway, I bought another one today and a set of oil pastels which I intend to capture Barcelona with.
My critique is next week. Wish me luck.
Then I will be in Giverny for five days, learning about Monet and Rodin, and then it is my mid-semester break and I am going to VENICE. OH MY GOD.
Not that I've been dreaming about going to Venice since before puberty or anything. Certainly not.
Last night Jacob had a talk with me. He said that I have a veritable gold mine of talent and that I am not putting it to use. He said that I am twenty-one already, and with all that talent I should be established, successful, and famous by now, that I need to spend more time working on my arts and less time talking to friends and goofing around on the internet. I think it was the most flattering scolding I have ever received.
Here is me painting and listening to Radiohead, as I mentioned in the last post. I love you all.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Oh man. So, where the heck have I been, right?
Well: France!
That is. First I was sick, and uninteresting. And then I was too busy doing interesting things to write about them.
So, starting from the most recent and working my way back in time:
Yesterday morning, I was part of an educational panel at the Marchutz school. The IAU is trying to determine what the "identity" of Marchutz is and whether or not they are effective. The theme of the meeting was expectations. Alan asked me to come as an example of a current student to speak about what my expectations of study abroad were. Basically, it was a lot of people who should not be in education looking down their noses at the only part of IAU where students are learning, working, and having their eyes generally opened. There were a couple exceptions who were into students and teaching students though. But seriously. I never want to be part of academia.
Then they kicked me and Mary (the alumni student) out to talk about the issue (the fact that they did not have students at this part of the meeting was a stupidity and made me thankful that the majority of my education took place at a school like Athenian), and I went and hung out with John. I helped him gather tinder and set up a barbecue and move chairs and stuff. It was fun! And then there was delicious food and interesting people.
I find that I am spending way more time hanging out with John and Alan than with people my own age. And I am not talking about class. I am talking about getting drinks with them after our field trips and stuff. Is that bad? I don't know. I think that they are more interesting than the majority of people my own age that I have been meeting.
Anyway, there were 30-some people there yesterday (John lives at the atelier, by the way) to say goodbye to John's son Yohaan, who is returning to Colorado soon and was also in Japan for a long time. They all watched a slide show and it made me feel guilty about not having finished looking at Ilian's pictures. It was good though, and I met some people who I think will be able to put me in touch with the happening French youth in Aix. You know, the ones who like things besides drinking and flirting. I am sure there must be some.
I also played with Alan's four-year-old son, James, and his friend Sam. They did not trust me at first, but then I started talking to them about dinosaurs. Then we started playing dinosaurs, and I ended up covered in dirt because OBVIOUSLY I was the evil dinosaur who was trying to eat their eggs, so they had to kill me several times. Then Sam lost his marble and was really upset about it. We tried to look for it in the grass, but to no avail, so I created a magical marble for him that is invisible unless you have an imagination. It can change sizes and colors, and if you turn into a ring and wear it on your finger it allows you to see fairies. And, most importantly, you don't have to worry about losing it, because if you clap your hands and say "Shim-Shim-Shee!" it immediately goes back to your hand again. Obviously, James got one too, and he spent the rest of the day intentionally dropping his marble just so he could say "Shim-Shim-Shee!" and kept asking me to tell him more magic words. Their mothers were impressed. I think I have a baby-sitting gig this week.
My throat still hurts a little from all the roaring I did when I was a dinosaur though.
So, the day before that, we had our second Marchutz excursion to Arles and St. Remy. Arles is super pretty and Roman. Also, we went another monastery I can't remember the name of at the moment. Arles is where Van Gogh settled towards the end of his life, and St. Remy is the asylum he stayed at. The whole day was about Van Gogh. We went to several of the places where he painted and compared the actual place to a reproduction of the painting he made of it, looking at what he kept in the painting and what e left out and exaggerated. It was very interesting, but I wanted to weep all day. I don't mean this as an unfortunate thing. I just find Van Gogh very moving, not just in his paintings, but in what his life was and in his writing. Have you ever read any of Van Gogh's letters? He writes beautifully and with great passion. It is heartbreaking. He was really brilliant. People think that his painting were the work of a madman, but it isn't true. He did experience madness, yes, but he never painted when he was mad. All his work comes from a place of crystalline lucidity. I think it was Gaughin who said, "his paintings contain great thought." And he only worked for ten years! I wish I could see the sky as he did, with all that texture. You know, he tried to learn piano, but the teacher refused to keep teaching him because he would find a single note and just play it over and over again saying, "Ah. That. Right there. A clear blue with a bit of citron yellow."
All of it, it makes me want to weep.
An interesting thing about St. Remy: It is still a functioning asylum. They do a lot of art therapy there, and they have the art of the patients hanging up all over the place. It is very impressive stuff! Matt, who much prefers modern work, was photographing all of it like crazy with a huge grin on his face. "Is it a bad sign that my favorite stuff we've looked at today was made by crazy people?" he asked.
"All things considered, I think that is appropriate," I replied, though I wish he was able to appreciate the old as well as the new. I think I am lucky, that I am able to love so many things. It lights up my life.
I slept for the whole bus ride back and then I had a drink with John, Nance, Becky(a visiting American writer), and Kathleen (Alan's wife) and we talked about Van Gogh and the day and stuff. It was great. I told John about how I was really moved by the intense connection between Vincent and his brother Theo, since I have three brothers and they are kind've the universe to me. It was Theo who got Vincent through everything, Theo who recognized that his brother was a genius and supported his painting, and when Vincent took his life, Theo was broken by it and died about six months later. It is the freaking saddest thing ever.
After the drink, I went home for dinner. I came in and they cried, "Carla! Champagne?" all grinning around the table. I laughed. "What's the occaison?" I asked. "Champagne!" they cried.
I. Love. My. Homestay.
Then, I had a french-american crepe party arranged by myself and my friend Geoffrey. It was my job to bring the americans, but most of the americans I knew had run off to different cities for the weekend or were recovering from the illness that is still going around (I kicked it, myself, by not going out and not drinking until I was better. They are bewildered as to why they are still sick. Hm...), so I only was able to bring Matt with me, but nonetheless, a jolly good time was had by all. However, they played the most ridiculously complicated drinking game EVER, which is called biscuit, and I kept messing up because there were so many rules and I was learning them is rapid french. I think they knew that and were taking advantage of it. HIGHLY UNGENTLEMANLY.
The day before that, I had my oral presentation in Archaelogy which is worth 25% of my grade. So, you know, no big. I did it on the site of Terra Amata, in Nice. I am hoping that the fact that I actually went to Nice specifically to visit the in situ museum will count for something. But man, beside that, I must admit I SUPER procrastinated on that one. Sigh. Some things, they just don't change...
The days before that were colored by what we've bee doing at Marchutz, which is painting in the country. Everyday, I walk the half-hour to the Atelier, grab my easel and painting supplies, and a bus takes us to the countryside around Mt. St. Victoire, which is the mountain Cezanne is known for painting. It is pretty awesome. I have been struggling some though, with the painting. I realized, as we started working with oils a couple weeks ago, that I don't know a thing about painting. I have been an artist all my life, but really, it's all been drawing and ink. I mean, I know my way around color relationships because of all the work I've down with oil pastels and water-color crayons, but that still doesn't help me when I am faced with a big old palette of paints that I have to some how mix and bring into a believable harmony of colors the reperesent in some small way the vast reality before me.
Guys, painting is hard.
I feel like I made a breakthrough on monday though, which was the first say I set my easel up in front of the mountain. Alan has been saying to me, "Use your paintbrush like you use your pencil," and I feel like that started to happen, and I got a little more sensitivity in my marks again, like I do when I draw. However, I think this happened not thank to the beauty of the mountain or any brilliance on Alan's part as a teacher or mine as a student. I think it happened because I finally remembered to bring food with me that day, and it is easier to paint well when you have bread and chocolate. That is all.
There is something comedic about painting outside. I think it is a sort of idyllic thing to a lot of people, but a lot of it consists of things like keeping the wind from blowing your easel over, and trying to figure out how to set up in the shade without getting attacked by the tree that creates the shade, and keeping the damn bugs from committing suicide in your paint.
I love it, though.
Wednesday I felt like I started to get the hang of it even more. I found a PERFECT spot. I looked around the while, trying to pick what to paint, since I had done the mountain the day before. Ultimately, I gave up and painted the mountain again. Sometimes, when there is a giant mountain in front of you, you just have to paint the freaking mountain. It was fun. I listened to Radiohead and ate a baguette while I worked.
Monday was rainy and I did a bad thing. I had to meet Kat to get her camera, as it had some picture I needed for my archaeology project. It was the meeting place that did me in: we met at Book in Bar, an English bookshop and coffee bar in downtown Aix. I haphazardly made my way there, a bit late and still befuddled by my rather busy weekend. The sky was the deep purple-gray it gets before a big storm, lovely and rather ominous. Now, if you were exhausted and found yourself surrounded by coffee, pastries, books, and comfy chairs, and it started to rain outside, what would you do? You would stay inside, that's what! And that is what I did that day, instead of working on my archaeology presentation and going to class at Marchutz as I meant. Judge me, if you will. I needed a rest, and I had a lovely day. Besides, because of the rain, it wasn't as though we could go out and paint in the country anyway. It was just copying of masterworks that I missed. So. Pthbt!
Then that night I had my first theater class at the Institute for Foreign Students
It is worth mentioning that the writing of this blog at this point was interrupted by an eight-year old french girl named Dané, who quietly demanded my attention in the way only timid children can. She is just starting to learn english in school, so I showed her the original english versions of many disney songs on youtube.
It was fun. There was lunch. It involved pasta, vietnamese rice wine (SO MUCH STRONGER THAN SAKE), and chocolate cake.
For the next bit, I am going to start at the beginning of the weekend. On saturday, we had our first Marchutz excursion, to the Luberon, which is a mountain range in southern France. The day was to be one of meditation on the subject of architecture. We began with a really lovely drive through the country side, with a few stops here and there, where John talked us about things such as why pigeon towers had a metal ring to keep rats away, and the mysterious gypsy-curse incited death of Camus. Alan was not there, sadly, he was busy being an administrator (bleh!), but his badass wife Kathleen was. To give you an idea of Kathleen's hotness: She and Alan went shopping for a party they were having, once, and the cashier told Alan it was nice of him to buy alcohol for his daughter. She is also a super awesome writer though, and highly amusing. She owes me a dessert though.
But I digress.
The first town we went to was called Bonnieux. Well, first we stopped outside of it a bit, and sat on this strange set of stone steps set randomly into the brush to the side of the road and contemplated it from a view something like this:
The idea was to look at how it was set into he nature around it and all the color and compositional harmonies and stuff. It was cool. Then we walked into town, and I nearly murdered John for talking. Those of you who have met any of the Lerner clan know that bad things happen to our temperaments when we are hungry *coughByroncough* and I am no exception. Granted, it was John, so it was fascinating stuff, but it is very difficult to care about the compositional genius of an awning when you need to eat. Eventually, he let us free and Kat and I went food hunting. Well, actually, first we went to the church, to our frustration, because it made mre sense time wise and we were hungry, no foolish. But then we bought SO MUCH FOOD. We went to two bakeries and a grocery store. Did I mention that we were hungry? I got this cool hotdog in a pastry which was delicious and, somehow, still classy. France, man. Anyway, once I had eaten I was able to appreciate that walking through Bonnieux is like walking through a city in your dreams. It is carved into the mountain, and the streets wind and curve at just the right angle to make you feel like what you are looking for is just around the bend. I don't know if that makes sense, but it is really cool, full of random caves and tunnels and flowery verandas and carved faces and strange obelisks. I liked it.
Then we went to a town called Lacoste, which is on lands that once belonged to the infamous Marquis de Sade. We had a picnic in a glade in the woods, and Kat and I had a lovely, sprawling lunch with our bounty from Bonnieux. We had: The best baguette I have had in France so far, a wonderfully soft and stinky local cheese I have forgotten the name of, a spinach kiesh, a cheese souffle-thing, two apples, an orange, a plum, an almond croissant, and an eclair. It ruled.
Then we drove for a while, and then we went on a charming one-hour hike to a Bori, which was hard on my ankle, but worth it. When John told us about it we said, "what is a Bori?" He sort of half-raised his eyebrows and said, "I will tell you that when we get there." I think he enjoys being mysterious. I didn't mind, but it drove some of the other students nuts, which was pretty funny. Anyway, we had a nice hike through the forest and then we arrived at a strange stone dwelling which, if it had a speech bubble, would have been saying, "Old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old." It was one of those things, where no one has to tell you. You just look at it and feel, "damn, that is old" with an accompanying sense of wonder and desire for a time machine. "This," said John, "is a Bori." We went inside, single-file, through the tall, narrow entryway. It was very hot outside, but the minute you were in those walls it was cool and pleasant. We silently filed into an oval room in the back with some stone benches built into the walls. It was dim, but as my eyes adjusted I saw a great deal of detail in the room. Just as I was wondering how it was made and where it came from, John broke the silence. "These walls, he said, have no mortar. They were made with nothing wet, they have no adhesive. These walls were simply built by placing the stones you see in such a way that they would hold each other up." The stones did not look cut. They were all rough and of varying sizes. I realized then that these stones had simply been found as they were and somehow been used to create an extraordinary and complex order in structure. "This may seem like a simple structure to you," continued John, "but it is in fact rather complex and uses a lot of very subtle and difficult architecture." He went on to point out different way the wall was shaped here and formed there that were basically works of genius, once you knew what you were looking at. Apparently, in the 70's Marchutz was called a "School of Vision." I think that that is rather apt. As if that wasn't crazy enough, no one actually knows how old the Bori is, who built it, or what it was for. There are some Bori's that have been dated, he mentioned one nearby that was from the 12th century, but apparently it doesn't actually give a basis for dating other Boris and there was no way of knowing when the one we were in came from. IT WAS SO COOL. Speaking of, cool as it was then, apparently it is warm inside it in the winter. Insulation! With rocks! Super nifty.
Then we hiked back and found the lame classmates (three of them) who had ditched us when John was looking. They were all, "we are tired. We don't feel well." In my brain I responded with, "I just got over the same cold you have and my ankle is still healing. You are just weak sauce." But I know that that isn't nice and that we are all different people, so out loud I just offered them some water and asked if they were feeling better. Sometimes, when I can't make my brain as nice as I want it to be, I at least make sure that my actions are as nice as I want my brain to be.
Then we went to the monastery of Senanque, which was pretty amazing. it is a 12th century monastery belonging to a Cistercian order, so we ladies had to make sure we were decently covered (no shorts or tank tops) and we didn't interact with the monks as they are under a vow of silence. It was legit. Senanque is surrounded by lavender fields and I imagine must be even more of a vision when the flowers are in bloom. I wish I could see that. Anyway, we were really lucky because they don't give that many tours and the ones they do give are jam packed, but John knows his way around so they give him permission to give a tour himself just to our school group, so we get a much more intimate interaction with the space. So, about that space.
We were towards the end of the day when we got there. I was tired, my ankle was acting up like a mother, and my attention span was waning. Then we entered the first room of the 12th C. area, the beginning of our tour. "Oh." I said aloud, and whatever thought I was having went away. People immediately started clicking away and John stopped them. "Wait," he said. "There will be time to take pictures, but I ask you to hold off. We are all going to take a vow of silence for the next twenty minutes, as we move through the monastery. I want you all to explore the space. Look around you. Breathe. Take note. Find out how these spaces interact with your senses, how they make you feel. When you are taking a picture of something, you are engaged in the action of photographing the thing, and not engaged with the thing itself. Wait. Be in this space." I like John. Also, please note that I am paraphrasing, and that John was much more eloquent than that.
Guh, you know what? I am not at all finished but I am going to post this thing and edit the rest in/edit typos out later, so that folks can start reading.
This was my sunday.
I love you all.
Well: France!
That is. First I was sick, and uninteresting. And then I was too busy doing interesting things to write about them.
So, starting from the most recent and working my way back in time:
Yesterday morning, I was part of an educational panel at the Marchutz school. The IAU is trying to determine what the "identity" of Marchutz is and whether or not they are effective. The theme of the meeting was expectations. Alan asked me to come as an example of a current student to speak about what my expectations of study abroad were. Basically, it was a lot of people who should not be in education looking down their noses at the only part of IAU where students are learning, working, and having their eyes generally opened. There were a couple exceptions who were into students and teaching students though. But seriously. I never want to be part of academia.
Then they kicked me and Mary (the alumni student) out to talk about the issue (the fact that they did not have students at this part of the meeting was a stupidity and made me thankful that the majority of my education took place at a school like Athenian), and I went and hung out with John. I helped him gather tinder and set up a barbecue and move chairs and stuff. It was fun! And then there was delicious food and interesting people.
I find that I am spending way more time hanging out with John and Alan than with people my own age. And I am not talking about class. I am talking about getting drinks with them after our field trips and stuff. Is that bad? I don't know. I think that they are more interesting than the majority of people my own age that I have been meeting.
Anyway, there were 30-some people there yesterday (John lives at the atelier, by the way) to say goodbye to John's son Yohaan, who is returning to Colorado soon and was also in Japan for a long time. They all watched a slide show and it made me feel guilty about not having finished looking at Ilian's pictures. It was good though, and I met some people who I think will be able to put me in touch with the happening French youth in Aix. You know, the ones who like things besides drinking and flirting. I am sure there must be some.
I also played with Alan's four-year-old son, James, and his friend Sam. They did not trust me at first, but then I started talking to them about dinosaurs. Then we started playing dinosaurs, and I ended up covered in dirt because OBVIOUSLY I was the evil dinosaur who was trying to eat their eggs, so they had to kill me several times. Then Sam lost his marble and was really upset about it. We tried to look for it in the grass, but to no avail, so I created a magical marble for him that is invisible unless you have an imagination. It can change sizes and colors, and if you turn into a ring and wear it on your finger it allows you to see fairies. And, most importantly, you don't have to worry about losing it, because if you clap your hands and say "Shim-Shim-Shee!" it immediately goes back to your hand again. Obviously, James got one too, and he spent the rest of the day intentionally dropping his marble just so he could say "Shim-Shim-Shee!" and kept asking me to tell him more magic words. Their mothers were impressed. I think I have a baby-sitting gig this week.
My throat still hurts a little from all the roaring I did when I was a dinosaur though.
So, the day before that, we had our second Marchutz excursion to Arles and St. Remy. Arles is super pretty and Roman. Also, we went another monastery I can't remember the name of at the moment. Arles is where Van Gogh settled towards the end of his life, and St. Remy is the asylum he stayed at. The whole day was about Van Gogh. We went to several of the places where he painted and compared the actual place to a reproduction of the painting he made of it, looking at what he kept in the painting and what e left out and exaggerated. It was very interesting, but I wanted to weep all day. I don't mean this as an unfortunate thing. I just find Van Gogh very moving, not just in his paintings, but in what his life was and in his writing. Have you ever read any of Van Gogh's letters? He writes beautifully and with great passion. It is heartbreaking. He was really brilliant. People think that his painting were the work of a madman, but it isn't true. He did experience madness, yes, but he never painted when he was mad. All his work comes from a place of crystalline lucidity. I think it was Gaughin who said, "his paintings contain great thought." And he only worked for ten years! I wish I could see the sky as he did, with all that texture. You know, he tried to learn piano, but the teacher refused to keep teaching him because he would find a single note and just play it over and over again saying, "Ah. That. Right there. A clear blue with a bit of citron yellow."
All of it, it makes me want to weep.
An interesting thing about St. Remy: It is still a functioning asylum. They do a lot of art therapy there, and they have the art of the patients hanging up all over the place. It is very impressive stuff! Matt, who much prefers modern work, was photographing all of it like crazy with a huge grin on his face. "Is it a bad sign that my favorite stuff we've looked at today was made by crazy people?" he asked.
"All things considered, I think that is appropriate," I replied, though I wish he was able to appreciate the old as well as the new. I think I am lucky, that I am able to love so many things. It lights up my life.
I slept for the whole bus ride back and then I had a drink with John, Nance, Becky(a visiting American writer), and Kathleen (Alan's wife) and we talked about Van Gogh and the day and stuff. It was great. I told John about how I was really moved by the intense connection between Vincent and his brother Theo, since I have three brothers and they are kind've the universe to me. It was Theo who got Vincent through everything, Theo who recognized that his brother was a genius and supported his painting, and when Vincent took his life, Theo was broken by it and died about six months later. It is the freaking saddest thing ever.
After the drink, I went home for dinner. I came in and they cried, "Carla! Champagne?" all grinning around the table. I laughed. "What's the occaison?" I asked. "Champagne!" they cried.
I. Love. My. Homestay.
Then, I had a french-american crepe party arranged by myself and my friend Geoffrey. It was my job to bring the americans, but most of the americans I knew had run off to different cities for the weekend or were recovering from the illness that is still going around (I kicked it, myself, by not going out and not drinking until I was better. They are bewildered as to why they are still sick. Hm...), so I only was able to bring Matt with me, but nonetheless, a jolly good time was had by all. However, they played the most ridiculously complicated drinking game EVER, which is called biscuit, and I kept messing up because there were so many rules and I was learning them is rapid french. I think they knew that and were taking advantage of it. HIGHLY UNGENTLEMANLY.
The day before that, I had my oral presentation in Archaelogy which is worth 25% of my grade. So, you know, no big. I did it on the site of Terra Amata, in Nice. I am hoping that the fact that I actually went to Nice specifically to visit the in situ museum will count for something. But man, beside that, I must admit I SUPER procrastinated on that one. Sigh. Some things, they just don't change...
The days before that were colored by what we've bee doing at Marchutz, which is painting in the country. Everyday, I walk the half-hour to the Atelier, grab my easel and painting supplies, and a bus takes us to the countryside around Mt. St. Victoire, which is the mountain Cezanne is known for painting. It is pretty awesome. I have been struggling some though, with the painting. I realized, as we started working with oils a couple weeks ago, that I don't know a thing about painting. I have been an artist all my life, but really, it's all been drawing and ink. I mean, I know my way around color relationships because of all the work I've down with oil pastels and water-color crayons, but that still doesn't help me when I am faced with a big old palette of paints that I have to some how mix and bring into a believable harmony of colors the reperesent in some small way the vast reality before me.
Guys, painting is hard.
I feel like I made a breakthrough on monday though, which was the first say I set my easel up in front of the mountain. Alan has been saying to me, "Use your paintbrush like you use your pencil," and I feel like that started to happen, and I got a little more sensitivity in my marks again, like I do when I draw. However, I think this happened not thank to the beauty of the mountain or any brilliance on Alan's part as a teacher or mine as a student. I think it happened because I finally remembered to bring food with me that day, and it is easier to paint well when you have bread and chocolate. That is all.
There is something comedic about painting outside. I think it is a sort of idyllic thing to a lot of people, but a lot of it consists of things like keeping the wind from blowing your easel over, and trying to figure out how to set up in the shade without getting attacked by the tree that creates the shade, and keeping the damn bugs from committing suicide in your paint.
I love it, though.
Wednesday I felt like I started to get the hang of it even more. I found a PERFECT spot. I looked around the while, trying to pick what to paint, since I had done the mountain the day before. Ultimately, I gave up and painted the mountain again. Sometimes, when there is a giant mountain in front of you, you just have to paint the freaking mountain. It was fun. I listened to Radiohead and ate a baguette while I worked.
Monday was rainy and I did a bad thing. I had to meet Kat to get her camera, as it had some picture I needed for my archaeology project. It was the meeting place that did me in: we met at Book in Bar, an English bookshop and coffee bar in downtown Aix. I haphazardly made my way there, a bit late and still befuddled by my rather busy weekend. The sky was the deep purple-gray it gets before a big storm, lovely and rather ominous. Now, if you were exhausted and found yourself surrounded by coffee, pastries, books, and comfy chairs, and it started to rain outside, what would you do? You would stay inside, that's what! And that is what I did that day, instead of working on my archaeology presentation and going to class at Marchutz as I meant. Judge me, if you will. I needed a rest, and I had a lovely day. Besides, because of the rain, it wasn't as though we could go out and paint in the country anyway. It was just copying of masterworks that I missed. So. Pthbt!
Then that night I had my first theater class at the Institute for Foreign Students
It is worth mentioning that the writing of this blog at this point was interrupted by an eight-year old french girl named Dané, who quietly demanded my attention in the way only timid children can. She is just starting to learn english in school, so I showed her the original english versions of many disney songs on youtube.
It was fun. There was lunch. It involved pasta, vietnamese rice wine (SO MUCH STRONGER THAN SAKE), and chocolate cake.
For the next bit, I am going to start at the beginning of the weekend. On saturday, we had our first Marchutz excursion, to the Luberon, which is a mountain range in southern France. The day was to be one of meditation on the subject of architecture. We began with a really lovely drive through the country side, with a few stops here and there, where John talked us about things such as why pigeon towers had a metal ring to keep rats away, and the mysterious gypsy-curse incited death of Camus. Alan was not there, sadly, he was busy being an administrator (bleh!), but his badass wife Kathleen was. To give you an idea of Kathleen's hotness: She and Alan went shopping for a party they were having, once, and the cashier told Alan it was nice of him to buy alcohol for his daughter. She is also a super awesome writer though, and highly amusing. She owes me a dessert though.
But I digress.
The first town we went to was called Bonnieux. Well, first we stopped outside of it a bit, and sat on this strange set of stone steps set randomly into the brush to the side of the road and contemplated it from a view something like this:
The idea was to look at how it was set into he nature around it and all the color and compositional harmonies and stuff. It was cool. Then we walked into town, and I nearly murdered John for talking. Those of you who have met any of the Lerner clan know that bad things happen to our temperaments when we are hungry *coughByroncough* and I am no exception. Granted, it was John, so it was fascinating stuff, but it is very difficult to care about the compositional genius of an awning when you need to eat. Eventually, he let us free and Kat and I went food hunting. Well, actually, first we went to the church, to our frustration, because it made mre sense time wise and we were hungry, no foolish. But then we bought SO MUCH FOOD. We went to two bakeries and a grocery store. Did I mention that we were hungry? I got this cool hotdog in a pastry which was delicious and, somehow, still classy. France, man. Anyway, once I had eaten I was able to appreciate that walking through Bonnieux is like walking through a city in your dreams. It is carved into the mountain, and the streets wind and curve at just the right angle to make you feel like what you are looking for is just around the bend. I don't know if that makes sense, but it is really cool, full of random caves and tunnels and flowery verandas and carved faces and strange obelisks. I liked it.Then we went to a town called Lacoste, which is on lands that once belonged to the infamous Marquis de Sade. We had a picnic in a glade in the woods, and Kat and I had a lovely, sprawling lunch with our bounty from Bonnieux. We had: The best baguette I have had in France so far, a wonderfully soft and stinky local cheese I have forgotten the name of, a spinach kiesh, a cheese souffle-thing, two apples, an orange, a plum, an almond croissant, and an eclair. It ruled.
Then we drove for a while, and then we went on a charming one-hour hike to a Bori, which was hard on my ankle, but worth it. When John told us about it we said, "what is a Bori?" He sort of half-raised his eyebrows and said, "I will tell you that when we get there." I think he enjoys being mysterious. I didn't mind, but it drove some of the other students nuts, which was pretty funny. Anyway, we had a nice hike through the forest and then we arrived at a strange stone dwelling which, if it had a speech bubble, would have been saying, "Old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old." It was one of those things, where no one has to tell you. You just look at it and feel, "damn, that is old" with an accompanying sense of wonder and desire for a time machine. "This," said John, "is a Bori." We went inside, single-file, through the tall, narrow entryway. It was very hot outside, but the minute you were in those walls it was cool and pleasant. We silently filed into an oval room in the back with some stone benches built into the walls. It was dim, but as my eyes adjusted I saw a great deal of detail in the room. Just as I was wondering how it was made and where it came from, John broke the silence. "These walls, he said, have no mortar. They were made with nothing wet, they have no adhesive. These walls were simply built by placing the stones you see in such a way that they would hold each other up." The stones did not look cut. They were all rough and of varying sizes. I realized then that these stones had simply been found as they were and somehow been used to create an extraordinary and complex order in structure. "This may seem like a simple structure to you," continued John, "but it is in fact rather complex and uses a lot of very subtle and difficult architecture." He went on to point out different way the wall was shaped here and formed there that were basically works of genius, once you knew what you were looking at. Apparently, in the 70's Marchutz was called a "School of Vision." I think that that is rather apt. As if that wasn't crazy enough, no one actually knows how old the Bori is, who built it, or what it was for. There are some Bori's that have been dated, he mentioned one nearby that was from the 12th century, but apparently it doesn't actually give a basis for dating other Boris and there was no way of knowing when the one we were in came from. IT WAS SO COOL. Speaking of, cool as it was then, apparently it is warm inside it in the winter. Insulation! With rocks! Super nifty.
Then we hiked back and found the lame classmates (three of them) who had ditched us when John was looking. They were all, "we are tired. We don't feel well." In my brain I responded with, "I just got over the same cold you have and my ankle is still healing. You are just weak sauce." But I know that that isn't nice and that we are all different people, so out loud I just offered them some water and asked if they were feeling better. Sometimes, when I can't make my brain as nice as I want it to be, I at least make sure that my actions are as nice as I want my brain to be.
Then we went to the monastery of Senanque, which was pretty amazing. it is a 12th century monastery belonging to a Cistercian order, so we ladies had to make sure we were decently covered (no shorts or tank tops) and we didn't interact with the monks as they are under a vow of silence. It was legit. Senanque is surrounded by lavender fields and I imagine must be even more of a vision when the flowers are in bloom. I wish I could see that. Anyway, we were really lucky because they don't give that many tours and the ones they do give are jam packed, but John knows his way around so they give him permission to give a tour himself just to our school group, so we get a much more intimate interaction with the space. So, about that space.
We were towards the end of the day when we got there. I was tired, my ankle was acting up like a mother, and my attention span was waning. Then we entered the first room of the 12th C. area, the beginning of our tour. "Oh." I said aloud, and whatever thought I was having went away. People immediately started clicking away and John stopped them. "Wait," he said. "There will be time to take pictures, but I ask you to hold off. We are all going to take a vow of silence for the next twenty minutes, as we move through the monastery. I want you all to explore the space. Look around you. Breathe. Take note. Find out how these spaces interact with your senses, how they make you feel. When you are taking a picture of something, you are engaged in the action of photographing the thing, and not engaged with the thing itself. Wait. Be in this space." I like John. Also, please note that I am paraphrasing, and that John was much more eloquent than that.
Guh, you know what? I am not at all finished but I am going to post this thing and edit the rest in/edit typos out later, so that folks can start reading.
This was my sunday.
I love you all.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I see your Neruda, and I raise you a Poe
Hellllooooo everybody. Did I seem to disappear for a bit? I was kind of staying in because of my ankle, and I did not think that was very interesting to hear about.
Anyway, the FAIRE ATTENTION has been effective, both at reminding be to be aware and attentive to my surroundings and for striking up conversations with French people, who want to know why the heck I have that written on my arm. They all still keep thinking I am Spanish, all though I have also gotten English and Brazilian as alternate guesses at this point.
I got lost in Aix a couple days ago. Not the best thing on a sprain, but fun nonetheless. The ankle is still angry with me for getting lost, but I feel optimistic. Also, I think it was worth it. Aix is a perfect city to get lost in, filled with narrow, winding alleyways that end in secret fountains or little bookshops or boulangeries. Even when you are lost, it is a small, safe, sun-filled (have I mentioned how beautiful the light is here?) city, so there is never a feeling of danger, only of exploration. I discovered where all the comic-book shops are, and there was a book store called, "Le Bateau Livre," which made me smile. It doesn't even feel dangerous at night, really, but I always get a guy to walk me home anyway.
Not that there have been many instances where I needed to be walked home, thanks to my stupid ankle.
My host parents went to Amsterdam this weekend, and Alexis stayed with a friend, so not only was I unable to go out, I was all alone. I may have gone a little bit stir-crazy. Well, maybe a lot stir-crazy. I am an active person! I get cabin fever. Anyway, I couldn't get a hold of other students either for a long time, as most of them didn't have phones yet. Finally, on saturday, one of my Marchutz friends, Matt, texted me to say he'd gotten a phone, so I bribed him with the copious amounts of food Jade made for me to get him to come over. We watched youtube videos. It was great fun. In spite of his fast metabolism, not even Matt was able to finish the ratatouille and bouef bourguignon that Jade made me. On top of that, they left me multiple ready-made dinners and were appalled when they returned to find that I had not even finished the two dishes Jade made.
"It was a lot of food!" I protested.
"FOUR DAYS!" they replied. They also keep reminding me of good snacking times. They're great. All their food is really healthy, though, so I am not worried about gaining weight. Well, I was never worried about gaining weight, but mom was and I don't think she needs to worry about the food I'm getting at home. If I get fat, it will be because of going to patisseries and boulangeries on my own. On that account, I can make no promises.
Have I mentioned that bread is on a whole other level in this country? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
Haha, this blog is going to end up being all about food. Oh well.
A way of saying hello that I have learned in France: Cou-cou! Really! I love it. It's like we are all little clocks. Cou-cou!
CLASSES. I have them. My French class is extremely slow. We are an advanced class, and yet we are going over conjugating the present tense and are not scheduled to review the subjunctive until December. Hmm. I am going to try to switch into another class.
Archaeology, on the other hand, is freaking awesome. The professor, one Guillaume Durand, is highly animated, French, and hilarious. Sound effects, all the time! I don't know why, but he likes quacking when he collects his thoughts. Also, very questionable hand-drawn maps of Europe. I wish I could record his class to show it to people. It is awesome, entertaining, and educational. You know, the way school is supposed to be.
DEAR EDUCATIONAL ESTABLISHMENTS: YOU DO NOT NEED TO ASSIGN LOTS OF HOMEWORK IN ORDER TO EDUCATE PROPERLY. SEE: MY ARCHAEOLOGY CLASS. LOVE, CARLA.
I mean, we do have homework, but it's reasonable. For the first time in years, my homework load is reasonable!
By far, the most work intensive stuff I have is from Marchutz, which is fine by me. I enjoy working hard at art, and it's nice to get out of the hyper-academic Sarah Lawrence mind-set and get credit for painting naked ladies and mountains. And learn from it! Crazy!
We have been doing lots of figure drawing. Here is my favorite drawing I have made so far, of our ludicrously stunning model, Pauline. Also, a random doodle I made today as a demonstration of an ink-brush pen to another student.
A couple nights ago, I had a bit of a poetry off with Jacob. He had never heard Neruda in Spanish before and he is currently compiling a book of Neruda poems with illustrations, so he had me say some aloud for him while he read the French translations. He liked it so much, he immediately had me do it with Walt Whitman also, but though he loves Whitman (which surprised me, as I think of Whitman as hyper-American), he didn't think the sounds had music in the original language. He then went on to say that he didn't think English poetry had the same music as poetry in Spanish or French. Obviously, I protested. I started using Shakespeare as my defense, but he brushed that aside as theater, and thus irrelevant to the discussion. "I just mean poems. Poems in english don't have the same lyric quality out loud as with other languages, like Spanish or French," he said. I raised an eyebrow at him and recited the first three stanzas of "The Raven."
He conceded that that rather aptly made my point. :)
Then he had me try to translate some of my own poetry into French for him, which made me appreciate how hard it is to translate poetry.
There was a special half-off drinking night for international students that I went to, but I left after not too long. Bars aren't that amazing to begin with, but put that many people in them and they lose all their charm. You can't get a drink, and you can't hear anyone speak! I went elsewhere with a couple friends, and there was a live band with an accordion (my favorite instrument, tied with the glass harmonica http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_harmonica) so I was happy. On the way home, my friends Matt, Francesco, and I stopped and sat in front of this "http://fr.academic.ru/pictures/frwiki/65/Aix-en-Provence_Cathedrale_Saint-Sauveur_1_20061227.jpg cathedral and chatted for a while. There were these funny lights cleverly placed in the ground so that I hadn't noticed them before that night, so everything was very picturesque and interesting looking. Unlike in the photograph, there were no hobos. Anyway, we sat there a while and Matt looked very cool smoking his cigarette in front of all the statues in the doorway and Francesco bounced around on his toes and I sat down under the statue in between the two doors to rest my ankle. It was by far the best part of my evening. Then they walked me home, because they are gentlemen. Also, the two of them are both gay, and black belts in karate, so I may very well have been the safest girl in Aix that night.
To end, more pictures. They are: Jade in the Castle, me being French in my room, me on the couch with Jacob and Alexis, and the amazing sunset we got to watch during dinner yesterday. On an unrelated note, I think some cats just got into a fight outside my window. The noises just ended abruptly, which I find a little ominous.
A bientôt!
Anyway, the FAIRE ATTENTION has been effective, both at reminding be to be aware and attentive to my surroundings and for striking up conversations with French people, who want to know why the heck I have that written on my arm. They all still keep thinking I am Spanish, all though I have also gotten English and Brazilian as alternate guesses at this point.
I got lost in Aix a couple days ago. Not the best thing on a sprain, but fun nonetheless. The ankle is still angry with me for getting lost, but I feel optimistic. Also, I think it was worth it. Aix is a perfect city to get lost in, filled with narrow, winding alleyways that end in secret fountains or little bookshops or boulangeries. Even when you are lost, it is a small, safe, sun-filled (have I mentioned how beautiful the light is here?) city, so there is never a feeling of danger, only of exploration. I discovered where all the comic-book shops are, and there was a book store called, "Le Bateau Livre," which made me smile. It doesn't even feel dangerous at night, really, but I always get a guy to walk me home anyway.
Not that there have been many instances where I needed to be walked home, thanks to my stupid ankle.
My host parents went to Amsterdam this weekend, and Alexis stayed with a friend, so not only was I unable to go out, I was all alone. I may have gone a little bit stir-crazy. Well, maybe a lot stir-crazy. I am an active person! I get cabin fever. Anyway, I couldn't get a hold of other students either for a long time, as most of them didn't have phones yet. Finally, on saturday, one of my Marchutz friends, Matt, texted me to say he'd gotten a phone, so I bribed him with the copious amounts of food Jade made for me to get him to come over. We watched youtube videos. It was great fun. In spite of his fast metabolism, not even Matt was able to finish the ratatouille and bouef bourguignon that Jade made me. On top of that, they left me multiple ready-made dinners and were appalled when they returned to find that I had not even finished the two dishes Jade made.
"It was a lot of food!" I protested.
"FOUR DAYS!" they replied. They also keep reminding me of good snacking times. They're great. All their food is really healthy, though, so I am not worried about gaining weight. Well, I was never worried about gaining weight, but mom was and I don't think she needs to worry about the food I'm getting at home. If I get fat, it will be because of going to patisseries and boulangeries on my own. On that account, I can make no promises.
Have I mentioned that bread is on a whole other level in this country? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
Haha, this blog is going to end up being all about food. Oh well.
A way of saying hello that I have learned in France: Cou-cou! Really! I love it. It's like we are all little clocks. Cou-cou!
CLASSES. I have them. My French class is extremely slow. We are an advanced class, and yet we are going over conjugating the present tense and are not scheduled to review the subjunctive until December. Hmm. I am going to try to switch into another class.
Archaeology, on the other hand, is freaking awesome. The professor, one Guillaume Durand, is highly animated, French, and hilarious. Sound effects, all the time! I don't know why, but he likes quacking when he collects his thoughts. Also, very questionable hand-drawn maps of Europe. I wish I could record his class to show it to people. It is awesome, entertaining, and educational. You know, the way school is supposed to be.
DEAR EDUCATIONAL ESTABLISHMENTS: YOU DO NOT NEED TO ASSIGN LOTS OF HOMEWORK IN ORDER TO EDUCATE PROPERLY. SEE: MY ARCHAEOLOGY CLASS. LOVE, CARLA.
I mean, we do have homework, but it's reasonable. For the first time in years, my homework load is reasonable!
By far, the most work intensive stuff I have is from Marchutz, which is fine by me. I enjoy working hard at art, and it's nice to get out of the hyper-academic Sarah Lawrence mind-set and get credit for painting naked ladies and mountains. And learn from it! Crazy!
We have been doing lots of figure drawing. Here is my favorite drawing I have made so far, of our ludicrously stunning model, Pauline. Also, a random doodle I made today as a demonstration of an ink-brush pen to another student.
A couple nights ago, I had a bit of a poetry off with Jacob. He had never heard Neruda in Spanish before and he is currently compiling a book of Neruda poems with illustrations, so he had me say some aloud for him while he read the French translations. He liked it so much, he immediately had me do it with Walt Whitman also, but though he loves Whitman (which surprised me, as I think of Whitman as hyper-American), he didn't think the sounds had music in the original language. He then went on to say that he didn't think English poetry had the same music as poetry in Spanish or French. Obviously, I protested. I started using Shakespeare as my defense, but he brushed that aside as theater, and thus irrelevant to the discussion. "I just mean poems. Poems in english don't have the same lyric quality out loud as with other languages, like Spanish or French," he said. I raised an eyebrow at him and recited the first three stanzas of "The Raven."
He conceded that that rather aptly made my point. :)
Then he had me try to translate some of my own poetry into French for him, which made me appreciate how hard it is to translate poetry.
There was a special half-off drinking night for international students that I went to, but I left after not too long. Bars aren't that amazing to begin with, but put that many people in them and they lose all their charm. You can't get a drink, and you can't hear anyone speak! I went elsewhere with a couple friends, and there was a live band with an accordion (my favorite instrument, tied with the glass harmonica http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_harmonica) so I was happy. On the way home, my friends Matt, Francesco, and I stopped and sat in front of this "http://fr.academic.ru/pictures/frwiki/65/Aix-en-Provence_Cathedrale_Saint-Sauveur_1_20061227.jpg cathedral and chatted for a while. There were these funny lights cleverly placed in the ground so that I hadn't noticed them before that night, so everything was very picturesque and interesting looking. Unlike in the photograph, there were no hobos. Anyway, we sat there a while and Matt looked very cool smoking his cigarette in front of all the statues in the doorway and Francesco bounced around on his toes and I sat down under the statue in between the two doors to rest my ankle. It was by far the best part of my evening. Then they walked me home, because they are gentlemen. Also, the two of them are both gay, and black belts in karate, so I may very well have been the safest girl in Aix that night.
To end, more pictures. They are: Jade in the Castle, me being French in my room, me on the couch with Jacob and Alexis, and the amazing sunset we got to watch during dinner yesterday. On an unrelated note, I think some cats just got into a fight outside my window. The noises just ended abruptly, which I find a little ominous.
A bientôt!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
FAIRE ATTENTION
GUH.
So, as some of you may know, I sprained my ankle right before coming to France. Pretty annoying. Well, it was almost better.
Was.
I hurt it again today, meaning it has to start healing all over again. Also, the art studio where most of my art classes happen is a 30 minute walk away. At least a nice French lady helped me home afterward.
I'm pretty annoyed though. The only way the timing could be worse would be if it was also opening night of a dance heavy show in which I played the lead.
So, anyway, I have to be all homebody-like and careful at a time when I want more than ever to be out-and-about and (responsibly, I say, to any parents who may or may not be reading this)impulsive.
My plan: Until I am all the way better, I am going to write on my arms FAIRE ATTENTION(be careful/pay attention) on my arms first thing when I wake up every day.
So: GUH.
In other news:
The day after I arrived my host family took me out into the country to visit some close friends of theirs who just moved into a 12 century castle about a week ago.
That's right. They live in a castle. An approximately 850-900-year-old castle in the French countryside. You know, like ya do. We had lunch.
Being as it is 900-or-so, it definitely needs some work, but I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty awesome. The drive was nice too, about 45 minutes. It was a bit like moving through a 3D Cezanne painting, which is not surprising as this is where he lived and worked. I also saw Picasso's castle from the car.
Anyway, they are a couple of singers named Christophe and Cecile, and they have a little two-year-old named Basil who, like two-year-old all over the world, takes great joy in being contrary. He was extraordinarily adorable(there is something extra cute about a small child speaking French), but I don't have a picture because when I asked him if I could photograph him he said, "Non!" I made the mistake of asking when we weren't really friends yet. He was not into me at first, since he didn't already know me, which obviously meant I was bad news. It took longer with him than it usually does for me with kids, but I eventually won him over by refusing to agree with anything he said. We went back and forth for a while:
Basil: Oui!
Me: Non!
Basil: Oui:
Me: Non!
Basil: Oui!
Me: Non!
Then I pulled a Bugs Bunny on him, which is the only time in my life that has ever worked.
Basil: Non!
Me: Oui!
And then he did it to me and I went along with it and he said, "I win!"
"C'est vrai," I replied, nodding. "You won."
Then he told me I had to leave and I refused. From then on we were biffles.
Here are some pictures of the chateau(castle). The one of the fields I took from a window in the oldest part of the castle.
Christophe is always making wry jokes and Cecile is always smiling, which I love. For the most part, the French don't really smile. They are taught when they are young that you should not smile unless you specifically have a reason too. Maybe I'm just not being understanding of their culture and should have a more open mind, but I think that that is kind of lame. In the states, especially California, we smile a lot, and often at strangers. In France, you are not supposed to even make eye contact with strangers, especially not boys, as they will think you are flirting with them. It is a challenge for me, but I think I am starting to get the hang of it. I bet it will help if I look at the ground to make sure that I don't, I don't know, INJURE myself or something.
Guh.
Here is an average street in Aix.
OH MAN. So. There is this thing, this wonderful, wonderful thing called fromage blanc, which literally means "white cheese." However, it is closer in consistency and flavor to yogurt, such that that's what I thought it was at first. But no. It is to yogurt what Tesla is to Edison. That is to say, far more awesome and tasty.
I like the French custom of having a light breakfast and and early lunch. It feels healthier, and I often don't want something too heavy when I first wake up.
Three other things I recently experienced in French cuisine that I adore: Ratatouille, pain au chocolat, and roquefort. But the fact is, everything I have eaten here is delicious.
This weird thing keeps happening now, when I speak to people in English (most of the IAU students speak very little French) where I don't understand what they are saying because my brain is trying to translate the English into English. Does that make sense? My ears are listening to the English as if it is french, but as it is NOT french my brain goes, "sorry, that is not in our French vocabulary. Nous ne comprenons pas" and then I have no idea what the person just said. It is a very strange feeling.
My favorite new phrase I have learned in French was won through the most extensive game of charades I have had to play so far to make my homestay family understand what I was trying. It was Alexis who figured it out, and very proud of himself he was, too. To have pins and needles=Avoir des fourmis. Literally translated, it is "to have ants."
We had orientation yesterday, which was way too long and way too hot, and today was the first day of class. It's funny, American students keep thinking that I'm French and French people keep thinking that I am Spanish. I think that is a good sign. I have found that I am more fluent in French then I realized, and getting to speak it every day is truly a joy. I am thinking in Spanish more too, in part from having stayed with Mar and Stephan, and in part from the fact that it is closer to French than English is, so that when I am looking for a word I don't know my brain will sometimes go to Spanish first.
So: things from my first day of class: I am no longer worried about being advanced enough for French 300. Also, the Marchutz students all met and, following our fearless leader and teacher John, made the half hour walk to the art studio together, stopping to look at the art supply store and to have a picnic along the way. As I said before, the studio (or, attelier) is about a half-hour walk from the center of Aix (not including our stops) and was quite lovely, though in retrospect may have contributed to my ankle troubles. I am finding that I get along quite swimmingly with my fellow Marchutz folk, and one of them is even a theater person like me. I think I'm the only one who has studies molecular biology though. Alan, the other teacher talked us through what the class would be like, but we all paid attention to the kitten that was walking around the room instead, while John tried to subtly get it to come to him which was, of course, not possible. But the thing that I think made me the happiest was buying school supplies, as I got the MOST BADASS BINDER EVER. It has a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex on it. He is roaring/smiling. I have named him Donatien.
I went out to a bar last night to meet up with some other IAU students. They say that it is really hard to meet young French people, thet they are cold to people they don't know, but I did not find that to be the case at all! It was fun. I am making lots of friends, and we often run into eachother and stop for a bite or drink at a cafe at random. I really love that, and it's part of way the ankle thing is frustrating because it means I can't go out as much right when I want to be getting to know them. Oh well. It'll wait.
Sleep, however, will not. I think that is enough for now. To end, here is a picture of another kitten that I met, on my way home a couple nights ago, who I named Verlaine.
So, as some of you may know, I sprained my ankle right before coming to France. Pretty annoying. Well, it was almost better.
Was.
I hurt it again today, meaning it has to start healing all over again. Also, the art studio where most of my art classes happen is a 30 minute walk away. At least a nice French lady helped me home afterward.
I'm pretty annoyed though. The only way the timing could be worse would be if it was also opening night of a dance heavy show in which I played the lead.
So, anyway, I have to be all homebody-like and careful at a time when I want more than ever to be out-and-about and (responsibly, I say, to any parents who may or may not be reading this)impulsive.
My plan: Until I am all the way better, I am going to write on my arms FAIRE ATTENTION(be careful/pay attention) on my arms first thing when I wake up every day.
So: GUH.
In other news:
The day after I arrived my host family took me out into the country to visit some close friends of theirs who just moved into a 12 century castle about a week ago.
That's right. They live in a castle. An approximately 850-900-year-old castle in the French countryside. You know, like ya do. We had lunch.
Being as it is 900-or-so, it definitely needs some work, but I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty awesome. The drive was nice too, about 45 minutes. It was a bit like moving through a 3D Cezanne painting, which is not surprising as this is where he lived and worked. I also saw Picasso's castle from the car.
Anyway, they are a couple of singers named Christophe and Cecile, and they have a little two-year-old named Basil who, like two-year-old all over the world, takes great joy in being contrary. He was extraordinarily adorable(there is something extra cute about a small child speaking French), but I don't have a picture because when I asked him if I could photograph him he said, "Non!" I made the mistake of asking when we weren't really friends yet. He was not into me at first, since he didn't already know me, which obviously meant I was bad news. It took longer with him than it usually does for me with kids, but I eventually won him over by refusing to agree with anything he said. We went back and forth for a while:
Basil: Oui!
Me: Non!
Basil: Oui:
Me: Non!
Basil: Oui!
Me: Non!
Then I pulled a Bugs Bunny on him, which is the only time in my life that has ever worked.
Basil: Non!
Me: Oui!
And then he did it to me and I went along with it and he said, "I win!"
"C'est vrai," I replied, nodding. "You won."
Then he told me I had to leave and I refused. From then on we were biffles.
Here are some pictures of the chateau(castle). The one of the fields I took from a window in the oldest part of the castle.
Christophe is always making wry jokes and Cecile is always smiling, which I love. For the most part, the French don't really smile. They are taught when they are young that you should not smile unless you specifically have a reason too. Maybe I'm just not being understanding of their culture and should have a more open mind, but I think that that is kind of lame. In the states, especially California, we smile a lot, and often at strangers. In France, you are not supposed to even make eye contact with strangers, especially not boys, as they will think you are flirting with them. It is a challenge for me, but I think I am starting to get the hang of it. I bet it will help if I look at the ground to make sure that I don't, I don't know, INJURE myself or something.
Guh.
Here is an average street in Aix.
OH MAN. So. There is this thing, this wonderful, wonderful thing called fromage blanc, which literally means "white cheese." However, it is closer in consistency and flavor to yogurt, such that that's what I thought it was at first. But no. It is to yogurt what Tesla is to Edison. That is to say, far more awesome and tasty.
I like the French custom of having a light breakfast and and early lunch. It feels healthier, and I often don't want something too heavy when I first wake up.
Three other things I recently experienced in French cuisine that I adore: Ratatouille, pain au chocolat, and roquefort. But the fact is, everything I have eaten here is delicious.
This weird thing keeps happening now, when I speak to people in English (most of the IAU students speak very little French) where I don't understand what they are saying because my brain is trying to translate the English into English. Does that make sense? My ears are listening to the English as if it is french, but as it is NOT french my brain goes, "sorry, that is not in our French vocabulary. Nous ne comprenons pas" and then I have no idea what the person just said. It is a very strange feeling.
My favorite new phrase I have learned in French was won through the most extensive game of charades I have had to play so far to make my homestay family understand what I was trying. It was Alexis who figured it out, and very proud of himself he was, too. To have pins and needles=Avoir des fourmis. Literally translated, it is "to have ants."
We had orientation yesterday, which was way too long and way too hot, and today was the first day of class. It's funny, American students keep thinking that I'm French and French people keep thinking that I am Spanish. I think that is a good sign. I have found that I am more fluent in French then I realized, and getting to speak it every day is truly a joy. I am thinking in Spanish more too, in part from having stayed with Mar and Stephan, and in part from the fact that it is closer to French than English is, so that when I am looking for a word I don't know my brain will sometimes go to Spanish first.
So: things from my first day of class: I am no longer worried about being advanced enough for French 300. Also, the Marchutz students all met and, following our fearless leader and teacher John, made the half hour walk to the art studio together, stopping to look at the art supply store and to have a picnic along the way. As I said before, the studio (or, attelier) is about a half-hour walk from the center of Aix (not including our stops) and was quite lovely, though in retrospect may have contributed to my ankle troubles. I am finding that I get along quite swimmingly with my fellow Marchutz folk, and one of them is even a theater person like me. I think I'm the only one who has studies molecular biology though. Alan, the other teacher talked us through what the class would be like, but we all paid attention to the kitten that was walking around the room instead, while John tried to subtly get it to come to him which was, of course, not possible. But the thing that I think made me the happiest was buying school supplies, as I got the MOST BADASS BINDER EVER. It has a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex on it. He is roaring/smiling. I have named him Donatien.
I went out to a bar last night to meet up with some other IAU students. They say that it is really hard to meet young French people, thet they are cold to people they don't know, but I did not find that to be the case at all! It was fun. I am making lots of friends, and we often run into eachother and stop for a bite or drink at a cafe at random. I really love that, and it's part of way the ankle thing is frustrating because it means I can't go out as much right when I want to be getting to know them. Oh well. It'll wait.
Sleep, however, will not. I think that is enough for now. To end, here is a picture of another kitten that I met, on my way home a couple nights ago, who I named Verlaine.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Heading down South
Today was amazing. I started by flying with Pablo during his lesson and I got to see the Chateaux de Versailles from the sky, which was pretty awesome. I got a little sick from it, which is unusual for me, but Pablo says it happens to people a lot when they have a bumpy ride in a small plane like that one, which we did since he was practicing landings. Here are a couples pictures of the Chateaux de Versailles from the sky.
Then we had lunch with the family, they took me to the airport, and I said goodbye to everyone and it was sad and scary. We were there at a reasonable hour, but the line was so long, I probably would not have made my flight were it not for Mar pulling strings on my behalf.
I talked to an elderly woman on the plane named Rosa who was very nice, very french, and very charmed by me. I wasn't making an effort to be charming, but I think speaking to someone in a decent but somewhat broken version of their language makes you automatically endearing.
I thought the school was going to pick me up, and I was grumbling to myself about my many things I had to carry (mainly my coat, which was annoying in the heat) and what would you know but when I stepped out into the baggage claim area the first people in front of me were a middle aged man and a young lad holding a sign that said Carla Lerner! My homestay family had come to fetch me themselves! I informed them that I was Carla Lerner and they immediately hugged and kissed me, took my bags before I could protest, and told me that their names were Jacob and Alexis (pronounced Alex-y. All this happened in French) Jacob is a short and slightly portly man with three large Einstein-esque tufts of orange hair and a permanent smile when he is not talking (but more often he is talking.) If French clowns were generally likable, they would look like Jacob. I adored him immediately. Alexis is already taller than his father, with much darker features. He is eleven, and has a bit of the round faced pudginess that many boys have at that age, but he has a sweet smile and I think will grow up to be quite handsome once he passes through the ordeal of puberty.
God, I'm glad I'm not in puberty anymore.
They insisted that I speak to them in the casual “tu” instead of the formal “vous” since “we are family now!” and I was only too happy to oblige.
I was blazing outside, and I felt like I was back in California. The quality of light is a bit similar too. They drove me home and we soon discovered that we love all of the same things. When we arrived in Aix (it was about a twenty minute drive) I think my eyes must has looked like soup plates. I was stunned by how beautiful it was. None of the pictures I saw do it justice. It is the way I always imagined and hoped Europe would be from movies and books growing up, and better even. There were wonderful winding, cobbled roads with beautiful, ornatete old building, and FOUNTAINS EVERYWHERE. And what's more, YOU CAN DRINK FROM THEM!
I CAN DRINK WATER FROM A MERMAID! ...Well, a mermaid statue.
Here are a couple fountain pictures, and other Aix stuff.
Today was the last day of a yearly festival of music in the streets. There was a classical music concert going on in the village square, and they had chops, especially the oboe player. YOUNG FOLK WERE IN ATTENDANCE. It was crazy.
As we drove through the town, I asked Jacob if it was just him, Alexis, and his wife. His face lit up. “Yes!” He said. “She is Vietnamese, and very young and beautiful. I first saw her here in Aix, a little Vietnamese woman, completely lovely. It is a good thing. I am not handsome, but my son is!” He turned to grin at Alexis who grinned back.
“You are very lucky,” I said.”
He smiled. “I am not handsome, but I am smart. I knew what I wanted and I went for it.”
He did not lie about his wife's beauty. We arrived at their address and out stepped a stunning Vietnamese woman with her hair pulled softly back, wearing a teal dress and a small smile. Her name is Jade. She hugged and kissed me right away like her menfolk, then the boys grabbed my smaller (but still heavy) pieces of luggage, and went upstairs. I was a bit surprised, and then Jade started to help me with by big suitcase and I understood that the had acted as they did because Jade's strength is akin to that of PopEye. I mean, dayum. Anyway, we only had to carry it up one story luckily, and then I started to settle into my room, which is well lit and lovely, and had a giant antique wardrobe. It's perfect. They are perfect. I have so much more to write, but I need to sleep because we are going to a museum tomorrow morning. Bon nuit!
-Carla
Then we had lunch with the family, they took me to the airport, and I said goodbye to everyone and it was sad and scary. We were there at a reasonable hour, but the line was so long, I probably would not have made my flight were it not for Mar pulling strings on my behalf.
I talked to an elderly woman on the plane named Rosa who was very nice, very french, and very charmed by me. I wasn't making an effort to be charming, but I think speaking to someone in a decent but somewhat broken version of their language makes you automatically endearing.
I thought the school was going to pick me up, and I was grumbling to myself about my many things I had to carry (mainly my coat, which was annoying in the heat) and what would you know but when I stepped out into the baggage claim area the first people in front of me were a middle aged man and a young lad holding a sign that said Carla Lerner! My homestay family had come to fetch me themselves! I informed them that I was Carla Lerner and they immediately hugged and kissed me, took my bags before I could protest, and told me that their names were Jacob and Alexis (pronounced Alex-y. All this happened in French) Jacob is a short and slightly portly man with three large Einstein-esque tufts of orange hair and a permanent smile when he is not talking (but more often he is talking.) If French clowns were generally likable, they would look like Jacob. I adored him immediately. Alexis is already taller than his father, with much darker features. He is eleven, and has a bit of the round faced pudginess that many boys have at that age, but he has a sweet smile and I think will grow up to be quite handsome once he passes through the ordeal of puberty.
God, I'm glad I'm not in puberty anymore.
They insisted that I speak to them in the casual “tu” instead of the formal “vous” since “we are family now!” and I was only too happy to oblige.
I was blazing outside, and I felt like I was back in California. The quality of light is a bit similar too. They drove me home and we soon discovered that we love all of the same things. When we arrived in Aix (it was about a twenty minute drive) I think my eyes must has looked like soup plates. I was stunned by how beautiful it was. None of the pictures I saw do it justice. It is the way I always imagined and hoped Europe would be from movies and books growing up, and better even. There were wonderful winding, cobbled roads with beautiful, ornatete old building, and FOUNTAINS EVERYWHERE. And what's more, YOU CAN DRINK FROM THEM!
I CAN DRINK WATER FROM A MERMAID! ...Well, a mermaid statue.
Here are a couple fountain pictures, and other Aix stuff.
Today was the last day of a yearly festival of music in the streets. There was a classical music concert going on in the village square, and they had chops, especially the oboe player. YOUNG FOLK WERE IN ATTENDANCE. It was crazy.
As we drove through the town, I asked Jacob if it was just him, Alexis, and his wife. His face lit up. “Yes!” He said. “She is Vietnamese, and very young and beautiful. I first saw her here in Aix, a little Vietnamese woman, completely lovely. It is a good thing. I am not handsome, but my son is!” He turned to grin at Alexis who grinned back.
“You are very lucky,” I said.”
He smiled. “I am not handsome, but I am smart. I knew what I wanted and I went for it.”
He did not lie about his wife's beauty. We arrived at their address and out stepped a stunning Vietnamese woman with her hair pulled softly back, wearing a teal dress and a small smile. Her name is Jade. She hugged and kissed me right away like her menfolk, then the boys grabbed my smaller (but still heavy) pieces of luggage, and went upstairs. I was a bit surprised, and then Jade started to help me with by big suitcase and I understood that the had acted as they did because Jade's strength is akin to that of PopEye. I mean, dayum. Anyway, we only had to carry it up one story luckily, and then I started to settle into my room, which is well lit and lovely, and had a giant antique wardrobe. It's perfect. They are perfect. I have so much more to write, but I need to sleep because we are going to a museum tomorrow morning. Bon nuit!
-Carla
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