Over the years, I have enjoyed the privilege of exploring some of the less traveled roads in
France
. To the people there who have honored me, and welcomed me into their homes, and who have become my friends, this exhibition is dedicated to you.
A French Connection ~ A celebration of place through the eyes of an artist
It was entirely by accident that I fell in love with the landscape of
France
. I had been teaching landscape painting for many years at the small but prestigious Woodstock School of Art when the opportunity to also teach foreign workshops presented itself. Pour quoi pas? And that was the serendipitous beginning. My acceptance hinged on a single requirement: that the focus of my teaching would be on “natural landscape components.” Based upon my own early life, this was the area where I had the most to offer. Ultimately it meant that my painting groups would not be traveling to the familiar destination cities noted oh most maps, but instead, to tiny villages and the narrow dirt pathways outside of them that led to pastures, wildflower meadows and graceful stands of trees.., the timeless and yet timely common elements. This was the stunning French countryside that imprinted itself seamlessly onto my personal inner landscape. Soon my time in
France
was always shorter than I wished. I began to paint the hauntingly magical morning mists in Normandy where I whispered an early “bon jour” to inquisitive cows perfectly posed in blossoming apple orchards, I vividly recall viewing Etretat from nearby cliffs in solitude and wonder as my eyes searched for the barely discernable soft edge of sea meeting sky. I painted in Monet’s garden when no one else was there. After a time, I adjusted my palette to paint the rows of grapevines that poured over the chalky soil of undulating hills and valleys. I was enchanted by the ancient villages that were perched on towering rock cliffs above winding rivers that mirrored the shimmering poplars lining their banks, One of those, precious with its less than a dozen mostly vacant stone houses, all with hollyhocks still blooming profusely at each doorway. echoes to this day an indescribable peace and tearfully poignant silence, Gradually, the stunning narrow cypress trees and poplars became my compositional verticals, counter-balanced by horizontal swathes of wild flowers or grain fields and diagonal rock outcroppings. The gnarled, mature olive trees challenged me to carefully study their low-chroma color. Summers brought the blush of perfect apricots and cherries in the orchards, and in autumn the sweet scent of ripened grapes added yet another dimension. Alone but for the humming bees, I took my easel into the Provencal lavender fields that rolled out to beckoning blue horizons. Nearer the sea, tall grasses and gentle winds created their own raspy songs and sometimes I would catch a glimpse of wild horses. Throughout all of the places in
France
where I continue to touch my brush to canvas, my heart embraces the poetry of the land and my soul whispers “I still hear the soft music of these almost silent places”. I am blessed beyond words. So, I return again and again sometimes more than only yearly. I know that visitors can never be truly French; however in some small way I yearn to be, as a book by Sarah Turnbull is titled, Almost French.
