Roses and more roses

If you would like to learn to paint in watercolours or perhaps improve your skills why not come on one of my trips. Come and Paint Provence with Me

Every day this week I have been painting roses it is part of an excerise I set my self to stop myself thinking about world politics. I now know what I want to do to make a large painting of roses and I am very excited, I hope it will look as lovely on paper as it does in my mind. Who knows.

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I thought I might carry on with my life in St Agnes.  We were only 80 inhabitants. To start with it it was only the young ones that welcomed me in. Jean-Claude has a creperie, I believe he is still there expressing his views on film, theatre, literature and politcs. If I was in need of a lively discussion, a delicious hot chocolate and grotto cafe set deep into the mountain. Hot delicious spicy conversation was the main item on the menu. Freddo the lamp, stained glass windows and beautiful objects make, generally made an appearance in the afternoon. We would sit and discuss life and if the weather was kind we would sit outside on the ancient cobbled street and chat to passers by or to the waiters at the Restaurant opposite.

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A very small village of very few houses and many Restaurants and very few shops. One beautiful church, a boule court and rather strangely the end of the Maginot Line built in the last war, 25 kilometres of tunnel running through the mountains. It is open to the public and an interesting visit. I was happy to know that it was never used.

On a Sunday morning at 6 am the smell of ravioli, tomato sauce, pissalidiere, lapins aux herbes intermingled with the sweet smell of a tarte aux myrtilles or whatever other fruit might be in season. St Agnes is still surrounded by slowly dissapearing terraces that before the advent of large supermakets used to be filled with fruit trees of all kinds. Apples, pears, peaches, apricots, cherries and of course the famous almond trees that spread over the beautiful south made so famous by Van Gogh when he was in Arles.

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During the week days the village was so quiet, I wrote, I painted, I visited Jean-Claude and we went walking and at the Weekend or Le Weekend the village filled to the brim with cars full of people and coaches full of people. Sunday was a good time to hide, but I never knew if I would be joined by a stranger in my garden or if someone would walk into my home because it was part of this ancient village and therefore the right of the tourist to take a peak should she/he want.  I want to tell you about the people but not tonight! In a few days I need to look for some more photo’s to show you as well.

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