Impressions Of Arles
We tore through Arles like the mistral, wildly whipping our way through the most beautiful streets you could imagine. Each row of little houses looked like a shaken up box of pastel cray pas, like the ones my mama and I used to draw with in the mornings at our makeshift café kitchen table. As we walked it was impossible not to be pulled in by every petit street lined with a hundred window shutters in a rainbow of mismatched, muted colors. We tip-toed through roman ruins left behind by Caesar’s Arles-friendly armies. We touched the trees that framed Van Gogh’s paintings of Le Café Le Soir and Le Jardin De La Maison De Santé, the real life versions frozen in time by his brush and his eye. We were led by our noses, like Pepé Le Pew, by bushes of purple jasmine so fragrant that they steered us clean across the town square.
The whole city glowed as if from the inside, with a warm yet fresh, gently golden light, like angels put a soften-filter on the heavens. Step by step, a revelation. Every next moment a changing painting. And just like our beloved French Impressionists, we had just enough time to make a creative sketch of the city. Broad bold vibrantly-hued strokes of breathtaking beauty painted with lens shutters and rushed guitar strum flutters. Even the animals of the city were singing of its beauty, the coo of French pigeons – sat, fat, on rooftops and windowsills – carried through the air like perfectly rolled r’s, if if saying “Bonsoir, Arles".
*Photo By Vivienne!