Art is Not A Luxury

Art is a space that we create in order to experience something that wouldn't otherwise exist. Something that some part of us needs as much as we need air. From the beginning of recorded history, we've created myths and stories, made stones into more than stone, ground insects into powdered pigment to paint onto skin or cave walls, later onto eyelids and canvas. We call medicine the healing arts, when, in fact, art itself is medicine, it heals spirit, soul and body.

When I was in the Czech Republic seven years ago, leaving the soul-sick alien pod that was once my child to be fixed when I could no longer help her, I was so devastated and bereft, I had to literally will myself to breathe. It wasn't therapy or meds that healed me. Art did.

I stood before paintings and sculptures in Brno's baroque churches and museums and even as I was crying, rapt. My eyes tasted folds of purple satin like crushed grapes; they swept along the curves of a Madonna's neck, as the artists hands must have hundreds of years ago; they allowed me to feel the cool of a cherub's pinkened cheek, cooling my own flushed, salty cheeks. What doctor or therapist could explore or connect with an aching heart the way these yearning bronze arms could?Art knitted me up.

I think that's what's always drawn me to France, where beauty reigns supreme. Even in slums, the doors are painted in pastel marzipan colors. Official buildings are decked with flowers. Art exhibits are held in magnificent ancient spaces even in the smallest villages.  
Mere fire hydrants won't do for French dogs; they have their own little landscaped, fenced in 'pooh parks.'
Even a pony's mane gets a fancy 'do and an herb garden is as carefully crafted as a Monet canvas.

So far, erything I bought is edible and I suspect when I get home I'm going to wish I bought more durable souvenirs.  Those silver-blue linen napkins, that faience tile or that beautiful dinosaur egg, things of beauty that will last and bring back memories. If for no other reason than they weigh less. Though the lavender liquor DOES look pretty fab, like lilac colored milk. And there is something to be said for creating a beautiful experience, like liquid summertime slipping down your throat on a hot day.

Not sure why Americans haven't embraced such liquors. The red one is raspberry/ginger liquor, to be added to champagne (it's much better than a Kir Royale, which is made by adding Cassis) or, like the lavender liquor, drunk with a bit of crushed ice on its own. The Syrop de Violette is added to champagne as well - it makes a delicately sweet, perfumed, fizzy treat. Soraya, the lovely woman pictured who makes these artisanal liquors, told me it's even better in glass of full-bodied, fruity red wine. Huh? Mais oui! she said, such red wine already has a touch of violet flavor, it brings it out. Why not? I thought. Well, dear readers, it made a good glass of Cabernet formidable, as Soraya put it.

Isn't her shop beautiful? It's Le Comptoir de Mathilde, in St Remy de Provence, the hip, enchanting little town where Van Gogh duked it out with Gaugin. It was tough choosing what to buy at first. She had lychee, pear, cherry, mint, chocolate, mango, etc. It quickly became a lot easier because she made me taste everything  (and those liquors are pretty strong.)  I hate to end my posts with apologies, but I am really sorry this has probably taken forever to load - Monsieur P told me not to photograph with too large a file. That'll be fixed. It's also taking me a while to figure out how to place photos and text. The way typepad has it set up, it's all trial and error, you only know where it's going to show up after you insert anything, which takes a looong time.

Comments

[Jade]

Is it bad that I totally fixated on how yummy those liquers sounded????

[DONNA]

I agree ART is healing. Making it, observing it, being part of creation. I love your photos and following your journey.