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| It’s just the light that’s stopped me here. “Just” the light! 😉 |
I’m still mulling a bit here, sorting out what it was I’d hoped to get from this trip, trying to balance that with whatever Paul might have wanted, and I think we’ve established a comfortable rhythm that works for both of us. Two months away is a big commitment, and I see more clearly that I have been wanting a kind of Creative Retreat, a pace and a place that would leave more room for my writing and sketching without having to squeeze those activities in against/despite fatigue arising from other concerns or responsibilities, whether those are perceived or actual obligations.
And because I hadn’t articulated that solidly enough to myself, I was still carrying expectations that I’d take more advantage of being here — to travel further (day trips or long weekend jaunts) or to do more of what’s on offer here, even if it’s not necessarily the kind of activity I’d do at home (visiting the Cité du Vin, for example) — or the kind that I would, but perhaps not too often (museums, art galleries, concerts). At the same time, somehow I thought I’d be doing much more writing and sketching than at home.
I know for some of you this kind of over-thinking is, well, just Over. But for me it really helps to have framed my discomfort this way. I was struggling against frustration (even guilt) that I wasn’t writing as much as I’d hoped. I was happy with the little pen-and-ink sketches I was adding to my tiny sketchbook, but beating myself up (gently, but still) that I hadn’t found my way back to the watercolours in my larger sketchbook.
Even the blog-writing was falling short of my standards because I found it turning too much to the reportorial (I did this, and then I did that; we saw x and also y). Which became even less satisfying here in Bordeaux because so much of it I’ve shown you before, over the last eight years. . . .
At the beginning of the week, thinking I’d figured out my conflict, I got up and out fairly early, taking my sketchbook with me, and I wandered through the little streets of the Quartier Notre Dame. I had a plan to try drawing a scene that involved perspective, finally moving forward with the lessons from an on-line course I’d taken months and months ago, and then not found time to practice.
Along the way, I took photos, which I’ve put together here with several other snaps I’ve stopped to take lately, and I’m seeing something, as I look at them collectively, about what is important to me, about what it is I’m needing to make time for. . .
It’s generally Small stuff, Quiet stuff, Slow stuff… Moments, Details, Tones, Light. . .
Turning a corner and seeing these colours, that sky, the arc of her back to lean shoulders against post, her marigold shoes against the wet sidewalk. . .
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| Focusing the lens on the rose lends it the texture I love, but washes out the dogwood flowers. |
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| The dogwood’s blooms are clearer here, but I don’t love the rose as much. Focus and depth-of-field lessons that apply to life as well as to photography, right? |
Meanwhile, as I glancingly referred to here, I had a little meltdown in my perspective-sketching efforts, and I actually ripped a page out of my sketchbook. Generally against my rules, as I believe there’s value in all the efforts, for a variety of reasons — if only to measure progress later. I think I needed that little snit, though. It reminded me that I actually haven’t practiced enough to expect success with sketching perspective — and also, that there are other ways to define success. Getting out the watercolours and the bigger book was a successful first step, by that measure, and I’ve taken a few others since which I will tell you about soon. I’m really happy with something new I tried, which you can see here.. .
Tomorrow, though, Slow Travel will speed up just a bit as we take a little jaunt to. . . But no, you’ll have to watch this space (or my Instagram) to find that out. . .
Au Revoir. . .
and Ciao!
There are so many different activities to try and places to go (or stay). As I get older, I get greedier for experiences but I am essentially a slow travel person. Your sketches and watercolours capture your life experiences (in my humble opinion) in a more personal way than photography ever could. Blogging often seems to be a "what I did"
and some days (weeks) I am less enthusiastic about writing or reading blogs. I've been trying to use Instagram a bit more to keep in touch with the blog world without writing
an account of my daily routine. Travelling for 2 months with a partner must be a challenge. I need a lot of alone time for reading, writing and over-thinking. I cleared off the table yesterday and organized the water colours but I got side-tracked with shredding. Away from home, I would not have the distraction. I wonder if you are on your way to Italy soon.
This is a thoughtful comment, Mme., and it sounds as if we share smoe travel values. Like you, I need considerable alone time to process and possibly produce, and here we are together for two months at (mostly) my instigation. So. . . we're working it out as we go, and luckily he's a very independent guy.
It often happens to me that I take too much (reading, writing, knitting) material on a trip in the hopes that there might be more time for creativity than at home. In general, it does not work. There may not be the distractions of daily routine, but there are the delightful distractions of seeing and learning new things.
I just found out that I cannot take my knitting needles on the plane. So, as soon as I get to Lecce, I will have to buy some ferri da calza, thinking of your example ;).
I always take "too much" material — even though I'm only taking a carry-on and for two months! But it works very well for me, in fact, to have this along when the travel is for this long — it's part of what lets me settle into a place as well as to integrate my experience there and bring it back home. I'm really surprised you won't be able to bring your knitting needles with you — I've only once had mine questioned and it was by someone in Security who had no idea what the needles were, even though they had a sock-in-progress dangling from them (his colleagues instructed him very quickly — considerable amusement all around). I'll be bringing mine with me today and will be knitting through the flight, as usual. (if you're worried, you could use wooden needles which wouldn't even register at screening — but that's not necessary, in my experience)
I looked up the security guidelines of the airline, and it states very clearly "no knitting neddles". My SIL who travels this route regularly, confirmed this. I'll just have to read on the flight.
That's so strange. Ah well, it's not an especially long flight and reading also passes the time well.
Well – from my perspective, this vacay looks utterly creative inasmuch as restorative time gives your brain the space to leap forward (when the moment is right). Part of why I love to go to Baie St Paul is because all I do is sit, knit, walk and eat. If I were somewhere as dynamic as France, I'm pretty sure I'd be enjoying myself at the expense of all of the regular creative pursuits. Like, eating pastry is an artform, right?
Yes, that's a valid perspective and I know that the travel and the break from routine nurtures creativity. My problem is that I'm away for two months, which is a long time to suspend several ongoing projects — and also that I keep sabotaging my Me Time when I'm at home, surrendering it in so many ways, and so I'm really conscious of making space/time for it. . . Hence my perhaps naive hope/expectation that this would be some sort of Travel Retreat. . . Still working on the concept, might be getting closer. . . .
I love these images. Being suddenly struck by something and stopping to look is wonderful, I do it all the time now. Sure it is an age thing and that is fine. I had lunch on Saturday with some of my oldest friends and the conversation was a mix of catch-up (children, partners, jobs, grandchildren) and later it had morphed into all kinds of branches – aims, dreams, plans – and chat about next stages. It was lovely. I think as long as you keep looking and thinking and taking the photos then the sketching will flow along with it. Plus we all like looking at them. There is no right way as I am constantly discovering.
You appear very lucky in the proximity of your friendships — that conversation sounds like one I could have experienced regularly during several stages of my life, but which is a rare experience these days.
And sadly, I must say, the sketching (and the writing) doesn't seem to "flow" unless one makes time and space for it. And one must be vigilant and resolute for that to happen. At least if one has as close and large and multi-generational a family as I do. . .
As long as you aren't sitting on a sofa watching American TV shows, then it's all good. (Even watching French TV can be a learning experience, though not one worth spending a ton of time on.) It's true that when one is away from home, one is also away from real and self-imposed obligations and free to be creative. It's why some writers rent places to do their work. But unless you are on deadline to produce X number of watercolors or sketches, then you have the freedom to be creative in other, non-measurable ways. Just walking around a new place is stimulating, and you will pick up a lot of ideas, work things out in your head and also improve your French just by osmosis and observation.
We've been watching French Netflix in the evening — doesn't seem to be Cable TV in the flat at the moment.
Re time/creativity, my response to K. Line above applies here as well. . .
The contrasting focus photos of the rose and the dogwood certainly does illuminate your frustration. One thing may capture your attention, but it is often at the expense of something else that might equally satisfy you. Trying to find the point at which both (or several) come clearly into focus often seems just out of reach.
Ah, that's a nice analogy, Mary — thank you!
I love this post Frances. For the thinking and the perspective. And those wonderful doors. I've been kind of dreaming of taking a trip alone. Just to be totally on my own. Since I've retired I keep thinking I'm turning into an introvert when I always thought of myself as extrovert.
I know the feeling — I've come to terms with being a social introvert. I put a lot of energy throughout my life in seeing myself more like my dad (a real extrovert) and wanting to be different than my mom (both shy and an introvert). I can be very comfortable around people, but it drains me and then I need to be on my own to recharge. . .
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
This puzzles me, because I think I'm the only "blog administrator" and I didn't remove Carol's comment. . . . Not sure what's going on here, and sorry to Carol.
Do you think when we were young(ger) we travelled with fewer expectations, but probably got more out of the experience? That's my feeling, whereas now we have a lifetime of 'shoulds' and measuring ourselves against our own standards that have become cemented in so many areas of our life?
When I read your post the first time I thought "goodness me, why is Frances beating herself up for not doing those particular things – it seems as if she's managing to cram so much into this stay". But as soon as I substituted my own list of goals for a similar trip (read more French, be able to say in French everything I've said during the day in English, keep up regular exercise, take more wine workshops…) I could see exactly what you mean. I regret that I didn't keep the diaries from my year living in France, when I did a huge amount and yet reflected on it way beyond the repertorial.
I'm sure there was a difference to travel when we were younger — honestly, I didn't get to do a lot of it, and I had a fair number of expectations. And right now, I'm not concerned about "shoulds" but feeling some "musts" (The difference between those, for me in this context, comes from Ella Luna's book — Shoulds are socially imposed; Musts come from one's "authentic self," the things we feel driven to do by our deepest wants, even instincts. I really feel I Must do this writing and, to a lesser extent, the sketching.
Yes, I see that you do the same thing, really — I mean, nobody's making you perfect your French, which already seems excellent to me. Nor take on a second career. Nor. etc. etc.
I think I'd also argue with my younger self having got more out of the travel experience — in some ways, sure, but I bring so much more to the game now to compensate for some freshness and energy I've surely lost
The biggest difference, I think, is my awareness that time left is limited. Hence a strangely overlapping ability to focus in the moment, knowing it will never come again. . . but also the urgency to get things done.
Hmmm — see how you've made me think 😉