View from the top of Mt. Ventoux
As I set out with my easel and paints to France, I was thinking about the poem William Cullen Bryant wrote for Thomas Cole on his departure to Rome in 1831:
To an American Painter Departing for Europe
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies:
Yet, Cole! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand
A living image of thy native land,
Such as on thy own glorious canvass lies.
Lone lakes--savannahs where the bison roves--
Rocks rich with summer garlands--solemn streams--
Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams--
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest--fair,
But different--every where the trace of men,
Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen
To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air.
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
I had this poem in mind not because I believed America to be the land of such pristine wilderness nor was I guarding myself against the beauty of Europe, but because I was wondering what was going to be the key element that would transport me to that magical state, a visitation by the muse.
Here in the valley of the Hudson River, my studio is the forest. Although it is far from the much less traveled time of the Hudson River School painters and transcendentalists, the over-all image of the forests and mountains is quite well preserved. There are plenty of nooks that bestow upon you the exquisite solitude--a solitude so stark you dissolve into the whispering wind.
I knew it was not going to be the solitude I would find in Europe. I suspected it would have something to do with history.
The first couple of days I walked and walked in search of a space that spoke to me. I visited all the places I had fond memories of from 20 years ago--the ruin of Chateau de Marquis de Sade, the wind-swept plateau, the oak grove, the abandoned stone quarry--but none of these places seemed to be breathing. The charming cobble stone-lined village and the chateau, as I mentioned before, were bought out by an American school and Pierre Cardin, and looked lifeless. It was like being in a post card, not a real lived-in quarter.
Chene Blanc (White Oak)
Oak grove and other protected areas, too, looked strangely out of sorts. These are the magnificent Chene vert and Chene blanc, the compact, uncompromising trees with contorted and spreading branches. Their forms were still dignified, but they didn't seem to have solid contact with the earth and surroundings. I gathered it was because of the unusually hot summer they had the year before.
Stressed by the immediate and long term affect of civilization, this area seemed tired and jaded, on the surface.
But during the second week, I had a fortune to meet a few people who really love the region, as I love the Hudson Valley, and they showed me their beloved land through their eyes. That turned everything around.
Patrick, Mme. Salva's son-in-law, was one of them. He took me from the bottom of a gorge to top of Mt. Ventoux, with every geographical feature in between. I was very surprised that the region known mainly for historical villages and bucolic farms had so many striking geological variations.
But it was not those highlights that struck me the most. What I will recall with the fondest memories are the quiet moments of repose--frequent stops at outdoor cafes, a drink at a village water source, and walks along an ancient aqueduct at dusk or through the village at night. These quaint activities, so integrated in everyday life and repeated for hundreds of years in Europe and other old civilizations, are so lacking in the U.S. of A. There are no natural gathering places in American towns, and Americans don't have the custom of hanging out, like the English at pubs. Does this affect the way we conduct ourselves?
In the end I concluded I would be better off bringing a video camera and a laptop (for real time blogging), leaving my painting equipment behind next time. I am not a painter of civilization.
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I have started a new category, Driveby 2001, where I am posting 100 paintings I made 3 years ago for a museum show. Check it out when you have time.
12:34:45 PM 
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