Hérisson

Cycling back from Aqua Gym on Saturday morning, we came across this little critter in a small grassy lane. For years a hedgehog came into my garden in the evenings to rummage through my compost, but I have seen very few of them of late. Also saw a badger recently, only my second sighting in almost twenty years.

A scene of cool repose on a hot summer day

Summer in the Lot is in full swing. On Sunday I attended two vide greniers, literally translated as empty attics, meaning garage sales in the US and car boot sales in the UK. Also went to an annual arts festival in Lentouille- Lentillac that follows the twists and turns of a river valley. The theme this year was wood, and there were old steam tractors and cart horses dragging around logs of wood, people shaping bowls on lathes, treemen swinging about on ropes like Tarzan, trimming dead branches from trees, and lots of art work. This however was the most striking image of the day that had everyone transfixed.

Exhibition snaps from the opening

Chateaux tour- the southwest Lot

I joined the group at Labastide-Murat. The intrepid sculptor and achitectural connoisseur Jacques de Verdal and his wife Paule organise annual explorations of the area for a few lucky invited guests. First stop: a fortified fifteenth century castle.

Then we moved on to a chartreuse, an old convent, this one inhabited by an elegant patron of the arts. We munched on coffee and brownies while Jacques and our hostess ironed out details of a commission.

Next stop, was this sliver of building, an old fortified entrance to a no longer existing grand country castle.

Lunch at a recently replanted vineyard: our host proudly introduced us to a fine example of a recent year's harvest.

The afternoon sun blazed down as we bushwhacked through a shady forest to discover an abandoned citadel. Then a visit to Bonaguil, the best preserved midieval castle in Europe. Finally after an evening of wining, dining and song, I stumbled home at 2:30 am.

Ballad à Bordeaux

Author/friend Karen Williams was here last week with her doctor husband in tow. They lived in Malawi and Haiti for many years and I have illustrated four of Karen's books. In my 20 years in the Lot, I had yet to visit Bordeaux and reckoned it was about time, so after lunch with a friend in Sarlat, we headed west via Bergerac. Big mistake: it's a rotten road, non stop feux rouges and ronds points and ugly to boot. After three hours en route, we decided to forego Bordeaux for St Emilion where we found a delightful chateau vineyard for the night, the Chateau de Roques. Not only was there a pool but bicycles at our disposal, just what we needed to soothe our cranky nerves. De-stressed and refreshed, we decided to splurge on drinks on the terrace and dinner. The next morning we breakfasted early in St Emilion itself before the tourist buses could arrive and disgorge their noisy contents, and fortified, headed to Bordeaux. After lunch in a shady square, we rented bicycles to get to know the town. It was the first hot day of summer and the quai along the river was fabulous. Everyone was out splashing in the mirror fountains that alternated unpredictably between fine misty spray and undulating gentle waves. The plaque under the magnificent copper fountains said that the statues had been dismantled during the war to be smelted down for ammunition, but miraculously all the parts were discovered hidden in Agen and the fountain was returned and reassembled on the waterfront.

Barter

One of the things that made our exhibition opening a success on Friday evening was the music. Les Fausses Celtics came to play for us in exchange for the portrait I did of the wife of one of the musicians. Barter is making a profitable and amusing comeback in this economy.

La France Profonde

Thought I had better take a photograph of my verdant vegetable patch, just in case. Sometimes people ask me whether I ever get bored living in the countryside after spending all my life in big cities. Well, one of the things that keeps life "interesting" around here is my neighbour, recently retired Eugene. He doesn't have much to do these days, and he needs lots of attention. Sometimes he is nice, sometimes he is not so nice. Like now. He wants money for the use of the garden, and quite a lot of money. I told him he could help himself to the produce, which is keeping him quiet for the moment. But he is already making noises about spraying the whole plot with sulfuric acid, and unfortunately he is capable of this kind of behaviour.

A circle of ashes, by the way, is very good at preventing snails and slugs from attacking the garden. It's less effective against the Eugenes of the world. Thabo is doing his best to protect the plot.

The Rocamadour Cheese Fair

Some images of the Cheese Fete on Sunday. Samples of cheese, wine, preserves and bread were handed out in generous portions to entice you to open your purses and spend those euros. If at the end of the morning you still needed a meal, grilled lamb was served up with lashings of aligot, a very filling traditional dish of mashed potatoes mixed with grated cheese, garlic, butter and cream. To combat indigestion, music livened the crowd who kicked off their shoes to whirl to the gypsy music.

The Show

We were graced with a sunny, balmy evening for the opening of L'Esprit de Corps last night. Unfortunately my camera batteries died just as people started pouring into the gallery so I don't have photos of Elisabeth, looking very elegant as she delivered her discourse on le nu, of the crowds devouring the platters of savoury and sweet goodies and chilled wine on the lawn, the celtic musicians strumming out their lively jigs, and the jugs of wild flowers and roses brought by friends. It was a fabulous evening and the group was thrilled. This was the first time most of them had ever put any work on display.

Here is a review in the local French paper, La Depeche.

And here are some photos taken by Daniel Wattier, our mayor and fellow artist, the next day when things were a bit calmer.

La recolte

I have been eating freshly harvested lettuces for a week now, and my courgettes are shooting out their first little sausage shaped squashes with large yellow flowers on the ends, but this morning I picked my first radishes and something about their firm plump red shapes as they came out of the brown earth was especially rewarding.
A few days of heat after lots of rain has made the garden explode in colour. The irises and wild daisies are battling it out on the top of a rocky wall behind the barn.
The Saints de Glaces came and went without the dreaded frost, and I am the only one in the village with bright yellow flowers on my tomato plants! Naive city slicker lucks out.

Find the cat

Qualité and I looked after the fabulous shop Jour de Fête in Rocamadour this afternoon. Can you find her among the exotic goodies? Several people wanted to buy her but she was not to be had.

A plug for my buddies...

War Horse has moved from the National Theatre to the West End in London. It's a fabulous show- see for yourself:

Exhibition poster

This is what I have finally come up with for our exhibition poster. If you are in the 'hood, please stop by.

Better yet, come to the opening on Friday the 29th at 7pm for a glass of wine and some pasta and salad.

Watching paint dry?

Every morning before I even splash water on my face or gulp down eye-opening coffee, I run outside in my nightie to check on my vegetable patch. This is what I have so far:

1. a row of freesias
2. leeks
3. cauliflower
4. radishes
5. feuilles de chene (a tender lettuce)
6. courgettes (zucchini)
7. mache (lamb's lettuce)
8. aubergine
9. lettuce (Boston)
10. green peppers
11. basil, oregano, and chives and parsley
12. beef tomatoes
13. spinach
14. rhubarb
15. peas
16. cherry tomatoes
17. onions
18. potatoes
19. broccoli
20. carrots
21. bok choi (Swiss chard)
22. mangetouts
23. green beans
24. Brussel sprouts
25. sweet corn

Today I was thrilled to find that the radishes and green beans have sprouted. I am over the moon! I just couldn't believe those tiny, tiny black dots would amount to anything. Everyone in the village is laughing at me. I have planted way too much and they say everything is going to be ready to harvest at the same time. I will have to open a grocery stand in front of the gallery. At least they might sell in this economy...

The bouquet of muguets, or lilies of the valley, were sent to me yesterday by a friend. It's a traditional French greeting on the 1st of May.

Esprit de Corps

The Soirée de Dessin group that meets in my studio to draw from a model on Monday evenings is going to have an exhibition in my gallery on May 29th. Remy has offered to print up invitations and posters. I have thought of an appropriate title for the show: Esprit de Corps. (The French love double entendres.)

Elisabeth de la Perouse Coleman is going to open the show for us. She can always be relied on for a witty and pithy introduction.

Now the problem is going to be to choose a drawing for the poster. I thought of this one, but I think something a little more discreet is necessary for public consumption.

Les Saints de Glace

The days known as Les Saints de Glace, named in honour of St Mamert, St Pancrace, and St Servais, are on respectively May 10th, 11th, and 12th. I am told to expect a cold snap.

There are scientific explanations for this late frost. Astrologists note that the earth’s orbit takes it through a cosmic dust cloud which is supposed to reduce the sun’s warming rays and cool the planet. Meteorologists claim that this explanation is flawed because the cold spell is locally felt, whereas the astronomical dust cloud would cool the whole planet. They believe it has more to do with gulf streams and the change from winter to spring.

Woe betides any foolish gardener who plants before these dates.

Oh oh...

My own row of menhirs

What a lovely surprise awaited me after I cleared away the eight feet high briars, nettles, ivy and wire mesh: my own wall of sandstone menhirs, complete with fossils of shells. Eugene has offered me the use of a small piece of land next to my barn for my potagé, or vegetable patch this year. We burned the offending vegetation in a massive bonfire.

By growing my own vegetables, I have gone one further than Mark Bittman, a food critic who wrote a great piece for National Public Radio called Back to Basics, Good for You, Good for the Earth. Mark claims to have lost 30 pounds by only eating fruit and vegetables during the day, after being chastised by his doctor about his high blood pressure and cholesterol levels.

I tilled the soil several times before putting in rows of tomatoes, spinach, beans, peas, green peppers, aubergines, radishes, cauliflowers and courgettes. Still to come are onions, melons, watermelons, brusselsprouts, mangetouts, lettuce, sweet corn, cabbage, potatoes, turnips, parsnips and various herbs. I am germinating some seeds in small planter pots and several times a day I examine them closely, but a week later there are still no signs of life and I remain skeptical that these tiny pinhead sized seeds are going to develop into plants, let alone plants that will feed me.

I will plant flowers on my side of the wall. The cats are thrilled with the wall and the new activity. Yesterday Peaches sat on my back as I planted a row of leeks, unperturbed by a light drizzle.

Hopefully I will not only be doing my bit for the earth and my pocketbook, but will have a tanned and lythe new body in a few months.

Rignac garden exchange

Everyone in the village was in front of the cantonnier shed on Sunday afternoon for a plant swap- no money please. It's early in the season and I didn't have much to offer, so I rolled up some signed posters of a coq I printed up last year and managed to come away with flower, melon, vegetable and herb seeds, dahlia bulbs, a young lilac tree, a raspberry shrub and a tray of orange lillies- not a bad haul.

Mixed blessings

For the last two weeks, a German family has been spending their spring break in the gite next door. The two little girls, Sandra and Julia, soon discovered Thabo, Sushi and Peaches and they were in love. Every morning right after their breakfast, they were here, ringing the bell, rapping on the door, calling through the keyhole "Katerina! Katerina! Wo sind Sie?" Groan.

Then all day long, "Kan ich lhnen helfin?" Groan.

Julia is eight and Sandra must be elevenish. From dawn to dusk I tried to find things for them to do: washing floors and windows, mowing the lawn, planting seeds in pots, carrying books, pushing wheelbarrows, carrying wood upstairs, cutting down ivy and brambles, weeding the beds. They were relentless and by the evening I was exhausted. Even Thabo tried to slide under the bed when he saw the girls approaching with his lead for yet another walk.

Yesterday the whole family were at the door. "Goodbye, Katerina," Sandra's lower lip was trembling. I softened and put my arm around her to give her a hug. Big crocodile tears poured down her cheeks.

"We live in a small apartment in Munich," the father told me. "The girls will miss you and the cats and dog." I had been meaning to go over and ask the parents if they could possibly keep the girls at home until at least ten in the morning. Instead, I told him how helpful and sweet his daughters had been, and that I hoped they would be back next year. The father smiled proudly. To seal the wish, I signed and gave them a copy of Spree in Paree and waved hard until their blue car had disappeared around the corner, wiping away a stray crocodile tear or two myself.

Séraphine

Last night I went to see the film about the visionary artist, Séraphine Louis who lived in Senlis, north of Paris. I made a pilgrimage to Senlis this spring after making a note of the lovely village, the setting for another of my favourite films, King of Hearts with Alan Bates that I saw many years ago as a student.

The film is beautiful- very slow, very poetic, few words. It's a tribute to a woman who struggled through a difficult life, but nevertheless found peace and inspiration in nature which inspired her to paint mystical images of great power. She is known to us thanks to the German collector Wilhelm Uhde, who was also the first collector of Picasso and discovered Henri Rousseau. She was his housekeeper.

Better get the paintbrushes cracking

Got quite a few emails from concerned friends that I hadn't posted since that last rather alarming St Petersburg post, but I am home safe and sound. Just was really sick for a week or so, recuperating from the stress of so much work-related travel in the spring.

Anyway, the paneaux are up! The official signs directing people to my Studio-Art Gallery went up a few days ago, so yesterday I moved my 2CV, the lawn mower, wheelbarrow and summer furniture and stash out of the erstwhile garage/winter storage area, took down the washing lines, and scrubbed the floor.

Also have spent a few days readying land for my potagé, in which I plan to grow lettuces, tomatoes, carrots, onions, potatoes, radishes, courgettes, potatoes, leeks, green peppers, and herbs.

Last night I heard the first nightingales lilting and plaintive songs. Creative spring juices are flowing all around...

Inauspicious arrival

I arrive in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and yet, could this really be my hotel? If it had been 8pm instead of 8am I think I would have fled. I gingerly entered the "lobby" which wasn't much of an improvement: crumbling plaster, rutted and broken stone floor, electric wires looped loosely on the walls . But the B&B on the third floor itself was quite charming.

St Petersburg is BEAUTIFUL and well deserved of it's reputation as the "Venice of the North".

I started the day by walking up to the Peter and Paul Fortress, and visited the church with its (real) gold spire where the Tsars and their families were buried, including Nicholas II and Alexandra who were moved there about a dozen years ago from Yekaterinberg. It's a formidable place, similar to Cape Town Castle in its pentangle layout but bigger. It was a glorious sunny day but still the temperature was -6 yet a few brave people were breaking the ice to swim in the Neva River.

I went to see the Aurora, the battleship that launched the October revolution in 1917 by firing a blank round that signaled the attack on the Winter Palace by the Bolsheviks.

The little wood cabin that Peter the Great help build with his own hands in three days was close by. He lived in this simple two room cottage for six months while he supervised the construction of St Petersburg. Over 100,000 people lost their lives from exposure and disease during the construction.

In the evening as snow gently fell around me, I walked home past the Summer Palace and along small streets crammed with antique shops and second hand books stores and found a really cool vegetarian internet cafe with delicious food and funky music and people, called Botanica. In another shop I bought several different kinds of exotic Russian teas, including the sewn bouquets of flowers that open up in glass teapots. There are mases of young people about, some with purple mohawks. I felt totally at home, and finally overcame my fear of trying to communicate. All the young people here speak a little English.

There is a lot on including the La Traviata, Romeo and Juliet and Giselle. Of course I have to see Giselle at the Mariinsky. The hotel receptionist has offered to buy a ticket for me so I won't have to pay the exorbitant foreigner's price.

Tomorrow I still have a lot to see- starting with the Hermitage.

Here are some photographs which give a more typical and much better impression of this magnificent city.

My day at the International School of Moscow

I spent the day working with groups broken into different age levels. After introducing and reading one my books set in Haiti to the children in the first and second grades, excitement mounted as the children divided into their school teams to see who could paint the most beautiful Tap-Tap, the decorated trucks that serve as buses on the rutted island roads. The children at this school, like me, have grown up all over the world. It's very reassuring and inspiring to witness this kind of enthusiastic cooperation among such a diverse group of young children. To learn more about the day and the school, visit The International School of Moscow website.

(Photos by Ashley Andrews)

Back to winter

Made it to Moscow! On my first day, I was shown around by a teacher from the International School. First stop of course was Red Square. The Kremlin was predictably unpredictably shut, so was Lenin's tomb, but we did get to visit St Basil's and the Kremlin Museum. Ivan the Terrible built St Basil's to commemorate the defeat of the Tatars, and the story has it that the builders and engineers did such a magnificent job that they were put to death for their efforts to ensure that no other basilica could ever rival this one.

In spite of the bleak weather, the square was dotted with brides in wedding finery posing for photographs, apparently a tradition. We hurried into Gum to escape the cold and grab some lunch, and were followed by at least a dozen brides and their consorts, who continued their photo shoot around us. It was a veritable floor show. The brides looked very happy, even for brides. Apparently there are seven women to every man in Moscow.

Not an international conspiracy...

I know we all have days like this. Everything seems to be conspiring against one. The Russian Consulate in Paris insists that I apply for my visa in person. Air France won't let me fly out of Paris to Moscow without first flying up from Toulouse, the hotel in Paris won't let me cancel a booking made half an hour earlier without a 100% cancellation fee, the French railways are going on strike on Thursday all resulting in a huge and exasperating waste of time and money. So I made a cup of tea and was enticed outside by lovely spring birdsong. Suddenly I noticed that the sun has burst open the tight buds on the my prune trees, and when I went a little closer, my neighbours spring lambs came running over to greet me. Sometimes, we need to remember that we are not necessary Kafkaesque targets of bureaucratic red tape. We just need to calm down and get a little perspective. To be continued...

Really RED tape

Next Friday I hope to fly to Moscow. One of the nice things about my "job" is visiting schools, especially International Schools. A few years ago I was invited to the International School in Kenya. Apparently a lot of author/illustrators are wary of traveling to distant countries to speak to school children, but I love it.

Many years ago, my flight to London from Tokyo stopped in Moscow to refuel. It took a whole day to fly over the Soviet Union, and from the air it looked like a beautiful country: forests, lakes and dachas. Being a fan of Russian literature, I have always wanted to visit, and now here, I think, is my chance.

It took weeks to organise the invitation. (I loved seeing my name written in Cyrillic.) Now I have to go to Paris a few days early to convince the Russian Consulate into giving me a visa.

The Soviet Union might be relegated to the dustbin of history, but seems to me that the Russian tape couldn't be redder.

Jammin'

Home in France. I was pleased to find that the drawing group had met in my absence. Clare organised a great evening in her village, Gorse, on Monday night, inviting musician friends to play for us as we attempted to capture the spirit of the music. Not easy, as the jigs were so fabulous that we had to practically sit on our feet to control our wildly tapping toes. The group calls themselves Les Fausses Celtics, and you can find out more about them and listen to them play here: www.myspace.com/faussesceltics

Milwaukee-Rignac Reunion

I came up to Milwaukee from Chicago for a reunion with past Wisconsin watercolor stagieres- art teachers and librarians who came to Rignac for my painting class. No painting today, but plenty of eating, very much in keeping with southwest French tradition. Wisconsin style brunch chez Jeanine consists of fresh orange juice and champagne Mimosas, fluffy spinach/egg omelette, potato au gratin, chopped fresh fruit, and French pressed coffee. Yum.

To read Carol Surges's account of the watercolor class in Library Media Connection, click here:

Sweatin' Bullets

Ten portraits in Chicago in five days... Nearly cracked under the pressure but I pulled it off. The worst thing is that, to the uninitiated eye, these portraits probably look effortless. These photos were taken with my digital camera, so the quality is pretty ropey. Click on individual portraits to see larger images.

The Bean

When I first saw British sculptor Anish Kapoor's sculpture Cloud Gate in Chicago, I wondered why locals referred to it as The Bean. It looked more like an egg to me. But as I moved around and closer to it, I discovered the beaniness of the sculpture. When I walked under it and looked up into its navel, the sculpture became even more mystical and magical... I first saw the Bean here on this video.

Parsley Cresswell

Parsley Cresswell was a good friend and neighbor when I lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. She has written a cookbook that includes one of my recipes. I am going to do a few sketches for the new edition, so pulled out my sketchpad when I was there last week for tea and got started. Here is Parsley's blog.

Before Dinner

For a while I thought Bonnard's paintings were a little on the mushy side, but I saw his exhibition at the Met in a new light. Bonnard worked from a stockpile of scribbles, sketches and small watercolour studies to produce his paintings. Samples of his reference material was on display. He never worked directly from life, not wanting reality to overinfluence his highly personal creative process.

I have often said that I am disappointed with typical watercolors per se. But just look at the richness of the medium in the hands of the master! Admittedly, there is a bit of gouache in the sketch below.

Beautiful Day, Beautiful Bridge

Why did I have to move to France before deciding to stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge on a beautiful Sunday after brunch?

Small town girl makes the big time

Rushing for the F train yesterday evening, I sprinted past a poster in the subway station for an exhibition of paintings by Marlene Dumas at MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

Marlene Dumas was at the Michaelis Art School with me in Cape Town in the early 70's. Now apparently her paintings sell for more money than those by any other living woman artist.

I was a bit anxious about seeing the exhibition, as I haven't really responded to reproductions of her work thus far, but in real life I was quite blown away by the imagery and beautifully executed painting. Some of the tableaux almost seemed to be submerged in water, with parts clearly defined but other parts covered by a filmy wash. Nothing overworked, everything fresh and stark and stripped of pleasanteries and non-essentials.

Here is a virtual tour of the exhibition: