The other day Brigitte took me to a "pique nique cerise." One of her friends lives outside of Marseilles, in the country. This is an annual party, timed for the ripening of the cherries in their orchards. This year it was raining so the party (eighty people or so) was confined indoors, where guests arranged themselves in groups at one of many tables (it was a big house!) eating, drinking, smoking and talking about the food, being sure to spend at least ten minutes complimenting the cheese, as if it was a modest and honored, though pungent guest. Eventually about six men assembled in a corner to play jazz. Formidable!

I have been in the little town of Les Lecques, near Marseille, for a week. I've been meaning to post, but at the end of the day, when I might find the time, I fall immediately into a dreamless sleep, as if an exhausted shopkeeper has locked down my brain and hung a sign on the door: ferme.
In the morning, as soon as the doors are open, in comes the stock, sacks of words, boxes of phrases, piled higher and higher....
I have been studying with my friend Brigitte, who teaches French. Her house is open and airy and has those blue shutters over the windows and doors, so typical to the area. From my room I can look out over olive, pine, and cypress trees to the Mediterranean. Every day begins with some formal instruction (verbs, pronouns, idioms...) then I simply carry on with whatever the day holds: lunch with her family, a trip to an art museum, a walk through one of the pretty ochre coloured villages nearby, a stop at a farm to buy fresh strawberries-tout en Francais.
My French is improving, but it could be described, when I arrived, as high school French in some advanced state of decay beyond rust.
The other day we went walking in the hills,limestone outcroppings, so common in pictures of Provence, and found all kinds of wild flowers: asphodel, wild thyme, snapdragons, poppies, valerian and flax. In a deserted clearing, terraced with irises, we found a tiny hut, where I sat in the sun to sketch.
The pictures are shots from a trip to Aix-en-Provence, and a visit to the seaside town of St. Sanary Sur Mer, where Denis and Manee (people with whom we had exchanged houses twelve years ago) hosted us for one one those wonderful two hour French lunches (in the photo Brigitte is on the right).

Qui, Paris. I realize I neglected to say where I was going in my last post. I am in France for the next couple of months. If I was working from my computer I could link here to the page on this website (news and events) to take you to the description of the painting school I will be offering with Kelley Aitken in southwest France, during the last two weeks of June. But I am working on my ipad, which is not a very nimble tool for blogging. My photos appear at the top of the blog, without text, but I am confident the superior intelligence of my readers will figure out which picture goes with which idea.
I found a nice little blue room which looked out over the roof tops. If I stood on my bed I could see the towers of Notre Dame. Above the bed was a print of a Monet painting (the original of which I was delighted to see in L'Orangeries.) I really only had one day to spend in Paris, so I did what I like best: I wandered. I found myself in the Tuileries, where I stopped to draw one of the bronzes which loiters among the clipped hedges. At one point some tourists arrived to admire her and one of them wrapped his arms around her from behind, fondling her breasts, while his friends took photos. I put my brush down to wait for them to walk on and I heard a little shuffle behind me--an elderly man with a little white terrier on a leash. Our eyes met, in one of those wordless exchanges between strangers. He shrugged and lifted his hand up, running it over the air above his head.
It was a sunny Sunday and thousands of people flowed through the park, many stopping to stretch out and nap, or play with their children, or make out on the warm grass. The Tuileries is a mansion of a park, with many garden rooms; scattered among them, hundreds of little green chairs which people form into temporary assemblages, or move in and out of the sun.
My main aim was to visit the Musee de l'Orangerie, to see the two great oval rooms lined with Monet's massive lily paintings. From a distance, the panels recede into colour passages evoking the play of light over the ponds at his garden at Giverny. Up close, each square inch resolves into brushstrokes, layer after layer of pure colour. It is impressive to contemplate the physical effort alone Monet must have put into these works.
On the way to my next stop I paused to draw the clock at the Musee d'Orsay, one of my favourite places in Paris (but worth more time than I had). I managed to get to the oldest art store in Paris, Senneliers, 15 minutes before closing, but no problem, I knew exactly what I needed: quinacridone gold, prussian blue, cadmium yellow. I was, as usual, seduced by things I didn't intend to buy: helios purple, french ultarmarine light....I was tempted by the tall shelves stuffed with brilliant pastel sticks as big as flashlights (who wouldn't be)....but that seemed impractical.
After such a tough day I thought I deserved a Kir (the aperitif I had read so much about, cassis and white wine) and I stopped in a tiny bar in St. Germain. It's important I keep up my research, non?
Then it was back to my little blue room to pack for my train ride the next morning to Marseilles....

One of the things I like about an international departure from Vancouver Airport is the chance to spend some time with Bill Reid's "Jade Canoe." The larger than life bronze is matched by the "Black Canoe" (evoking argyllite) in front of Canada's Embassy in Washington.
The sculpture is beautiful, inventive, and a little whimsical, filled with Haida paddlers and all their animal/mythical companions. Creatures wind among each other, perch on top of each other, peer from under each others' wings and tails. My favourite is mouse woman. She is appears in the Bear Mother story, as the character who wisely counsels the human princess who has been captured by the bears, to place a piece of her copper bracelet in her feces each morning. The bears consequently decide the captive is magical and worth having around (actually, worth marrying to a bear prince). But that is a long story...Back to mouse woman. I have always liked her affectionate but tough pragmatism. We all need a mouse woman for advice from time to time...

Before I left I did a small detail of raven and photographed the sunlight falling through the terminal glass, making the green patina on the feathers of his back glow.

It's been awhile since I've been in the International Departures terminal, my travels of late usually routing through the US. I was delighted to find a column of west coast rocky reef, complete with green anemones, rockfish and bull kelp--a watery keyhole where you could see the departure boards and gates beyond. One of those moments when you realize we are living in strange times. What would have the Haida made of it all: the ocean in the big house, canoes in the sky...

As you can see I posted drawings most days in January (as befitting an irresolution). I continue to try to draw every day, even if it's for a few minutes. 

If you have spent any time following "drawing a day" threads you discover that they merge into illustrated journal sites. I started keeping illustrated nature journals when I worked as a naturalist in my 20's. Now I usually keep an illustrated journal when I work as an ecotour guide or when I travel on my own. You can see some of my journal pages on the illustrated journal page of this site. It's a great way to keep a record of life but also to slow down and be in the moment. Of course, you need a patient travel companion. And/or you need to learn some tricks for getting down a quick drawing. You can frame your drawings in tiny boxes (postage stamp drawings) and restrict yourself to working inside them; you can do a contour drawing (a drawing where you confine yourself to looking at the object not the paper, following a continuous edge.) Learning to simplify what you are drawing is key. Don't try to get everything in. That's what photographs are for!

When I travel I try to carry just the bare minimum of materials. In case you missed my favourite things post l'll show here again my favourite journal: Moleskine 5" x 8" watercolour journal 

As far as paints go, I have always travelled with a small field palette, at least I thought it was small at 4" x 10". Recently I have replaced it with a 2 1/2" x 5" Winsor & Newton palette:

It's important to empty any student grade paint, which these small palettes come with, and replace it with fresh squeezes of artists watercolour. I cut the end of one of my favourite brushes off and extend it with this blue tubing, which I slip over the tip when it's packed in the paint box. I found that the tips of the collapsible travel brushes are too fine.  

I also travel with some favourite pens--a couple of which I wrote about in a previous post More about pens in later posts.

Meanwhile, you might want to look at my illustrated journal page or read about the course I teach on Keeping An Illustrated Journal. 

Check out these sites of inspiring illustrated journalers:

Danny Gregory was at the forefront of illustrated journaling in the U.S. As well as publishing his own journals, he edited a wonderful book, An Illustrated Life, drawing inspiration fron the private sketchbooks of artists, illustrators and designers. As you can imagine, it is full of intimidatingly fabulous drawings. Remember these are professional artists!

Elain Genser keeps a charming illustrated journal of her travels to Victoria BC coffee shops: