Sitting in the midst of my favourite painting

My favourite painting isn't one you'll probably know. It is, however, by an artist you know well. A lesser known Van Gogh, painted in Arles (also where he painted some of his better known pieces such as The Yellow House, Bedroom in Arles, Self-Portrait, The Night Cafe, Starry Night Over Rhone, Still Life: Vase With Twelve Sunflowers, Cafe Terrace at Night, and Van Gogh's Chair . . . Incidentally, Arles is also where Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear.

My favourite is called The Poet's Garden (or sometimes Public Park with Weeping Willow). It was painted in 1888, and is a massive oil panting on canvas (you can see it at the Chicago Institute of Art).  The poet's garden series were painted and used to decorate Gauguin's bedroom when he came to visit Van Gogh in Arles. Also, the scene itself reminds me a little of how I feel in my parents' garden at home in New Zealand. The colours are bright and lively, and I just want to lie in that grass with a book and breathe in the scents of all of those leaves and flowers.

Van Gogh wrote about this painting in a letter to his brother, on September 16th 1888.


He wrote:
"There is a square size 30 canvas, a corner of a garden with a weeping tree, grass, round clipped cedar shrubs and an oleander bush. The same corner of the garden, that is, which you have already had a study of in the last parcel. But this one is bigger, there is a citron sky over everything, and also the colours have the richness and intensity of autumn. And besides it is in even heavier paint than the other one, plain and thick. That is picture number one this week."

I decided, in a fit of romanticism, that I wanted to spend my birthday in this painting, take a picnic, and just experience it. So, I headed on the train for Arles. I had differing information as to which park this actually depicted. One source said that it is directly outside of where the Yellow House used to be, in Place Lamartine, the other that it was the main public park in the center of Arles. Place Lamartine has pretty much been destroyed. There's a decrepit Monoprix (France's Walmart), a bank, and a token fountain with a heavily trafficked roundabout. So, whether or not it is actually the main public park (the woman at the tourist office said it was, but I didn't really believe her because she didn't actually know the painting I was asking about), this is the one I ended up at.

The park seemed to have a shrine dedicated to Van Gogh, which seemed promising (however much of the town revolves around either Van Gogh or the beautiful Roman ruins that still exist in Arles).

It was missing the lush grass of my dreams . . .

And there was far too much concrete . . .

And the flowers almost seemed to be forced, like they were attempting to put Van Gogh's bright colours into the world, when really, Van Gogh brought those bright colours out of everyday vegetation. . . 

But when I lay down on the grass, and looked up . . . there was my garden. The darks and the lights, and the beautiful lush green leaves. It was exactly the time of the year that Van Gogh was painting here, too.

Whether or not it was actually his garden, I may never know. But it is nice to know that if I find a patch of grass, and some beautiful trees, I can lie down and imagine my way into my favourite painting anywhere and at anytime.

Colour and Life of Istanbul

Istanbul was amazing, not least because I got to spend so much time with Mandy and Figo and Katie and Michelle and all of the rest of Mandy's wonderful Minnesotan friends. I do love the Minnesotans.

One of the things I liked the most about the Istanbul, is what drew me to India in March, the colour. In the streets things are just brighter and more beautiful than you'd imagine. Even decaying buildings have beauty and charm. And of course the mosaic work in the monuments and religious buildings, the golds, turquoise, and reds, are dazzling.

Apart from the colour, the food of Turkey is amazing. With Figo there to lead us, we experienced some lovely meals in Istanbul. My favourites, were the desserts. Figo needs to work on his Turkish Coffee fortune telling, however, as my fortune consisted of "you have a brother who is very talented at music, and I see travel in your future" . . . um . . . do you now. Perhaps it's because you've met my brother (who is of course wonderfully talented), and that I've travelled to Turkey to see you marry the lovely Mandy. Humph.

Walking around Istanbul you'll stumble across bazaars, mosques and monuments amongst the houses and restaurants. This obelisk (remniscent of DC's) was built by the Egyptians in the 6th century

The girls went together to a hamam (Turkish baths) and got scrubbed for a pre-Mandy and Figo wedding treat. It was amazing. Of course cameras are not allowed, so I only got this shot of the towels leaning out to dry outside. Inside it was very old stonework and beautiful. And I don't know exactly how they make that soap, but it was fabulous. And we got the full scrub by the impish Turkish women who seemed to know just how to target those most nervous about going to a hamam in the first place. Lots of laughs.

As a big group, we also had some lovely nights out . . .

One night we went to the Amadou & Mariam concert--not very Turkish, but definitely suited our international outlook.

After the concert we went out to a rooftop bar, looking out over the city and played "emotion" . . . a game introduced by Michelle where someone calls out an emotion or thing, and we have to emote the first thing we think of while someone takes incriminating photographs.We got some strange looks from the other patrons.

It was very nice to hang out with a group of people again, and I always loved when I got to hang out with Mandy, Figo, and Katie in Washington DC, so this was a treat. Thanks to everyone for a lovely time (Rick Steves says that one should always travel in a group when going to Istanbul)!

The Blue Mosque

Built in the early 17th century for Sultan Ahmet I, the Blue Mosque (or the Sultanahmet Mosque) is a beautiful center for prayer in the old city area in Istanbul.

As you walk in, there is a wide, open courtyard, beautifully designed. The doors, columns, domes, and decorations all are larger than life.

Inside, you see why it was named the Blue Mosque. It has more than 20,000 pieces of blue, green and white iznik china on the interior walls. There is also blue calligraphy decorating the interrior domes.

I came outside of the call-to-prayer times, so as to be able to see the building more clearly, and not disturb local religious practices. However, there were a handful of people praying at different times throughout my visit. What a beautiful location to do so. My only complaint? An overwhelming smell of feet from all of the tourists on such a hot day (to be respectful every person takes off their shoes before entering the mosque).

The doors were intricately carved and absolutely beautiful.

On my way out of the complex, I caught this picture. It made me think of the National Geographic photographers of years past looking for that splash of red in the crowd. If only I had the skills to fully capitalize on the buildings and people and views I've been lucky enough to see over the last six months. I guess I can only try.

Monet's Garden

This is one of the locations that I was most excited about visiting. So many of Monet's paintings were generated in his garden, not just of his garden, but actually painted as they say "en plein air." Along the way, I kept seeing scenes that I felt were quintessential Monet. There's something about these fields and this light that makes the landscape look impressionist even before it has been painted.

Monet's Garden is located in Giverny, and unfortunately is something of a tourist trap (darn other people who also like the things I like). However, for me, it was still more than worth it. I think I also benefited (oddly) from the fact that it was a drizzly day. The garden itself is divided into two main areas: the traditional flower gardens, and the the water gardens. Inside the house, it is fascinating to see that Monet did not choose impressionist style artworks for his home. In fact, except for his studio where he displayed his own, his house is entirely decorated with Japanese hokusai prints. It's interesting to me that he loved that which he did not do. Because I definitely do not do art in an impressionist manner... my lines and blocked off colours lends themselves more towards mosaics, stained glass and cartoons (mediums of which I've gravitated towards) . . . whereas in others, I love impressionist, post impressionist, and cubist freedom. Perhaps one day I'll move more towards that, but in the meantime I take comfort in the fact that Monet did what he did, and loved what he loved, and they needn't be the same.

I explored the traditional gardens just fine, and when I reached the water gardens, true to name, it started to rain. As it rained harder I felt like I got a more intense look into an impressionist's world. The patterns on the water were painted for me by the rain drops, and the world took on this more perfect blur.

Not the right conditions to do drawings myself, and in such a location it seems almost presumptuous to attempt my own, but perhaps sometime I'll try to give my spin on such a beautiful garden. Monet is said to have said that his garden was his real work of art.

Holi, those kids have good aim!

I spent Holi, the Indian festival of colour, in Varanasi. Varanasi is said to be the cultural/religious center of India. There have been people living in that location for 5000 years. Its streets and buildings seem to be built on top of each other, and the winding alleys are something to behold. Kudos to Veena for pointing me in this direction.

Getting to my hostel in Varanasi, I took an auto-rickshaw from the train station which led to a point where auto-rickshaws could no longer pass, then I got on a cycle rickshaw, until it, too, was too big for the narrow streets. Then I had a porter (just so that someone would show me where to go) carry my bag the last few streets to my hostel. And I thought there were narrow streets in Delhi.

The place where I was staying no longer had internet, because the monkeys had gotten in and chewed through the cords. In fact, the monkeys were regular fixtures as we were eating meals in the open-air rooftop restaurant.

I arrived the day before Holi, and took to the streets. I joined forces with a wee boy called Guru (or at least that's what I think he said) to get myself some ammo for Holi (powder and a water pistol). We got a little carried away, and had a preemptory Holi, with him acting as a sight, and me as the sharp shooter. Later we switched roles.

Guru also took me to a local kids' cricket game, where I batted an over, well aware that the honour of New Zealand, and women everywhere, was at stake. I was clearly the only female in the game, and perhaps the ony who had ever joined in. I don't think I completely embarrassed myself, but I definitely was bowled slowly to :) The teenagers hanging around that area reminded me of hoodlums from the 70s. Great fun.

I had been told very explicitly from our hostel owner not to go out that night, or the next morning, as the men get drunk and rowdy in the streets during Holi.  That night, I had dinner on the rooftop with two American girls who were travelling circuitously on their way home from teaching English in South Korea. We decided not to go out that night, but that the morning of Holi we would brave the craziness.

In the morning, I watched from the balcony (checking out the strategies of five urchins on the neighbouring building, pelting those below with water balloons). That is, until they caught me watching and started throwing them my way. If you do ever visit India during Holi, watch out for your camera, because not only does not it deter kids from getting you wet, they actually aim for it.

Carrie, Tara, and I loaded our water bottles and water pistols, and ran out of the building quickly and turned the corner. Luckily, we stumbled on another kid, Baday, who led us through the streets, avoiding the men, and leading us into the fray with local kids. Suffice to say, we were completely pulverized. Little girls with supersoakers filled with blue paint, no mercy in their eyes, laughed and sprayed us directly in the face. Boys from rooftops dumped entire buckets of orange paint onto our heads as we unknowingly walked beneath their traps. It was amazing. The giggles of delight as they sprayed us with rapid fire purple stripes as we ran for dear life, and the calls of "come back, come back" made me laugh out loud. I've never felt so dirty and disgusting in my life, but it was so much fun. I'm still getting pink out of my hair, and blue from beneath my finger nails. Luckily we avoided the silver paint that reports say can cause blindness.

The following morning the two girls and I went on a dawn boat ride on the Ganges. It was beautiful to see the sun come up, and amazing to see the architecture, and human happenings along that holy river. The area where we were staying was near a ghat in which people are cremated to be spread on the Ganges. Regularly processions of families carrying their deceased loved ones passed us in the narrow alleyways, and from the water, we could see the funeral pyres along the edge of the river.

Varanasi was amazing, but I guess that travel itch starts to take hold, because I have decided to move on already, to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.