A Trip to the Mountains

When I applied for my residency program almost a year ago, my proposal included the idea of photographing my ceramic work out in world, an extension of a series of photographs that I made last year.

A few nights before leaving Austin in Mid-October, I ran into a friend at dinner and I told her a bit about my upcoming plans She has traveled extensively through France so when I told her about my idea of photographing my work, the names of various small towns took over our conversation. By the time I was getting ready for bed, text messages with photos and google maps links were filling a text thread and these villages began to fill my imagination. It was clear that these were the towns that I would explore during this portion of my residency.

This past Monday, I picked up a rental car at the Cannes train station and began my way north through Le Cannet, towards the A8 and was promptly off to Aix-en-Provence. I spent that first night in Aix, waking up to wander the city’s streets and markets for a bit on Tuesday morning. This trip, though, Aix was just a waypoint for the next part of my journey.

I was back in the car before lunch, and found myself on the winding roads up to the mountains. My first stop was Menerbes, a walled, hilltop village in Le Luberon. It was also the first real taste of cold that I have felt since the short bit of rain during my first week in Vallauris. A cold I was familiar with from growing up in the Northeast…That first moment you know that fall is almost over and winter is closer than you had realized.

It was also clear that the off-season had begun in these hill-towns. It’s what had made finding a hotel difficult for this portion of my trip. Menerbes has a tiny population, so on this Tuesday in mid-November, just about the entire town was shut down. I found a restaurant that was open and quickly decided not to look for any other options. A few of the two-dozen or so seats were still available, the rest filled by locals. I grabbed a seat at a table in the corner and ordered the plat du jour, daube de sanglier. The perfect meal to warm me back up on the top of that hill. After lunch, I explored the deserted streets of the village and found a couple of spots to finally set up for my first few photographs of my work out in the wild.

I couldn’t stay long– Being the off-season, I needed to find my way down the mountain and over to the town of Lourmarin. I had to arrive by 4pm because after that hotel reception heads home for the night, making check-in a bit more complicated. The hotel had the most beautiful grounds and while it was cold, autumn was still in full force down in the valley. My room was lovely, with a fireplace stacked and ready with wood to keep me warm through the night. After an early dinner across the street, I settled into bed near the glow and crackling of the fire. An absolute dream of an evening.

The following morning, I drove back up winding roads to Gordes. Another stunning hilltop village, and another town almost fully closed because of the off-season.

Once again, I was leaving that village almost as quickly as I arrived. My goal for that day was always Rouissillon, a city that glows on its hilltop sitting above a large ochre deposit. I found my way to the ochre trail and did a loop carrying far too much camera gear and far too many pots for one person.

I passed through Bonnieux as I was heading back to Lourmarin. The bistro was full of locals and their dogs, I counted five. One pup sat right by the entrance next to his owner, who was perched on a stool. The man sat with a beer and his newspaper, his overcoat still on…along with his boat shoes, no socks. His white beard silhouetted by the light coming in from the window. His captain’s hat, not quite as aged as he was, completed his look and added to the intrigue. As soon as he finished his beer, both he and his dog were out the door. I followed him out the door soon after, but only after finishing my tarte tatin.

I returned to my hotel and took some time to think about the past couple of days and my intentions to photograph my work out in the wild. Even with ceramic pieces I’m proud of, the beauty of the landscape, and all of the lovely explorations, I began to doubt the success of my trip. The photo part of the trip had turned out to be an incredible struggle. The exact opposite of what my studio time had been. The physical work itself came together as I had envisioned it. This second part of my project was not working out in the same way.

I was unsure of whether it was the idea or the execution. Was this a project that I needed another set of eyes to succeed? More time? More planning? It was a beautiful trip and one that I truly enjoyed, but I wasn’t so sure about the photos of my work. Expectations, which I have learned to deal with pretty well through my years inside the studio are much more difficult for me outside of the studio walls.

I went into town for an early dinner so I could get back to my hotel room to light the fire for another early night. As I went to bed, my mind went back and forth on whether or not to ditch the entire idea of the photo project for the exhibition. Was this entire trip a waste?

On Thursday morning I readied myself for the trip home and finally decided on my route. My first option was to take the very long way home and pass through Moustiers-Saint-Marie, looking for one more location. I quickly gave up on the idea of shooting. Instead of taking the direct route, back through Aix and directly to the highway, I decided to head for lunch in a small town to the east, to a restaurant that I had seen in the Michelin Guide. I decided that it was my new backup plan…my salvage the trip with a good meal plan.

The long way took me through even more winding roads and beautiful villages. I arrived at my lunch destination, parked at the base of the town and walked up the hill to the town center. I found the restaurant in an old school building. I had arrived too early for lunch so I sat down for an espresso as the owners were still readying themselves for service, starting in a little less than an hour.

I had renewed energy by finding myself in this space, owned by a husband and wife, younger than I am (a fact that is getting increasingly easier to notice). The young woman was running the front of house while her husband was in the kitchen guiding the small team through final prep, coming out front to finalize the days menu. It reminded me of the places I love back in Austin, and the spaces that I look for when I’m out in the world. A place that people open because of their love for hospitality, for taking care of a community, and because they have searched for a place…and a way to cook what they want to cook. They do it for themselves, knowing that because of that intention, it will serve their guests as well.

There was a changing table in the bathroom. They must have small children. They must also know from experience that their guests will appreciate that little bit of comfort during dinner out with a young family.

I ended up having a three course lunch, the best meal I’ve had yet– A vegetable plate with cooked and raw beets, cauliflower, carrots, brussels sprouts, pesto, and a poached egg. Roasted pork with pomme purée, and a sweet and sour glaze. For dessert, a caramel pudding in a tart shell with vanilla ganache. A stellar meal that, combined with my morning drive, reset my brain and all its doubts that had been circling within it. I set aside my despair of the varying parts of my photo trip and found myself back within the beauty of the past few days as a whole.

I began the final leg of my journey home, winding my way out of that village and back up the twists of another climb up a mountain. I passed a cyclist near the top and glanced at the temperature, 6º celsius. I was already wowed by the beauty of my drive, only to be amazed at seeing this person do that same climb on their bike.

When I got to the top the views began to open up and I readied myself to head back down more switchbacks. Instead, I found myself in a forest on a plateau, one that seemed to last forever. I found a spot to pull over and take a few photos of the stunning views. I also reached into my suitcase and grabbed a couple of pieces to try photographing once more. I continued along that road hearing myself say how beautiful everything was as I continued my drive. The voice was not just inside my head. I found myself saying it out loud over and over again.

Another cyclist was riding in the other direction having completed their climb already. Shortly after seeing them, I began my winding descent down to the valley below. The roads got flatter, then bigger, and before I knew it I was back on the A8, headed back to Cannes to return the car. By the time I was on the highway, with only forty-five minutes remaining of a three hour drive, I had accepted my doubts about my photos and had also confirmed the success of my trip regardless of those results.

Since I’ve returned to Vallauris, the pace of our studio work has begun to fade as my fellow residents and I are finishing up any remaining parts of our projects. We’re officially in the final week of the program. Tomorrow, we begin to install our work in the exhibition space and the sentimentality of our time here is beginning to take hold. The uncertainties of the early parts of our program have been replaced with discussions about what we want to do one last time before we depart and what we will try to bring home with us as we return to our regular lives.

Unsurprisingly, I sat down at my little cafe this morning. I knew that this was my final Sunday to witness my favorite day of the week here. My table was just behind the ladies that have been holding court each Sunday that I have been here, as they will for each Sunday after I’m gone. There are usually four of them, and there is always room for more. A rotating cast of guest stars make their appearances throughout every Sunday, claiming an extra seat at the table or dragging another chair, maybe even a cafe table to the ever expanding coffee klatch.

Besides this being my last week here, it will also be a bit of a family reunion. My youngest landed in Barcelona this morning. She is visiting her sister, who has been studying there since August. My wife begins her journey here tomorrow and arrives on Tuesday. The girls, after having a few days to themselves in Barcelona, will arrive on Wednesday. I cannot wait to see them and to show them my little town and the work I have made here…both my ceramics and my photos.

I also know that the reason I wanted to sit at the cafe this morning is because I am just the slightest bit torn between excitedly wanting to share all of this with my family, while also holding the strange feeling that I want just a few more moments at a few more places while they remain mine. The comfort I have found at so many of these places, and with myself has been the gift that I could not have imagined.

The other day as I crossed the plaza walking home, I saw the chef from the cafe walking across in the other direction. As he saw me, he had the same welcoming smile that he shares when I walk into his restaurant. He nodded in my direction and offered up a friendly, “bonjour.”

I can’t think of a better confirmation that I have spent my time here wisely.