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Firey French Connection
It’s a Family affair. With relatives you’ve never seen before. And not the distant Uncles, Aunts and Cousins variety. But relatives you’ve never met, and almost certainly – will never meet again.
Your relatives are incredibly welcoming, friendly and accomodating. They’ll do anything they can to help. And they’ve just met you! They’re not trying to impress you with their car, their clothes, their iphone, how much money they make, or how important they are. After all – they’re Family!
A human family of thousands. Coming together to collectively gaze into the sky for 20 minutes and be awed, amazed and overwhelmed by the ritual we call : Fireworks.
Wrongly classed simply as entertainment, Fireworks have a much more profund and significant importance. They are genetic memories. Memories, rekindled, of our Human origins. Re-connecting us to our prehistoric ancestors. Those cave dwelling, club toting relatives who marvelled at the night sky ruminating on Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of the Wooly Mammoth.
Fireworks allow us to enter, albiet briefly, the tent of (apologies to Freud) “Collective Consciousness.”
Although, as in every Western country, Fireworks are ubiquitious during the Summer months, the major firey fiesta here is July 14. Bastille Day. Celebrating the storming of the Bastille during the French Revolution by peasants who were “mad as hell and were’nt going to take it anymore.” (Yes, Virgina, the equivalent of your fourth of July.)
In major French cities(Paris, Lyon, etc.) Bastille Day fireworks blast off precisely on the Anniverary date. (July 14.) But in lesser sized Hamlets, the firey event is at the (pardon the euphemism) “discretion” of local politicans. Thus, depending on your location, “Le Fete National“ can go up in lights anywhere between July 13 – 16. (Now that’s flexibility!)
This time around, atypically, DA BG was not in a tiny village down a country road. But in a medium sized city. Angers(pro : “on-zjay”) on the Loire.
Having heard of no deaths, suicides, divorces, break-ups, injuries, fights or car crashes, I’m relatively confident in proclaiming : “A good time was had by all!”
Don’t you wish you were there?
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
Camille Claudel
They’re wild, weird, way-out, whacked out people. Delusional. Illusional. Depressive. Regressive. Suicidal. Paranoid. Excessive. Obessive. They drink, smoke funny cigarettes, take drugs, pop pills. Often they don’t sleep or eat for days. And when they do eat, it’s likely to be something so grotty the dog wouldn’t touch it.
They don’t give a rat’s ass if they look like something the cat dragged in. They’re as far away from “fashion consciousness” as Earth is from Venus. They’re the ultimate loners. Solitary. Reculsive. Secretive. Non-conformists with a captial “N.” Tilting at any and all windmills . Rebelling against/rejecting all the norms and standards of civilized society. And what do they give society in return? – Incredible immortal art! 
Yes folks, I’m referring to those Humans we call – “Artists.” Tortured. Tormented. From Michaelangelo to Michael Jackson. And counting.
While, clearly, artists are a self-tortured lot everywhere, only in France (and here’s someone’s chance to prove me wrong) will you find an artist additionally tortured by her own family. 
Yes, I did say “her.” Camille Claudel. France’s, and argueably, the World’s greatest female sculptor.
Coming from a family with pockets sufficiently deep enough to afford a servant, Camille created her first sculpture of that servant when she was just seventeen. It was clearly a World class work of art.
That’s the good news. The bad being that “art”, especially sculpture in Camille’s era, was exclusively a male club. However, undaunted by the obvious short-sighted (not to mention discriminatory) conventions of the time, Camille rented a studio along with her English pal Jessie Lipscomb.
Eventually, Camille came to the attention of the big Kahuna of 19th century scuplture – Pierre Auguste Rodin. 
Rodin, clearly impressed by, and recognizing Camille’s exceptional talent, invited her to become his apprentice. Soon after, she would become his mistress. Or to be accurate, one of his mistresses. Adding more seasoning to this romantic stew was the fact that Rodin already had a long time relationship with another Woman, and was a Dad to boot. Definitely a case of “The course of true love never runs smooth” wot?
Naturally , this state of (you’ll pardon the pun) “affairs” created decidedly troubling clouds in Camille’s sky. To the point that she (as they would say in that era) “took up” with another(we surmise less tortured) artist – the composer Claude Debussy.
Mais, alas, Claude was soon to become tourtured, when after two years or so of whatever bliss they could manage, she blew him off for Rodin.
Despite the “romantic friction” between the two, Rodin and Camille evolved into a formidable creative unit. Obviously influencing each other. But, more to the point, actually working on each other’s creations. In fact, there are some Art Historians who will swear on a tower of Carrarra Marble that many sculptures signed by Rodin, were totally the work of Camille Claudel.
However, it was inevitable that the creative bliss between the two would eventually be sabotaged and eventually torpedoed by their personal differences.
And so, in 1892, after an unwanted abortion , the split came to pass. Camille retreated to a studio of her own. There she created object ‘d’arte praised by all the critics. Clearly Camille Claudel was was not just a mediocre talent in the shadow of the great Rodin. But an exceptional artist in her own rite. Now, finally, accalimed as such. 
In the years after 1905, those close to Camille thought they saw signs of mental illness. Hardly surpising after her emotional merry-go-round with Rodin. N’est ce pas? During that time, she appeared paranoiac, and apparently accused Rodin of plotting to kill her.
This apparent mental imbalance presuaded her brother Paul to commit her to a mental institution.
Over the course of several years, Camille was moved to two successive “hospitals.” At each one the Doctors advised her Mother that she was not exceptionally “ill” and suggested the best treatment would be to return to the Family home.
Her Mother, who unlike her Father never supported her artistic career, refused. Not once. But in every instance. Over a period of thirty years. A viola. Torture by family.
Camille Claudel died on the nineteenth of October Nineteen Forty Three. Never having had even a visit from her Mother or her Sister. Brother Paul, tho’ he did visit ocassionally, always referred to his sister in the past tense.)
No one from her Family attended the funeral. And finally, Camille Claudel, the firey determined individualist, the exceptional natural talent, the greatest female sculptor the World has known (thus far) was interned in a pauper’s grave.
No one said life was fair, did they?
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’!
French Dream Chateau
Like most folks from the far-away lands, high on my “must see-must do” list in the land of cheese, wine and other things fine, was a French Dream Chateau.
After all, next to the Eiffiel Tower, what is the most universally recognized French icon? Uh…that would be…..a chateau…would it not?
Like Churches, Chateau’s spring up like weeds all over the French landscape. And, like Churches, they are monuments to, and museums of the countries incredible history.
As you would imagine, they come in all shapes in styles. What they have in common is that virtually none of them were the work of one architect, or one era. Again, like Churches, they were improved/extended/refurbished by a succession of owners. And that uniqueness, that true individuality (and isn’t that the best kind) is the stuff of legends.
It’s not rocket science to find a Chateau you can visit/stay in. The “hospitality industry” obviously includes all manner of stately manors where you get get your History fix. And grok the atmosphere of rustic by-gone times, without nasty plagues, poverty and massacres spoiling your fun.
Again, luckier than smart, on one of my first forays I was fortunate enough to find my French Dream Chateau.
Yes, it has the rich history, the incredible location, surrounded by forests (ie – no neighbours!), not to mention it’s own lake. But what made it “first among equals” on my Chateau menu was the family vibe. It’s current owner, Count Beraud de Vogue is the fourth Devogue to be born within it’s walls. And it’s his genuine pride of ownership, personally guided his guests through the family estate, that make the Chateau Le Verriere a not to be missed French Dream Chateau.
Here’s a quick peek:
Say Hello to Count Devogue HERE.
