Between the Ruin and the Asylum - 14 April 2011
Thursday 14th April 2011
Last night Joel and I talked about what this process has been about for us so far, and while we will not even begin to edit either the text or photographs until we’ve we finish our second trip here in the late summer and autumn, we are beginning to get a sense of what the essence of this book will be. Our earlier realization that this is a land of glimpses still applies, but now it is deepened by a sense of communion we’ve begun to experience. Certainly today was rich in both those qualities. We left Arles in the morning to drive to a B&B on the outskirts of Bonnieux, in the Luberon, where we will spend the next 3 days. On the way we stop in Glanum to visit both an ancient pre-Roman ruin that was excavated in 1921, after Van Gogh painted there and to visit Van Gogh’s room in the Asylum, which is separated from the ruin by a field.
We stopped in a field where a single tree called out to us as we drove by. This was the second time it called, the first being a few days before and I guess we didn't hear it clearly enough then. But this time we went to it and of course the walk was fulfilling. Just to be there with the new greens glowing on the tops of the vines and the young leaves on the great tree in the midst of the vineyard beckoning to us in the light breeze was worth the effort.
And then, while walking back, I took notice of all the grand old gentlemen who had been making the grapes for so many years. I knelt at the feet of two of them to make their portrait and was overcome by their individuality and character.
Down the road another mile or two is Glanum, settled four centuries before Rome conquered it and built upon it. It was a day when all the Judas trees were in their finest moment and to see an ancient settlement once again in flower was to feel time slip away and it reminded me that spring is joyous precisely because it marks the cycle so clearly, more so than any other season it seems to me.
We entered the asylum where Van Gogh stayed during his final time in
Provence. It was peaceful and spacious and we were there at the very
moment that he would have painted the famous pear tree painting.
We went to see the room he lived in and really all that was there to
connect me to him was a chair and a bed, the rest of the room being
overwhelmed by other peoples paintings which in this little
sanctuary seemed rude and noisy. But the chair spoke to me and
was tender and simple. We looked out his window and saw what
must have called to him then even though we were one hundred and
thirty years later. The gardens, the wall, the fields beyond.
Between The Ruin And The Asylum
Oh, field.
Pasture for all,
You hold communion
Between ruin and asylum.
The ruin, full of ingenuity,
The asylum sheltering torment
And kindness within its
Walls and gardens.
Marvel at the ruin.
Weep in Van Gogh’s room.
Lie down in the field -
Oh, sweet, wet field.
