INTO THE CLICHE - 3 July 2011

Sunday 3rd July, 2011  

Today we have lolled by the pool for hours, occasionally going in to cool off, but mainly moving from deckchair to towel and back to the deckchair, from sun to shade and back to the sun. We've been craving this day for weeks. And this is no ordinary pool. Les Trois Sources has 3 springs one of which fills the pool. The pool itself is simple but long enough to do some serious laps. It's the setting that makes it so special. Immediately around the pool is a border of soft smooth stones and then a wider border of grass which gives way on all four sides to banks of dense plantings: masses of Gaiura, with its wands of delicate pink flowers, day lilies, broom, juniper, some varieties of evergreens I'm not familiar with and beyond, groves of bamboo, the stalks of which make a gentle clatter in the breeze. And above all this the impeccable blue sky.

For the moment, Friday has gone missing, but yesterday, Saturday, was Lavender day. Paul, the owner of Les Trois, recommended we travel to the high country where the fields will not be harvested for another 2 or 3 weeks. He suggested we go at the height of the sun as the flowers are "bluer" when they are opened to the heat, whereas later in the day, as the sun dips and the flowers close up for the night, the fields turn grey. Who knew? 


We set off for Sault late morning, driving along back roads lush now with summer,  passing field after field of lavender, the cliche we had agreed to avoid when we were first offered this commission. We had made a similar pact when embarking on our Tuscany: Inside The Light, book - no sunflowers! And in fact the book has only one photograph of them: a field in late autumn whose sole survivors are dried on the stalk, heads bowed like defeated soldiers.

It's always a problem for artists, be they photographers, painters, writers, how to avoid the cliche. An interesting word, French in origin, meaning - literally - printer's stereotype, of imitative origin. And haven't we all seen countless photos of lavender fields. Unfortunately the majority of those photos are not imitative of the original, but over-hyped versions of the real thing. Those saturated blue skies over almost violent purple fields may take some folks breath away but to actually be here and "see" them is a whole different reality with an emphasis on subtlety and complexity. In fact it occurred to us that for some people the "real" thing might at first be a disappointment if they're expecting it to look like those photos. It seems to have become an expectation of we humans - the over-hyped reality we've come to think of as reality, thanks to digital manipulation. But there are some things, many things, in this world that have to be seen to be experienced. And to really "see" is to be willing to stand and breathe it in, to let the surface image deepen by taking the time necessary for the eyes to see beyond the first hit.

The fields we saw yesterday took our breath away not just because of the color, but also because of the variety, abundance and simplicity. One could say that lavender is the essence of Provence and it is hard for us, now, to believe that we nearly robbed ourselves of this experience because of our "artistic" snobbery.

Most of us know that lavender is known for its calming, healing properties. Most of us have smelled some version of it, in an eye pillow perhaps, or a sachet for the drawer. Some of us have drizzled drops of lavender oil into a bath, or added them to water as a facial spray. The lavender I grew on Cape Cod we used for tea, either on its own or mixed with lemon verbena also growing in my garden. So imagine, if you will, being surrounded by it a million, trillion-fold. Imagine the air one breathes during these weeks of lavender bloom.

When we arrived in Sault we had already stopped countless times to pick and squeeze and sniff, filling the dashboard with stems which we squeezed some more as we drove, holding our finger tips to our nostrils for yet another inhalation. Perhaps this is why everyone, everywhere, seems so relaxed and happy...we're all drunk on lavender!  And so you don't really mind if lunch takes a long time to arrive at table and the bill even longer. You just sit and relax and smile and eventually your needs are met.

That's it, isn't it? Or at least one of the "it's." Breathing, relaxing. It slows us down and in the slowing, hasty demands slip into the ether. How much of our time do we all spend anxious about having our needs met and holding our breath while doing so?

After lunch we strolled the town, stopping for an ice-cream cone and gradually working out way to the edge of town from where one could look down to the valley patch-worked with lavender fields. The range of colors from a pale, almost-pink, to, well, lavender, to indigo to purple and some close to charcoal, was impressive and we decided to take the road down into the valley for a closer look.

On closer inspection there is not only the variety of color but also formation, some stems being laden with close-knit spears of flowers while other stems carried their flowers loosely in random clusters. And the perfume, carried in the oil which releases upon pressing, differs as much as the color and formation. Some release a faint scent reminiscent of Grandma's hanky, while the most pungent fill your lungs with all the power of  Vicks Vapor.

It is impossible not to pick and press and inhale all day because it is everywhere. Not just in the fields cultivated for production, but in every garden - private or public - in traffic circles, planters, parking lots and best of all, wild - my favorite. 

Whether in patches or fields, the wild lavender is the opposite of cliche. It is the original still going strong. Mixed here and there with Queen Anne's lace or wheat the wild lavender, much like the wild thyme I discovered here back in the Spring seems to be a metaphor as opposed to a cliche. Wild lavender is a metaphor for the wisdom of the ages: breathe, relax, you'll live longer.