le petit village valbonne dans la bonne vallée
Valbonne, France is a short distance by the #10 bus from Antibes. (On met 45 minutes pour y aller.) I have visited Valbonne many times, and when arriving there I have rarely changed my habits.
I arrive before lunch, I walk and look and shoot and look some more and walk and turn often and notice a side street that I have forgotten or never seen and walk through it, stopping and looking and shooting some photographs, and before I know it it is lunch time.
I am like a cricket, making a rhythmical chirping sound again and again. I continue to repeat my past and don’t understand it.
I do the dishes regularly and often, with endless repetition. The dishes are soiled and made clean and soiled again. J. Alfred Prufrock measured out his life in coffee spoons. I drink espressos each day.
However, something happens when I go to Valbonne once again, or to any of the many villages on the Côte d’Azure where I have visited. When I go I am observant, alert, creative. I see fresh, often the unfamiliar within the familiar.
I wonder how many times I have listened to the Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor of Rachmaninoff or how many times I have examined Turner’s watercolor paintings? (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail.)
In the old part of Valbonne the residents take care to decorate their small streets with flowers and plants. Often those plants are near doors and windows, but sometimes along a wall they decorate simply. (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail.)
The doors and windows, their colors and configurations, I believe, do not come into existence for tourists, nor were they built for some one like me who cannot ignore what is purposefully functional and at the same time quite by chance beautiful. (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail.)