A HIATUS AND A CELEBRATION.

In October 2020 in between Covid lock-downs I upped sticks and moved to rural Provence, France.  I had been holed up in London during the pandemic staying with friends as I had previously given up my accommodation with plans to move to France after I had finished travelling in the U.S and Canada, all of which quickly ended when borders started closing as the virus spread.    My long held dream of living and working in the E.U had been significantly impacted years previously by the Brexit referendum and so this move was my last chance to settle in the E.U before the door was well and truly shut even in the midst of a worldwide pandemic.

A friend offered accommodation in Puimoisson a little village in the Alpes de Haute Provence prefecture. A charming and rustic village surrounded by lavender fields, mountains, rivers and lakes. A week after my arrival both France and the U.K went back into lockdown and here I have remained ever since.

Within 3 months of my arrival I bought a little house in the village which I have slowly been renovating.  I also became ill with a mix of physical and mental exhaustion, pain and muscle tension and an awful explosion of tinnitus.  My journey with the French National Health service began. Over 5 years later I have managed to settle into a routine in-between bouts of further ill health including a cancer diagnosis and the death of my mother, other family members and a number of dear friends. Not surprisingly my creative output dwindled but I did manage to scratch out enough time and energy to work including completing a large commission for St Paul’s Cathedral Melbourne.

The Baptism

Egg Tempera and gold leaf on canvas

H 200 cm x W 320 cm (triptych) 2 x panels H 200 cm x W 80 cm 1 x panel H 200 cm x W 160cm

Saint Pauls Cathedral, Melbourne, Australia.

2024

Last year I also oversaw the conversion of my attic into a new art studio with incredible views over the Valensole plateau towards Le Grand Marges, a mountain that stirs many memories of Mount Tauhara, a mountain I grew up at the base of in Taupo, Aotearoa, New Zealand.

Le Grand Marges

Today my health is improving and my creative output is slowly gaining momentum. My French is still terrible but friends in the village are a great encouragement. Regular 3 monthly tests have also revealed no further cancer and so I live with hope that this will continue.  Recently I was also heartened to learn of the “3 Mothers” being installed in their new home at Lambeth Palace, London.  The new Archbishop of Canterbury, the Rt Revd and Rt Hon Dame Sarah Mullally DBE has been a wonderful support and for this I am grateful.

  

3 Mothers Triptych

Pilgrimage of the heart

Sometimes there is an artwork which stays  in your heart and mind.  The Isenheim Altar piece is for me one one such work.

My first degree was in Religious Studies and Art.  For my dissertation I studied the Isenheim Altarpiece attributed to Mathias Gruenwald and painted in 1506 - 1515. Originally painted for the Monastery of Saint Anthony in Isenheim it is now on display in the Unterlinden Museum in Colmar, France.  The monks at the monastery were known for their work with people with skin diseases and from the Altarpiece's tortured figure of Christ on the Cross you can see the artist had this in mind.

I don't have a copy of my dissertation but I certainly remember writing it.  It was during Lent 1996. I was staying in the house of a Franciscan Nun (third order) who was away.  In Dove Cottage there was no television and few disruptions so I could focus on the task at hand. For hours I meditated on the crucifixion and explored its symbolism, form and theological meaning and of course the house was full of other religious imagery. Deep stuff but also quite poignant as I was myself going through a period of grief and suffering.  I can remember stuffing the stove with wood to keep warm and huddling beside it giving thanks that I wasn't called to be a monk!  My suffering though was not caused by the cold but rather was an ailment of the heart.

I wrote of the arms of the crucified figure of Christ being stretched out to the cosmos distorted by the hatred of man.  Hands that had once been the hands of a carpenter, hands that created. I reflected on the feet of Jesus so disfigured and grotesque a large nail tearing them apart.  It was all very disturbing.  I wrote a letter to Sister Wendy Beckett a famous art critic to ask her thoughts about images of the crucifixion.  She very kindly wrote back saying she found it to painful to spend time meditating on such images.  I cherish this letter. Fifteen years later I travelled to Colmar to see for the first time in real life the Isenheim Altarpiece.  Travelling through beautiful countryside on the train from Paris I shared with a friend memories of my time in the cold little house of the Franciscan nun, my need for warmth and of my inner turmoil at the time.  Memories flooded back. I remembered a retreat to a Franciscan Monastery in Dorset not long after my stay at Dove Cottage. Sitting in the chapel I gazed at the Franciscan Cross. Unlike the Isenheim Triptych the Jesus on this cross is sleek and beautiful. For a moment I visualised him leaning over and surrounding me with his arms in a warm embrace followed by the cross which enveloped us both.  I felt a mixture of love and empathy mixed with a little fear. I wondered about the significance of this vision (if I can be allowed to call it that). Is love never experienced without suffering?

Standing in front of the Isenheim triptych I gave thanks for past lessons. Lessons learnt? Well thats another blog entry but I certainly stood as someone without regrets.  I was also pleased to see the altarpiece had been displayed so that all the panels could be seen. The beauty and vibrancy of Gruenwald's resurrection stood in stark contrast to his crucifixion.  Here Christ dances in the air in a flamboyant display of joy and victory swathed in beautiful colours and divine light.  Fifteen years is a long time to wait to see the resurrection but I was happy.

For the remainder of my time in France I stayed with my friend's uncle and aunt who showed wonderful hospitality.  I sat in their garden feeling the warmth of the sun, ate great food  and listened to my friend play the piano while we sang songs of love and memories. www.musee-unterlinden.com/isenheim-altarpiece.html