By Victoria Looseleaf
As freelance arts journalists, we take what work we can, whenever we can, wherever we can. So when the opportunity arose to travel to Aix-en-Provence, the home of painter Paul Cézanne, we jumped. Well, actually, we flew. So what if it was only for four nights? (And that meant three days, actually, as there were two travel days, with nine – count ‘em – nine time zones traversed in the process.)
But our philosophy has basically been the following: Since we’re not over our jet lag by the time we’re turning around to head back Stateside, the jet lag, once home, is not that bad. (Unless you arrive home to a dead car, but we shan’t get into that…) In any case, we proved this theory before, with two previous 4-night trips, Parma, Italy in October 2011 (for the Verdi Festival), and last August to Zakopane, Poland (where the late composer Henryk Górecki had a mountain home), to see an amazing dance performance and celebrate our birthday, as it happened. And it did happen.
Mais, quel trip we had in Aix! We went to cover Angelin Preljocaj’s world premiere, Les Nuits for Dance Magazine (click here for our review). We don’t even care that it rained matin, midi et soir (well, there was a respite of a few hours, during which time we sat at an outdoor café drinking vin rose). Since we’re from Cleveland (and don’t get us started about the triple, 10-year old kidnapping/rescue of those poor girls – we’re not exactly sure what neighborhood that is, our being from the East side of town), we miss and actually love, love, love la pluie. Even in Europe when we travel. But Aix’s rain did feel more like Amsterdam and den Hague than the South of France.
We’ll also be writing a travel article anon, but did want to mention a few things about our fabulous trip: Firstly, there was time spent at Ballet Preljocaj’s home (since 2006), the Pavillon Noir, an exquisite building dedicated solely to dance, designed by starchitect Rudy Ricciottoi. Hello, L.A., when will you build a dance venue? We’re waiting…
We had a brief tour of the premises, where last-minute rehearsals were taking place for Les Nuits, based on Scheherazade and The Thousand and One Nights, and which would premiere later that night. By the way, the L.A. Music Center is one of its many commissioners, and the piece, after stopping in such disparate places as Lebanon, Russia and Kazakhstan (and all over Europe), will arrive at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in June, 2014.
Though we didn’t have any foie gras (that’s from the north), we had a lovely meal at La Mado, where our placemat was emblazoned with our name and title, “Journaliste.” We also had plenty of vin, frommage and frites during our brief stay, fortifying us for when we finally trekked to Atelier Cézanne (on foot up a steep street), where we were told we couldn’t enter: A busload of 60 tourists had just arrived – late – and there was no room for two very thin media persons. Alas!
We did get to the Saturday market, buying lavender honey (Aix is famous for that purple herb), and sauntered down the streets made famous by tout les artistes impressionists. Then, after the Preljocaj work debuted – it took place at the Grand Théâtre de Provence, not the Pavillon Noir – there was a lovely cocktail party there, at the Teddy Bar, followed by a fabulous fête at Chez Angelin. There we schmoozed with composers, dancers and other artistes, ate, drank and went wild for the choreographer’s paintings, before slogging back through the streets to Hotel Saint Christophe, where we closed our eyes for about two hours before our taxi came to whisk us away to the Marseille Airport.
But, as we mentioned, we’ll fill you in on more of Aix’s charms, sights and whatever, later. In the interim, put on some Piaf, pour a tall burgundy and hope you, too, can get to France in the not too distant future. It’s funny, but when we went to a screening of the film, Renoir, a few months ago (it’s about the artist during the last years of his life, and though it was beautifully shot, it lacked any real conflict or plot development), it made us long to go to the South of France, and, voilà…we did. (Les Nuits photos, left & top: Jean-Claude Carbonne) To quote one of my favorite peeps, Clyde Barrow, “Ain’t life grand!”
