"I was wondering if we were going to see you." Thaddeus said from somewhere behind me. "Where are you?" I replied. "Up here." he said as I was scanning the walls and buildings and saw him with Serge hidden behind a rich outgrowth of plants and ivy. "Come on up, and give us a hand with this" he said shaking some of the weeds. When I finally found the path up to where they were there was a large open park with a semi-circle fountain drained empty, and limestone statues all around nestled into the overgrowth of weeds and plants. Thaddeus and Serge were working away as I approached.

 

Thaddeus was an American painter living in France and I was very curious as to how he managed to live there for the past 9 years. He carried on in French like a native and didn't look like an American, although his black beret was a little too much in retrospect. Serge was an archetypical Provencal, friendly yet fiercely independent. If you were nervous or on edge he could calm you with a simple smile. They were firing exchanges back and forth as I approached and I realized again that my two years of college French would not be enough to get by on here. After all their chattering Thaddeus looks up and says "Take this pair of gloves and start tearing out weeds." Despite my uneasy feelings from that morning I was eager to prove my usefulness and quickly began tearing and throwing weeds from wherever I could find them. Thaddeus responded to Serge again in French and walking away said to me "I have to check on something in the office, I'll be right back."

 

The overgrowth was amazing. It seemed as if this place hadn't been cared for in a couple years. When I on it to Serge he said that this was normal with the mild winter in Provence all the vegetation kept growing during the six months of the year the school was closed. Working side by side with Serge I couldn't help but notice that he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I wasn't sure what he was looking at and I tried to keep working diligently to ignore his glance. I was busy derooting everything unusual in my path when he stopped me as if to share a secret and in a hushed voice said "These you can let go, its thyme" pointing to some wild growth in the center of the lawn. "Or if you want you can put them in your pasta." he said smiling. "Oh, O.K." I said, sort of stunned and not sure what to say. Serge would continue to stop me on several occasions to point out some quality in all the immensity of growth around us. I felt as if he was the cultural ambassador to the Provencal way of life and I paid studious attention to each insight he shared. Thaddeus returned an hour or so later and told Serge that some supplies had arrived in Apt, the nearest thing to a city, and that we should go pick them up. I was relieved as my enthusiastic work ethic was starting to wear down.

 

"Want to go for a ride?" Serge asked. "Sure" I said "Where are we going?". "Over there" Serge said pointing off in the distance. Thaddeus threw a set of keys to Serge and said "Why don't you take Gus?" "OK, we'll be back in a couple hours." Serge said examining the keys. Thaddeus' head shifted back a bit "A couple hours?, your not going to push the car there!". In his defense Serge replied "There are other things I have to get.". Thaddeus conceded "Just try to keep it short, there are more things to get done this afternoon". Serge and I walked down to a gate at the end of the park and out into the narrow street. "Here's Gus" Serge said as we approached a tattered old white mini truck with a cab. "God, this thing is on it's last leg" I said. Serge opened his door and leaning over to open mine said "Oh, the Gusmobile can still get around." . As I stepped in the floor boards were slightly rusted away under the passenger side and I could see the stones in the driveway beneath. I stretched out and put on my seatbelt. The car was something of a hybrid between a riding mower and a light-weight truck. The dashboard was bare except for a speedometer and ignition switch. The stick shift was a simple rod sticking strait out at the driver with a handle on it. Serge started it up and leaning back to look out the rear window gunned the engine reversing up the steep and narrow street. We made the clearing and began descending into the lower village.

 

As we descended Serge would honk at each person we passed and wave as we went along, calling out salutations in French. There weren't more than 400 people living in Lacoste and a third of that number were in farm houses outside the village. Everyone knew everyone else and it seemed like the village was just some large extended family. We went twisting and winding down out of the village and into the lower hills of Lacoste. With our windows open and the sun beaming in we passed several houses and farms as we went, occasionally Serge would comment on one or two. Down in the valley he pointed out the cylindrical shaped pigeoné buildings. They were built to shelter pigeons from the harsh wind of the Mistral and to store farming equipment closer to the fields. Constructed with a sloping roof facing up towards the direction of the Mistral designed to shield the winds and allow the pigeons to enter one of their window openings on the opposite side. Serge explained that the tiles surrounding the building were glazed to keep the mice from climbing in. "You see the openings above the row of tiles?, Each opening is carved differently with clubs, fleur de lis, diamonds, hearts, or whatever that farmer desired." Serge explained with secrecy and pride, "The Provencal farmer has a love for his land and it shows it in the details around us." I didn't need much convincing. The entirety of this place, from the great to the small, had a lucid beauty about it.

 

Looking down through the rusted hole in the floorboard I could only see a flickering blur of the road as we rushed by. We were approaching a steep bridge and Serge was creening his neck to look for any oncoming traffic on the other side. Just before we approach the peak Serge steps on the gas and shouts over the sound of the engine "This bridge was built seven years before the birth of Christ.", and as the gravity left my stomach the immensity of that statement gave me a second rush. I thought "Were we in violation of historical monument laws? How could this bridge be over two thousand years old? Was Serge pulling my leg? Was the car going to bottom out?" all within that instant and then we were back down hurling our way to Apt in a tiny white mini truck named Gus.

 

The bare reality of that place, Provence, awoke in me a feeling similar to the zealousness of a young preacher seeing a truth clearly in ones own mind without the bearing weight of a grading scale for an impotent society. Society is a charade played on the backdrop of an infinite and impartial universe. It is critical to differentiate between society and what lies beyond everything in the bare cold vacuous infinity beyond all constructs, perceptions and ideas. Walking past the pretentious-isolation of soho art galleries I feel an inner disgust and shame just being associated with these places. Beyond the clamor and festivity of the well lit box I feel a deeper kinship with an elderly Chinese woman fishing cans out of a waste basket. A kinship in the reality of that moment without veils or self-righteous effusions. Many workers in the field of art do so as a means of preserving the delusion that their ideas and perceptions are important. If they can prove through accolades and approval the worth of their art then in turn so are they. But they continually live with a crutch will never be able to see beyond the shadow puppetry that is their existence.

 

Serge was investigating the tips of some mounting screws and I wondered around the hardware store making sure that my curiousness was not misinterpreted as shoplifting by keeping my hands in my pockets. "T'a pa quelques unes plus longue?" Serge bouts out. All I hear is 'long' and taking up the opportunity to build upon my understanding I approach the register. The store clerk addresses me as if 'I' needed something. Stepping back and pointing to Serge I muffled out in French "I'm with him" and surrendered the rest of the conversation to those apt at speaking about the particular qualities of mounting screws in French.

 

From there it was on to the bank where the bank manager even had a money in his name. I couldn't believe it at first and I looked at Serge as if to be relieved of the pun that was going on at the Bank but he kept to his business. Then I took another look at the name plate to be sure I saw it correctly. But I was right M. Argentville or 'Mr. Moneyville' was in fact the bank manager at the local Société Générale in Apt. As I grimaced I looked back at the bank representative and then to the ground as he lifted his attention to me. After settling Serge's business we went on to the post office, and later to a grocery store so that I could pick up some basic provisions. On our way back to the car we strolled past some local cafes to see who was in attendance. Within the relative quickness of our visit four hours had passed and a terror struck me as I looked up at Serge who already had a calming squint in his eye. He gently pushed down my worries with a signal of his hand. I accepted his gesture but was still concerned that Thaddeus would be upset and completely unimpressed by the efforts of my first day. What kind of impression was I leaving? Arriving at Lacoste too early, sleeping in too late, lounging around late into the afternoon with the worries of my dreams from the night before. That dream. Maybe this was the beginning of that prophecy. Serge calmed me again by saying that I had nothing to worry about Thaddeus wouldn't be upset and if he was he would claim he had held me captive the whole time.

 

Leaving Apt the sky had gained a deeper cast and riding along the N 100 Serge explained to me that this path was first laid out by the Romans. Imagining this scene and this landscape hushed with the silence that must have reigned here during that time I lost track of Serge's voice and could only focus on the orange cast that was slowly closing the day before my eyes. Returning to Lacoste the cool air had already descended from the early blue night of the sky and we parked Gus outside of the village at the "Portail des chevres". With no explanation or anecdote from Serge I took this to mean that we were supposed to be hushed while entering the village again. We could see lights on in Thaddeus' living room as we got nearer. Serge entered the gate of the stairwell leading up to the house and carried his supplies over to the door of an adjoining building. Opening the door with no hesitation or secrecy the latch kicked back and the whining door let out a sigh as Serge looked for the light switch. Thaddeus came to his window and looked out to see what the sound was and then returned to his living room. That was my first exposure to the Provencal conception of being on time. Everything would get done when it was done and we'd be there when we were there. I helped Serge put away our purchases from the hardware store and felt an ease fall over my body realizing I wasn't going to be chewed out for being late. Saying good night to Serge I took the few bags of provisions I had purchased and settled into my tiny kitchen. I decided on "Western" as the flavor of tuna-salad-in-a-can I would have for dinner, and I broke off a piece of bread. Chewing the end of the bread while opening a bottle of wine there was a calm and comfort that made me feel miles away from the dream of the previous night.

 

What can you explain ?, and how can you understand the forces and compulsions driving your emotions and actions? What do we do when we see into the baseness of the human condition and we find our selves staring at the most inhuman and brutal animal and discover that we are looking into a mirror and the animal is not the other, it is ourselves.

 

The next morning I am heading out to explore the village a little before working and leaving my room I am greeted by Thaddeus who is just coming home from a bike ride all geared up from head to toe in colorful logos and sweating profusely. "Morning Thaddeus, where have you been?" I ask as he is dismounting his 15 speed. "Everywhere" he replies and continues to describe the Provence landscape during the fresh hours of the morning light. "Its really the best time to see the countryside, especially on the bike. You feel like the only person out there with the farmers." My intrigue leads to more discussion and then Thaddeus suggests, "There is a bike that I used to ride, but it was too tall for me, its just sitting in storage, why don't you try it out and if you like it I could sell it to you for cheap." I was very excited by the opportunity and took him up on it immediately. Parting ways till later I went in search of the boulangerie in the lower part of the village to get some croissants.

 

Finding my way down to the lower street of the village offered many choices. Deciding on a narrow stair case with high rising walls on each side I took special care with each step as they were worn down and sloped off in the middle. Reaching the "rue base" there was a tabac, cafe and boulangerie. This was the main commercial strip of the village. As I entered the boulangerie the bell on the door rang and stirred a nervousness in me that broke my concentration. I was preparing my order in my head and now I was suddenly searching for the words to what I wanted to say when a young lady emerged from behind a curtain separating the storefront and the glowing oven that I could see in a glimpse just behind her. "Bonjour, questce que vous voulez?" she chimed as I was still struggling to conjugate verbs in my head. I was forced to resort to pointing and gesturing to the croissants "Sil vous plait?". She was very kind and asked how many I wanted and to that I was able to reply with emphasis, "UNE", trying to show that I did know some French. She slipped the croissant into a small paper envelope that was decorated with an illustration of the sun rising over a golden croissant with birds flying around it. "Quelque choses d'autre?" she said asking if I'd lke any thing else and now with confidence I said "Une pain", to which she corrected me "Un pain". Well by all accounts I was failing on my language skills. Still smiling as she gave me my change I had a well planned departure ready when she surprised me with a trick question. All I could understand was something about 'American School' and to that I just nodded and backed my way out the door, getting in a "merci" and "au revoir", before ringing the bell above the door again as I departed.

 

Leaving the boulangerie humbled and frustrated with my lack of French I chose the fastest route back up to the top of the village on the stairs I had descended. This time walking up I was aware of how deep in fact the slope was in each step. I was slowed to nearly a stop as I realized that each step had been worn down by generations and generations of people walking up and down these stairs for ages. As I began to contemplate the history of those stairs I was swept with a feeling of transience and recognized myself as just another generation with many more yet to come. Then I took each remaining step softly trying to preserve them further.

 

Getting back to the house I had set a quick breakfast for myself with my croissant and some espresso. From my kitchen I heard Serge whistling as he approached the workshop where he left his tools the night before. "Salut Terrence" he called out with a smile. "Uh, salut Serge" I replied shifting into French-mode. "Croissants, huh?" he said. "Their great, they melt in your mouth" I said realizing I could have never come close to such an expression in French. Thaddeus came out freshly showered and dressed in his "french" garb. "Bonjour les gars!" he called out looking down from the flight of stairs that lead to his door. I finished my breakfast chugging the last swig of cold esspresso and quickly exiting my room to join Serge and Thaddeus to talk about the days work plan.

 

The other assistants would be arriving in few weeks and that was when the real preparations for the school would begin. In the meantime there was a lot of work that needed to be done to the house where we would be staying. It was decided that Serge and myself would take some of the tools and equipment out to the house to start on its preparation. Thaddeus asked if I had any carpentry experience and I was able to respond with a confident yes as I had made most of my money while in art school hanging sheet rock and working on installations for our school coffee house. So Serge and I loaded ourselves with tool boxes and materials and headed back to Gus parked outside the village. The drive down the street was so short I was wondering why we had taken the car at all. The house was located in the bend of the road descending back down to the lower part of the village. It was part of a small cluster of three houses built side by side. The neighbors barking dog was relentlessly trying to get around the fence to tear us to pieces. Serge just went about his business unloading the car. When we loaded everything into the house the dog finally relinquished his bark but continued looking for that one opening in the fence that he might have past over the last time by. The house was filled with cobwebs and the dirt and debris in the living room and kitchen suggested that a widow had been left open. Serge explained that there was also a leak in the storm drain that was entering the house. He had an idea to fix it and suggested that I should start with some general clean up of each room. After helping Serge carry his tools to the top room of the house I went back down the living room to start with the sweeping.

 

Several hours had gone by when Thaddeus came down the road by foot. "Just seeing how things are going, where is Serge?" he asked. "Ho Thaddeus!" Serge called out from up above. Backing up into the street we could see Serge on the roof. "Hey, be careful Serge" Thaddeus pleaded. "Don't worry it's very safe up here" Serge said "and besides I found the leak". "Great just don't get yourself killed trying to fix it." Thaddeus retorted. We went inside and Thaddeus looked around at the state of things. It wasn't as bad as he thought and told me to keep up the good work. As he was walking out of the doorway he stopped and stood over the dirt and grave entryway and said "Maybe we could do something here with some loose limestone, otherwise all this dirt will just get tracked in again." I replied "Sure I could try to find something to go there" to which I received an approving nod from Thaddeus. A little while later I heard Serge descending the stairs and he asked if Thaddeus was still here. I told him he had just left five minutes ago as Serge rummaged for the keys in his pocket saying "lets go, I've got to get some more things from the workshop, we'll just take an early lunch and meet back here at 2:00". Wow, that’s a long lunch I thought to myself and asked if he was sure that would be ok with Thaddeus. Serge said "Of course, this is Provence, haven't you heard of the siesta, its the rule in Provence to nap a little after your lunch. You wake up fresh and ready to go for the second half of the day." That sounded good enough for me and I wasn't going to argue too much over a two hour lunch so I went along with him.

 

Serge dropped me off in the village and drove Gus further down the road to his house . Settling into my place I picked out another flavor of Tuna-fish-salad-in-a-can, this time Mediterranean and broke my fresh baguette in half for a lazy meal. I didn't know what Mediterranean would be like, but it turned out that it wasn't half as good as Western. In a short while I had finished my lunch and was restless with a desire to explore the village some more. I had an hour and a half left before I had to meet Serge at the house again. I found it impossible to stay inside and decided to head up to the top of the village where the 'infamous' chateau of the Marquis de Sade lay in ruin.

 

I didn't know what was so infamous about Sade only that Thaddeus had described the chateau in that manner. Heading out with my sketchbook in hand I climbed a small wall of rocks just next to my house and was shortly mounting a path towards the chateau. At the front face of the chateau I looked up a steep scattered path of rocks that were shaded with a row of small trees. Beyond the path there was the steep monolithic face of the chateau looking out over the valley. The facade was in shadow facing north and once I got closer I could see where large segments of the outer wall had fallen. The stone seemed old and gray and much different from the warm stone of the village. Certain areas of the facade seemed in relatively good condition and the mortar facing on one tower was nearly completely intact except for a long crack that ran from the ground to nearly half the height of the tower.

 

Turning my view to match that of the chateau I had a feeling of wonder and power looking out over the vast gaping void of landscape somehow filled and brimming with life. I was in awe of this place and invigorated by it. I felt entirely humbled by its grandeur and yet greater myself by being apart of it. How could I even think of drawing this? I Decided to climb the steps of the chateau and came to a flat area beneath the door where I could sit and look out from even higher up. The village and all that was underneath disappeared in a steep decent towards the valley. My vision was unbroken and limited only by the singularity of my person and yet surpassed by the immense volume of sky peering back at me. There was too much to try to sketch, too much to try to take in, so I decided to just sit there and be apart of it. Observing the macro and the micro worlds around me I gently passed away the time until an hour had gone by and I had to soberly descend to the village again.