fin de l’annee
January 1, 2013
Many of the last hours of the end of the year were spent wandering around Avignon – discovering, admiring, absorbing – and doing some stocktaking. Place Saint Pierre, tucked behind the church, forms the smallest of cross axes and has quickly become a necessary cut through. Strange window decoration close by . . macabre
. . . the bell tower by Place des Carmes is topped with intricate metalwork – fine contrast to the simple architecture and stonework.
Golden rays surround cherubs carefully transporting the head of John the Baptist to some holy place on the facade of the Baroque Chapel of the Pénitents Noirs de la Miséricorde. More macabre goings on . . . . my last post showed images of the public space by the Place du Palais . . .
. . . the smallest family member got to grips quickly with the spacious areas here on his way up to the playgrounds in the Rocher des Doms and, hopefully, banked the architecture of the Conservatory ( beautiful frontage and originally the Papal Mint) for future reference.
What we thought were scarecrows in the small Papal vineyard turn out to be installations by local art students – decorative and functional. The magnificent supports to the old pine have the same qualities to my mind. Returning down to Place de l’Horloge, the Xmas market is still in full swing around the Carousel. The owner is quite grumpy but, all those who try it out and also their proud relations who applaud, smile and make up for his poor attitude. The interior of the roof has salacious scenes from classical myths – a good bit of nudity to warm up minds at this cold end of year – but a little incongruous.
Final sunset to herald a New Year – looks promising if only for the short term.
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky. Rainer Maria Rilke