playing away

(This is my friend Louise playing in our home. Isn't she lovely....?)

More trains: This time towards home, sat in between a woman in pajamas and stillettos, and a piggy man swinging a pendulum in front of his private parts. Perhaps he is divining whether or not to sell them off for 'amourette', or merely guessing if he'll get lucky with pajama lady.... What the heck, it's spring, it's HOT and everyone should be allowed out!

Julian and I have been thinking - about websites for gites and festivals in the vines; about walking tours, paintings small and large; about the fact that this is our wonderful life and we'll miss if I remain in absentia.

Julian has spoken up about his fears (how grateful I am to be married to a man who can do that!) of becoming a bearded old crust in the corner of the studio with the cats licking paintbrushes for nourishment, should I not be around to help make the bridge between the loner and his world. We have considered daily rituals for him to make that connection when I'm gone - a morning walk, lunch in the Bedoin bar and of course setting up the easel in plein air. I, meanwhile, with the liberation that comes with having my beloved entrust me with his feelings, have realized that, however extreme, everything I do from now on must be a building block for a future based at home rather than on the TGV.

To me, three things are clear: The first is that I love playing - playing opens up my heart and my spirit. I have to play, and on the high level to which I am accustomed. The second is that I believe we should be paid handsomely for what we do and that the money is out there. Thirdly, if I am not 'playing away' I need to attract inspiration to me to keep me alive musically.

"Build it and they will come" (said Kevin Kostner floatily but oh so truthfully in 'Field of Dreams'). Julian has built is site. He is now trying to let go and trust that it will bear fruit. - And I want to build a festival. However, I vow never to be the person (and there are many) who becomes lazy in her playing because her festival is comfortably on the doorstep of her Provencal mas, whilst the invitees mutter "Yeah, the place is amazing, the food and wine are to die for but the only drawback is that the old cow who runs it insists on playing". I vow to continue to - as I was once accused by a presque dead desk partner - 'chercher trop'.

As I work through these weeks playing Haydn, Cimarrosa, Rossini and Mozart in snow, mountains, heat and dust, I am meeting many of the good muso folk of the south and building valuable contacts: The principal violist who is desperate to move back down to her family home in Lourmarin, a well known baroque violinist in Caromb, an oboist who lives in a chapel near Montelimar, never sees his kids because he is always on tour and who shares my longing to do the Bach cantatas...and I realize that after this difficult year or two are up I will have a good idea about what might be possible.

(.....oh, and we will both get beautiful and slim and fit, and drink less.)

I therefore propose a low alcohol toast on the terrace which is not yet a terrace, to believing in spring; to new growth (and new shrinking) everywhere!

"Sante"

(.......mmmmmmmmmm. Bring in the glowsticks!)