Tag: Maury

Voix de Femmes

 

Last weekend was the annual Voix de Femmes music festival, which for me was a bit of time-travel, for a little while. Like a number of other photographers who started working professionally in San Francisco in the late 60’s, I began shooting rock concerts. There wasn’t much money in it but there was plenty of music, lots of dope and the feeling that this was the best time in the best place in the world. A lot of great photographers came out of that scene, many stayed in it – none better than Jim Marshall who defied all expectations by dying in his sleep two years ago – but my life took a different turn and most of the next 20 years were spent in San Francisco’s Opera House, a very different scene, but one with numerous similarities: a diva is a diva after all, whether she’s singing Verdi or the blues.

After many more turns, here I was last weekend shooting a rock concert for the first time in about 40 years.

Voix de Femmes is a big deal in Maury, two days of diverse musical events plus theatrical events for the children, now in its twelfth year. Things got under way Friday night with Sallie Ford and the Sound Outside, a band from Portland Oregon that cultivates an idiosyncratic retro image – actually Sallie has the image, the guys just have jeans and t-shirts – but rides on the strength of Sallie’s voice. Comparisons some have made to Billie Holiday or Bessie Smith are a bit out of line, but she can sing.

Sallie Ford
©2012 Ron Scherl

They were followed by Amadou and Mariam, two musicians from Mali with a kickass band that had the audience up and dancing. I’m up in front of the speakers, ears ringing, losing the rest of my hearing.

Amadou ©2012 Ron Scherl

Saturday had four free afternoon events, two performances for the kids, an early music concert and a public chorale featuring a manic comedienne and the good citizens of Maury cajoled into singing in the Place de la Mairie.

Cie Label Z: Babeth Joinet ©2012 Ron Scherl

Les Troubadours are part of a roving festival funded by the Regional Council that celebrates early music and Occitane and Catalan culture in Romanesque architectural sites. The Maury concert was held in the Chappelle de St. Roch, a Romanesque design built in the mid 19th century to honor St. Roch, to whom the commune had appealed to halt a cholera epidemic. This was a wonderful concert, great voices, early instruments, love songs dedicated to the female troubadours of the past.

Troubadours in the Chapel of St. Roch: Carole Matras ©2012 Ron Scherl

The evening shows featured two young women: L, a poetic storyteller who reminded me a bit of Madeleine Peyroux, but still needs to grow into performance, and Anaïs, a versatile chanteuse with an amusing rap, accompanied by a DJ along with the band. It struck me that both might be much more interesting in a small venue.

L ©2012 Ron Scherl
Anaïs © 2012 Ron Scherl

My back was aching, my recaptured youth all but gone. I managed to get home, raised a glass to Jimmy Marshall, took four ibuprophen and three days to recover.

“I ache in the places where I used to play”, L. Cohen, Tower of Song.

Father’s Day

Last week I went out to the vineyards with Bob and his son, Gabriel. Bob was doing his weekly inspection, checking the progress of the vines, looking for any signs of disease or weather damage. There had been some hail the week before and some leaves were damaged but the baby fruit looked fine. Gabriel is a bright and curious six-year-old boy and when you see him playing with friends or his little sister, you notice a gentle and caring nature.

Gabriel ©2012 Ron Scherl

All Gabby’s questions start “Daddy?” and Bob’s patience is impressive. Every one is answered seriously as Bob treats him with respect and guides him with knowledge, encouraging more questions. While looking out for his safety, he also gives him the freedom to explore, and plants the seeds of self-reliance so necessary for growth. Bob urges him to join in the inspection, teaching his trade, letting him touch and understand, transferring his love of the land. It occurs to me that this is exactly the progression of generations that has farmed these vineyards for centuries. That Bob is not French and not from here means nothing at all; he is doing what the Calvets and Raynauds and Batlles and Lafages have always done in farming their land and passing the knowledge along to the next generation, along with the strength and independence needed to make it work. Societies like this can be suffocating to some who will find it necessary to leave; others will take comfort in tradition and stay. But with the continuity of knowledge, if you feel the need to rebel, at least you know what you’re rejecting.

Late in the morning, Bob and I were walking together in a very hilly vineyard; Gabriel lagging behind picking up rocks and sticks. When he looked up and realized he’d lost sight of us, Gabby was frightened and cried out for Bob, who ran back to pick him up and comfort him.

Bob and Gabriel ©2012 Ron Scherl

I’ve seen Bob be stern and strict when he thought the boy’s behavior was inappropriate; out in the vineyards this day I saw the rest of the job: the guidance, caring, patience and love of a parent. Watching them interact you feel that Bob will not hesitate to provide guidance and encouragement when needed, criticism and discipline when warranted. Within this framework are positive expectations of independence, self-reliance, security and comfort.

We never see the whole story, but it’s nice when the good stuff’s in focus.

The Great Parking Crisis of 2012

Geneviève was fed up. These people were not playing by the rules and could not be convinced that parking in front of her house was just not done. Time and again they just ignored her and parked wherever they wished. Geneviève does not like to be ignored so she went to the mayor. And Charley doesn’t ignore anyone.

Parking in Maury is not a straightforward experience. Walking around town it appears that anyone can park just about anywhere. You see cars in front of doors and blocking driveways, streets become impassable because of oversized vehicles in the wrong places. But this is a very small town and you tend to know everyone and their car, so when you open the garage door and see Michel’s car, you walk down the street and tell him you need to get out. There’s time. Often, there will be a loudspeaker announcement from the Mairie asking someone to move, and if you don’t hear it you may be towed, but if your driveway is blocked when the Mairie is closed you’re out of luck. Someone decided to park in the middle of our street this weekend and just left it there for two days. Unbelievably, no one behind him tried to move a car and thankfully, there were no emergencies that would have required access.

Now some of this is unavoidable; most of these houses were built before cars and without garages and in some cases garages have been converted into additional living space. Sometimes people need to drop off groceries before parking and sometimes a visit lasts longer than expected. And then there are those who are just too inconsiderate and entitled to be bothered. They’re everywhere.

But there must be some underlying order to this and it probably has to do with how long your family has been in the village. A few months ago, I’d noticed others had been parking in front of Geneviève’s house, so I pulled up and no sooner had I set the brake then she popped out and waggled a finger at me. I told her it was just for a minute and received the blessing but it was clear I was not to make a habit of this. I figured all the other parkers were family but when it turned out to be the arrivistes from down the street, she went straight to the mayor.

So Charley called a meeting, right out on the street in question, and everyone on the block received notice, Tuesday at 6:30. This was an exciting event and since I was parked in my garage, I was in the clear. When I got out and saw the scene shaping up the first thing that came into my head was Cartier-Bresson’s photograph of a Nazi collaborator being denounced at the end of the war. I’d show it to you but I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was making comparisons, either of the situation or the photographers. And I still believe in copyright.

The Neighbors ©2012 Ron Scherl
The Mayor ©2012
Pierrette and Geneviève ©2012 Ron Scherl

The upshot of the whole thing is that these parking scofflaws are moving to Estagel in a couple of months (we knew they weren’t our kind of people) and Charley worked out a temporary solution to get us through the crisis:

– two of the offending vehicles which are not used very much will be parked elsewhere;

– everyone will take care not to park in front of low windows, front doors or garages;

– not on the sidewalks either;

– those people fortunate enough to have a garage will park there.

Oh, and everyone will please take their garbage cans inside as soon as possible after the collection. Seems careless parkers are also a little loose with the poubelles.

Charley expressed his hope that civility and common sense will lead to cooperation with this plan and he wouldn’t have to use his police powers to post signage and mark the road with parking instructions to be enforced by the gendarmes.

In other news:

The nearby village of Bugarach has called off  “The End of the World” previously scheduled for December, 2012. A new reading of the Mayan calendar suggests things will go on for a while longer and the proliferation of t-shirt vendors was really bumming out everyone.

Les Amorioles

This is a great event. It’s known as a balade and consists of a walk of about three miles through the vineyards on a beautiful spring day when the vines are green and the fruit is forming, the fields in between are a riot of wildflowers, and the temperature is 75-80o. Along the way, you’ll stop at six stations, each has one course in a complete meal designed to complement the wines of the terroir available to taste from the 26 participating wineries. The winemakers are there to answer questions and there are several guides on the trail to provide information on grape varietals, soil composition and geological history of the region. The dessert stage is at a plaza in town where a fine jazz combo plays standards in a mellow ending to the day.

The event is sponsored by the winemakers with support from regional council tourism funds. It’s great PR and it sells wine. At the last stop you can buy any of the featured wines and they seemed to be selling well. This is hands-on and local, and when a wine sells out the winemaker rushes back to his cave to get more.

It’s fun, educational, delicious; totally without pretension and you get some exercise too. It’s hard to imagine feeling better about spending a day eating and drinking.

But I was working. I’d been invited to participate, knew to bring my cameras along and for me it was an assignment. I knew there was no money in this but I coveted the t-shirt. I also knew there would be material for my book and blog and an opportunity to meet many winemakers I didn’t already know. So I took it seriously and went to work and for me that means I didn’t eat and didn’t taste (mostly). I know, I know, men are not very good at multi-tasking, but that’s the way I have to work. I don’t make good photos when I’m on vacation or tasting wine.

So when I finished the walk and met up with the leaders, the first thing they asked was “Did I enjoy the food?” I said I didn’t eat. No food, no wine tasting. I said there was too much work I wanted to do. Bernard responded: “There is work and there is life, you must have both.” I love the French, they really talk like this.

Pierrette asked me to stay for the grillade but I was done. I had a shower, some wine, cheese and ibuprophen and went to bed.

The Café

“Grand Hotel…always the same. People come, people go. Nothing ever happens.”

 

In Maury, everyone comes to the café Friday nights. When I arrive Richard and Bob are sitting with Bardot who’s on his semi-hourly pastis break from painting my house. I go to buy him another and gather hugs from the kids on my way to the bar. Bob and I discuss an apartment for rent next door to his house that he had arranged for me to see, but it’s not for me. I need more, a comfortable place where I can feel at home. Meanwhile, Richard is fielding a call from the US and Bardot lets himself into Ben’s house and emerges with a flat of tomato plants. The next day Bardot shows me his garden and where he’s planting Ben’s tomatoes.

 

Jean-Roger and the rain arrive at about the same time, but when the rain turns to hail, JR dashes off to the vineyards to check the vines. The fruit is just beginning to form and is extremely vulnerable to hail. He returns with a report of not much damage and everyone smiles and another round appears.

 

He also mentions a house that will be available soon and promises to find out more. I’ll need to follow up.

 

The children love the rain and I become the adult designated to lift the kids up to push the rain off the awning. Did I forget to mention that we are outside? Smokers.

 

Aimee has a small encounter with a very small dog, many tears but not much damage. The dog’s owner then gets a bit of a talking to from Pierre, the proprietor, who follows it up by buying him a drink.

 

Sarah appears and tells me how much she loved meeting my sister. She talks for a bit about how important siblings are, how they ground us, connect us to the past and most of all to family. I say little, thinking instead of other connections. Sarah mentions that her brother is coming for a visit and she’s sure I’ll like him.

 

Jean-Roger leaves and Manu arrives with young Clarice. The rain stops, starts again, and then the sky clears.

 

Marcel stops in for a beer followed by Taieb the hunter and Jean Pla, who is now a negociant, buying wine from coops and selling it under his own labels. He has an “End of the World” cuvé from Bugarach that’s a big seller. Taieb is a hunter of wild boar but he doesn’t eat pork so I asked him if the pleasure for him was in the hunt. He responded by inviting me to go with him, just to shoot cameras, not guns. I agreed and we made a tentative plan subject to weather, etc.

Taieb ©2012 Ron Scherl

 

Pizza appears and the pizza kid has not taken my advice. He needs to put the chorizo on top of the cheese and put the pizza on the floor of the oven, not on a tray so the crust can bake. Having established myself as a photographer I now need to turn some of my attention to pizza. So much work, so little time.

 

Fragments of conversation roll around the tables until overwhelmed by a political rant clearly anti-government, but otherwise unintelligible to me and most everyone else. I understand very little but it really doesn’t seem to matter. I nod, shrug, pet the dog, make the pff sound and non, non, say beh, shake my head, order a drink. It resembles a conversation until I head for home.

The Painter

Bardot starts early and I can hear him trying to tiptoe on the scaffolding while I’m still half asleep. By the time I’m up for coffee, he’s down to the café for his first pastis break of the day. When he returns, he greets me with “Bonjour, jeune homme”, although I must have 10 years on him. He’s never more than an hour from a pastis and there’s always a cigarette in his mouth, but he works hard and well. This is an old house with a heavily cracked and irregular surface and it’s now looking good.

 

Bardot ©2012 Ron Scherl

Bardot has that heavy southern accent, speaks quickly and always has that cigarette going. He wears a little pouch around his neck to hold his lighter. In the beginning I couldn’t understand a word he said, but now I’m starting to get it. This evening I came back from a walk and he was just packing up.  I asked him if he’d like something to drink and he replied, “Moi, seulement Ricard, vous avez le Ricard?”

Oui, and we went to the kitchen for a drink. He told me some of the shutters were broken and he would fix them and I asked if it would be extra above the estimate. No, no. I never charge more. I want you to be happy and feel I did a good job. I told him I was very happy and would buy him a Ricard whenever we were in the café together. That may suit his retirement plan but it’s likely to strike a serious blow to mine.

I asked him why he was working weekends and holidays and he tells me he has several jobs lined up after this, and he really wants to retire.

“Quel age avez-vous?”

“58”

“Too young”, I said.

“But, I get up in the morning and it hurts to get out of bed.”

“Me too”

“And how old are you?”

“66”

“Beh, taking photos isn’t work, snap, snap. You’re a young man.”

Finishing off his Ricard he told me that tomorrow would probably be a short day because it will rain in the afternoon.

“But in the morning, another coat on top, vite, vite”, he whistled and mimed a painting stroke.

Then he asked me how you say la pluie in English.

“Rain”

“Wing”

“No, rain.  er ah e enn”

“Ring”

There was no way that word was coming out without a “g” at the end. We left it at that with a chorus of allez, salut and ciao.

Another day, another Ricard and Bardot asks me what I’m doing tapping on the piano all day. Since we don’t have a piano, this took a while to unravel, but we finally figured out he was talking about my computer.

“You’re a photographer, non?”

“Oui, and I’m also a writer.”

“You’re writing a book?”

“Oui.”

“Moi, I don’t read.”

“Not at all?”

“Only the invoices. I started work at 13 years old.”

“No more school after 13?”

“No, I’ve been working for 45 years, I’m tired.”

He had told me before that his father was a painter too and I asked if he went to work for him.

“No, he didn’t want me, I worked for another painter, and a grocer, a builder and then for myself. Are you married?”

“No, divorced.”

“Moi, I’m married 40 years, two children, four grandchildren, one wife. C’est bon. Alone is not good.”

He finished his glass with a long swallow and went off to the café for another.

Bardot ©2012 Ron Scherl

Breakthrough

I went down the lane beside the house to see Bardot’s garden and received promises of many tomatoes this summer. As I was coming back up I ran into Jean-Roger and Francois coming to pick roses in Jean-Roger’s garden. He offered some and when I asked if he had enough for Marie and his mother he responded that the gesture of giving them to me was important.

Then, I saw Pappi, Marie’s grandfather working in his garden. A few weeks ago I had made a photo of him that I really like and now was a good time to bring it to him. I retrieved it from the house and came back to the garden. I showed Pappi the photo and his face lit up. Then his smile faded and he looked at me and said:

“Pas jeune.”

“Oui, mais full of life”, I responded and he smiled again. My French really is getting better.

Pappi Serge ©2012 Ron Scherl

Genevieve came in to the garden and he showed her the photo and she did the most unexpected thing, she invited me into the house. Genevieve lives next door with Mammi Pierrette and Pappi Serge and while we’re friendly on the street, I’ve never been in their house. Now I was in the kitchen, the muscat came out and a conversation began as Pierrette swept up the dirt tracked in and gently chided Pappi for not changing his shoes.

She looked at the photo and said: “90 years old” and I repeated my full of life phrase. She smiled and said: “Moi, 92”

“Merveilleuse, ma mere is 94”

Pappi went to get a bottle of wine as a gift in kind and promised me many tomatoes and eggplants this summer. This barter thing may work out just fine.

Genevieve: “Are you going to stay in Maury?”

“Oui, but I need to find a house or apartment to rent to be fair to my partners.” I asked if they knew the house next door to the beauty parlor, but they didn’t and suggested I talk to Severine at the Mairie. I said I had and she will let me know if she hears of anything.

We talked about my interest in their family and the history of the village and Genevieve suggested we meet next week for a discussion with Marie and Jean-Roger. I was delighted and hope we can manage to make it happen. I think getting Genevieve involved can help make almost anything happen.

A neighbor came in angrily waving a soggy baguette.

Sympathetic smiles all around and what a shame that the bakery is so bad. Genevieve picked up a loaf from the table and said: “Estagel, bon pain.”

“Oui, et St. Paul,” I said. She agreed and then shook her finger to strongly express disapproval of the Maury bakery, “pas ici.”.

Then she proudly showed the photo of Pappi and explained that I was an American professional photographer and have an exhibit at the Maison du Terroir.

Much nodding of approval.

Madame then changed the subject to our new paint job: “Une jolie nouvelle façade”

Genevieve: Oui, c’est tres bon pour le quartier.

I noticed a glance at the oven, realized it was almost time for lunch and wishing everyone a bon appetit, left thinking how much these little things mean in a village this small.

 

Shopping News

Fran was here for 10 days and now I know what I’ve missed by not having kids and grandkids: power shopping. I had no idea how complex this could be. Of course you’d want to be fair to everyone but this is no simple matter. One needs to take into account the quality of the gift, where it came from, its color and perceived value in the eyes of the giver and recipient. It was of course inevitable that any purchase could only up the ante and lead to the next store. Very tricky stuff here and I could only watch and wonder, and head for the nearest café and a soothing pastis.

 

 

As for me, I’m into the barter economy. Wages and earnings are very low around here and, as a result, what we would normally think of as reasonable compensation for photography is out of the question. When the government of Maury wanted to use my photos for their web site annual report, etc. they offered me €100 and then proceeded to choose 60 images. I said OK to €100 each for 60 images, but I had misunderstood. They wanted all 60 for the 100. Tough negotiator that I am, I got them to 200. When another organization wanted to use one of my photos of the mayor in their annual report, I knew there wouldn’t be much, so I suggested €50. They were willing to go 15.

 

So now I’m into bartering and since I spend most of my money on wine, that’s my preferred currency. When Marc Barriot asked me to do some photos for a book he wants to make for promotion, I knew I could either work for about five cents an hour, or I could drink his wine. Fortunately I like Marc’s wine, so we struck a deal similar to the one I’d already made with Marcel. This is wonderful as long as I choose the right winemakers.

 

So we started with some photos of plowing, one vineyard by horse, one by a small, hand-driven motorized plow that can fit in the rows of these old vineyards.

 

Emanuel Favier ©2102 Ron Scherl

Marc also likes to talk and to teach, or preach the virtues of organic farming and was delighted to find an earthworm turned up by the plowing and offered up as proof of the quality of soil without chemicals.

 

Marc Barriot ©2012 Ron Scherl

So, having finished shopping, I’m now back to shooting, always a good thing because I like the work and I’ve been mostly happy with the results. Even days that don’t feel very good often produce a photo worth saving, not always, but often enough to convince me of the rightness of being here. Part of that is being in a new place and seeing it with new eyes, but it also has to do with the richness of this place, the beauty of the landscape and the interest I have in knowing it. I’ve been here about 9 months now and think I’ll stay a while longer so I’m looking for a place to rent and I’m looking for a landlord who wants to barter for photos.

Scherl Boffo at Box Office

I hadn’t even realized how nervous I was until I woke up Saturday morning and didn’t want to get out of bed, then I remembered that for the past week my hands had been shaking when I tried to write, food had been an afterthought and I had totally forgotten how to speak French.

There wasn’t really any reason to be nervous. The photos were printed, framed and hung, invitations were out, posters were posted. My remarks were written and my accent honed. There was nothing left to do except show up. And there, I think is the fear. What if no one came?

©2012 Ron Scherl

Irrational of course, but there’s a part of me that thinks if I hadn’t worried no one would have come.

But they came, more than I expected, they enjoyed the show, bought some prints, and understood and applauded my speech. I talked about how different it was to come to a small town in France after living all my life in large US cities and what a pleasure it is to walk around the village and exchange bonjours with everyone. I talked about how special a place Maury is. I thanked the winemakers for sharing their knowledge and passion with me and thanked the mayor and others for welcoming me into their community. And that welcome was the essence of this day, my real initiation into the village of Maury.

I don’t have any photos of the event, it was the only thing I neglected, but here are a few images of the venue in morning sunlight, followed by a gallery of the exhibit.

©2012 Ron Scherl
©2012 Ron Scherl

All’s Well

We’re charging into spring now with warm weather, longer days, blossoming fruit trees and life returning to the streets. The kids aren’t rushing home after school but staying in the streets a bit to play, neighbors stop to greet and say a few words about how beautiful the weather is. Thierry has flowers to plant and asparagus to eat and people stop to chat at the market. The café scene has moved to the terrace and that brings more people out for an aperitif. The 2011 rosés are appearing at the tasting rooms. The wine growers have been pruning and plowing and for some, attention now turns to bottling the 2010 vintage.

Bee at Work ©2012 Ron Scherl

I went to Thunevin-Calvet the other day to watch the bottling of the first vintage of Eugenia Keegan’s Grenache Project. Eugenia is a winemaker who used to live in the Napa Valley, now in Oregon and for years has tortured herself making pinot noir. Now she’s hung up on grenache, making wine here with Jean-Roger and Marie Calvet, and also in Chateauneuf du Pape, and soon in Spain. Winemakers are a strange and restless breed: Randall Grahm, who had great success with Rhone varietals in California (Bonny Doon) has channeled Don Quixote and gone in search of the perfect vineyard to make Burgundian pinot in California. Dave Phinney, whose Zinfandel-based Prisoner garnered huge fans, points and sales, is now in Maury making wine from grenache. Often when you talk to winemakers who have migrated here, the first thing they say is that they were looking for old vine grenache and discovered Maury.

Eugenia Keegan ©2012 Ron Scherl

Eugenia speaks of grenache, not like someone selling wine, but more like a seeker discovering the truth, it’s more religion than marketing.

So I went round to the bottling and as is often true around here found a family affair.  Jean Roger and Marie were packing cases, Roger Calvet, JR’s father was labeling them and Marie’s grandfather arrived a bit later to offer the perspective of his 90 years.

Pappi ©2012 Ron Scherl

Eugenia was nervous. I though this was just a formality, that the moments of truth were in the vineyard, at harvest and in the initial processing. But Eugenia was nervous because all that work was now on the line. She had never bottled in France before, she had never used screw caps. Mistakes made at this point could not be corrected. Professionals were in charge and everything was most likely to go well, but what if it didn’t? She was this bundle of nervous energy who only relaxed when she took a spot on the line, packing the bottles into cases. But Eugenia was in good hands. Her French family knew exactly what to do.

Roger Calvet, Jean-Roger Calvet, Eugenia Keegan ©2012 Ron Scherl

All’s well that ends well.