france 2024
It’s been nearly a year since I left for France to spend the month of June at the Chateau d’Orquevaux Artist Residency, and I’m a little ashamed that I haven’t written anything about the experience. That is what it was, an experience, an absolutely incredible experience that I think about every day. I wonder how many have had such an experience, one that impacts them on such a level as to remain a constant thought. It is almost torturous to have endured such a momentous experience, and to then have it be only a memory.
My adventure began in Paris. It was late May of 2024, and the city was buzzing in preparation for the upcoming Olympics. While I had initially presumed to stay where history dictated all artists and writers should stay – the Left Bank, I ended up on the Right, in a comfortable albeit extremely small room at the Hotel du Continent, a short walk from Place Vendome. With that as my base camp, I spent 5 days exploring as much of Paris as I could, clocking 7-10 miles per day in my brand new HOKA sneakers that deserve a lot of credit.
Now, being that I am a Vermylen, a surname derived from One Who Does Not Stand On Lines; I managed to avoid most of them. I admit I did wait on a couple – one for an overpriced and underwhelming martini at the Hemingway Bar inside the Ritz, and another for Sainte-Chapelle, which was entirely worth it. I was the first in line at Musée de l’Orangerie and spent 30 seconds of quiet solitude with Monet’s Water Lillies. I was also first in line at Shakespeare and Company, which sadly has become overrun by social media influencers forming a line around the block. I was also first in line at Musée Rodin, though it was pouring rain, so I imagine most people were at the Louvre.
It rained most of that week, and when it was too heavy, I escaped within cathedrals and cafes. I bought oil paints at Magasin Sennelier at 3 Quai Voltaire, a beautiful shop with the stench of history that opened in 1887 and sold paint to the likes of Cezanne. Gauguin, and now Vermylen. I spent a couple hours sketching a nude model at the legendary Grande Chaumière Academy, an art school founded in 1907 and frequented by Modigliani for the same reason that I was there. I boarded a train into the French countryside to visit Monet’s house and gardens in Giverny, making sure as you may have guessed to be first in line, and felt the peace and serenity of Monet’s landscape for but a brief and wonderful moment.
Back in Paris, I met up with my Brother, Per Dobler and his girlfriend Rosie at Aux Troi Mailletz, a piano bar in the Latin Quarter where we drank champagne and listened to a young French girl singing her heart out and draping herself across tables. Afterwards, we found our way to Harry’s New York Bar for a glass of whiskey. Throughout this first week in Paris, my mouth was consistently filled with food, espresso, and wine, and I got by exceedingly well knowing only “Bonjour,” S’il vous plait,” “Merci,” and “l’Addition.”
On June 3rd, I boarded a train at Gare de l'Est to Chaumont in the Haute-Marne department. Along the way, I stared out the window as the land became increasingly green and spacious. As the train sped on, and I took what I could from it, I thought of how far I had already come. Not only the long journey from New York, and my exploration of Paris, but that less than 3 years ago I wasn’t a painter, and now was on a train speeding into Champagne-Ardenne to spend a month painting at one of the Top Ten Most Beautiful Art Residencies in the world. Just another chapter in my autobiography.
Arriving in Chaumont, several other Artists and I were met by two vans, and we set off on a 30-minute drive to the place we had all been dreaming about, Chateau d’Orquevaux. Along the way we passed by the last evidence of modernity, before arriving in Orquevaux, a commune with a population of 80 seemingly untouched by the progression of time– to me, the epitome of ideal. As we rounded the curve in the road and the Chateau came into view the awe was felt by everyone, and if I skip to the end of the month, I will tell you that I was overcome with emotion when I had to leave that view behind.
I could write paragraph after paragraph describing the chateau itself, the property with its various outbuildings, the waters of La Manoise running through it, the flora and fauna, the stone and stucco buildings in the village, the bells that rang from the church, Eglise Saint Andre, and of course the landscape, MY landscape, which would be my constant inspiration. But, alas, this is a blog post, not my aforementioned autobiography. In short, we had arrived in some semblance of heaven, and no artist who has been there would say that is an overstatement. For the Residency’s Directors, Ziggy Attias and Buelah van Rensburg, Chateau d’Orquevaux is their Art, the land is their canvas, and no matter in what direction you look, you will see the beauty of their vision.
I had planned to keep a journal while there, however each day was difficult to put into words. The one intention that I kept was to not waste any time. Most mornings, I woke at dawn with the invisible sunrise drying the backsides of hills to the east before giving color to the landscape and waking the cows from the tree lines. For breakfast, since I was up before the baker would arrive with pastries, I served myself espresso and ate bread with salted butter. By 6:30am, I was heading to the Stables where my studio was situated on the southeastern corner, and if I did not begin painting right away, I would go on long morning hikes into the woods, or up past the church along the pastures to wish the cows good mornings, gaze at the clumps of mistletoe in the crooked trees, the wildflowers lining the dirt road and the bright orange slugs creeping back into the dewy grass. When the bells chimed from Eglise Saint Andre, I’d walk back to the chateau for another espresso and a typical breakfast of pain au chocolat, hard boiled eggs, and some cheese. With breakfast complete, it was back to my studio to paint, paint, and paint some more.
When I think back on every moment, there are two that my memory comprehends as most profound. The first was on the 3rd day of being in my Studio. I had stapled a canvas to the wall and was putting down the first layer of paint. My doors were open, and the warm sun reflecting off the cobblestones coupled with the music in my ears, and the simple fact that I was there, in that very moment, a moment I had long dreamed of, brought tears to my eyes. Then, later in the month, I woke at dawn as I normally did and hiked up a steep hill and through the forest to find the Vierge d’Orquevaux, a statue of the Virgin Mary looking out over a heavenly landscape. I sat there for some time with Mary gazing down at me, and my eyes gazing out at the hills of green, hazy with the morning sun. I said a prayer and gave thanks for the gift of the experience I was having as an Artist, for the joy and unbridled happiness of being exactly where I was meant to be and doing exactly what I was meant to be doing. I knew then that it wouldn’t last, but promised myself that I would find a way back to that feeling – that feeling of being exactly who I was meant to be.
With the non-artist in mind, it is important to address that an Artist Residency is not a school. This wasn’t a place for instruction, but simply a place for the gift of time to create. My work, my job, my occupation at Chateau d’Orquevaux was simply To Be an Artist, to focus my existence during my Residency entirely on art. This meant that on any given day, I was in my studio painting for 6-8 hours, and when I wasn’t painting, I worked on the writing of my novel, and on my long walks I thought about my paintings, thought about their inspiration. When the day’s “work” was done, I would spend evenings with my fellow artists discussing art before dinner with wine, during dinner with wine, and after dinner with more wine. Many late nights were spent in my studio with The Jumpers, a small group of friends, a menagerie of painters, writers and musicians drinking and playing poker until our bottles were empty, and that too was considered a part of the “work” of being an Artist-in-Residence at Chateau d’Orquevaux.
At the end of June, after shipping home a total of 6 finished paintings, and 3 to be completed when I returned; I left Orquevaux behind and headed back to Paris. As I wasn’t quite ready to return to reality, I headed South to Provence. I spent a couple days in Aix capturing the golden glow of the orange hued buildings contrasting with the shadows of dusk. I spent a couple days in Valensole, where fields of Lavender in the height of their bloom stretched as far as the eye could see. So close to the Mediterranean, and desiring a swim, I headed to Cassis for two days of eating fish, drinking rum, and laying on a beach. Those two days were my “vacation.”
Back in Paris, I spent a few more days staying in Le Marais. I crossed off a few more museums – Musée National Picasso, Musée d'Orsay, and Musée Marmottan Monet. As I seek to conclude this blog post, I realize I have left so much out. I wish I had kept a journal, though I am comforted by the thought of my parents whose memories of their own travels often reveal themselves at odd moments leading them to smile.
Oh, France! Till we meet again.
-PV3