Last Light of the Limousin

We’re down to the last hours of our painting in France. The light changes with the hour. Gray clouds break to the most amazing slivers of cerulean sky. Perched right on a lake, every change is amplified like sound across water at L’Hirondelle du Lac.. Our little Chambre d’hôte is delightful: simple and charming with lovely hosts and incredible food. Having it is the fulfillment of a dream for Christopher and Frankie, a Brit and frenchman, who tired of the corporate retrace in London.

Dreams seem to abound here. While painting late this morning, a gentleman approached me to compliment my work. As I realized we were both stumbling to speak a foreign language, I discovered he was Spanish. He is in the process of buying land here to build his dream house. Confessing he’d never done such a thing before, he mused that, about the time the last stone was laid, he could fall over dead! My dreams have lured me to the window of the real estate office in town in my evening walks after dinner. Who knows.

But back to compliments. Last night after dinner, Christopher asked to see my paintings of the day. In short, or, as the French say, brev, it’s staying here in Peyrat le Chateau in barter for part of the lodging bill. How fun is that?

Peyrat le Château, plein air oil, Stebner
8×10 SOLD

And speaking of fun, in case time doesn’t permit another blog until I’m home, this has been beyond fun: company, strangers, places, food, and painting. The senses have been sated. Having been to mountaintops and valleys, we’ll end this day painting a waterfall. Griffin’s culinary surveys have expanded beyond French pizza to include French banana splits. Crème brulée lost appeal somewhere along the way.

Tomorrow is  a driving day. Back to Paris for a little last minute shopping and dinner back at the Potager. Saturday, Bastille Day, well bid adieu to the land of Voltaire and cross the pond home, a dream complete.

 

8 thoughts on “Last Light of the Limousin

  1. How I wish I could paint the way you do, the way my father did. and to do it in beautiful France—even better. So I turned instead to photography. Thank you for the journey.

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