Arles – MeredithInk

The Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh’s dream of making the Southern French city of Arles an arts destination is finally becoming a reality. Now, a brand-new, Frank Gehry-designed, 184-foot tower dedicated to the arts is being constructed on the site of an old rail yard, where it seems to rise up out of nowhere when seen from afar.

We saw it at a distance this June from the vantage point of the Arles Roman amphitheater when we climbed to the top of the ancient stones, its shiny, twisty newness looking out across the horizon past old church steeples.

According to the Wall Street Journal, the silver structure is already covered in nearly 12,000 “microstressed” steel blocks. It’s set to open soon and is already hosting events. The driving force behind this structure is a contemporary Francophile with far more influence than Van Gogh ever achieved in his lifetime: A 62-year-old Swiss art patron, Maja Hoffmann, key funder for “Luma Arles.” A scion of the Hoffmann-La Roche pharmaceutical company, she has worked in the arts and film production for decades.

Nearby is the well-known Actes Sud, an independent publisher with a big reputation; its director, Françoise Nyssen, recently was tapped as the French cultural minister under President Emmanuel Macron.

And it is this old vs. new that defines the rest of Arles. Visiting the city, we sought out numerous Roman ruins as well as the still-in-use amphitheater. You really can’t help but see them even if you’re not looking—they are central and prominent in this small city.

We stood on a Roman stage and looked out at Roman stadium seating (invented by the Greeks, but a staple of Roman bread and circuses). We saw old Roman marble columns being repurposed in medieval cloisters. A Turkish marble obelisk, also ancient, sits at the center of a main square.

A huge modern museum covers Arles’ ancient history extremely well, showcasing an ancient boat and many marble busts, as well as small-scale reproductions of what it was like in the really old days.

But there is a great deal of newness evident in Arles, too, and not just in the arts buildings. There’s also the contemporary photography emphasis, including an educational institution and a huge multi-site exhibit event that was happening just after our departure. (Our rental apartment featured some interestingly photographed female nudes in black-and-white, and a restaurant we ate at was displaying and selling artfully captured male semi-nudes.)

You’ll find numerous hip boutiques and trendy restaurants that dot side streets and places. A fun one: a store named after the mosquito, La Moustique, carrying all kinds of creative things with images of the hated insect (this one gave my older daughter PTSD from the 40+ mosquito bites she sustained at summer camp the year before… and her propensity to attract the critters wherever she goes).

And one more innovative establishment to add to the list: a Michelin-starred restaurant, recommended by a colleague, that we were lucky enough to enjoy. The Atelier de Jean-Luc Rabanel is a retreat from the dusty streets into quite another world of upscale dining. We began in a bamboo-laced room with large comfy seats, consuming a cherry gazpacho with garlic sorbet and fish with anisette broth and tiny vegetables. The chef, Jean-Luc, stopped by to say hello. Even the number of breads on offer, around 6 kinds, amazed us (hint: skip the squid ink, try the chocolate).

As we enjoyed our first courses, we noticed other diners being whisked away—odd, we thought. Are they finished with their multicourse meal so soon?

No. They (and we) were being moved to a separate dining room, one with fanciful photos of beautiful women in toreador outfits and the mysterious bulls they loved (OK, I might not have that exactly right, but it was something along those lines!).

We were indeed given a plate of “taureau,” a popular dish of “bull meat.” The Camargue marsh area around Arles is known for wild bulls. I don’t know much about their lives, but I picture them enjoying the southern sun until they enter the amphitheater for a bullfight (nonlethal in France these days) or they end up on our dinner plates (definitely lethal).

But despite its solid ancient roots and its artistic sparkle, Arles often feels like an out-of-the-way place. It’s a city that hasn’t been discovered yet by Uber drivers, for example. We did meet up with one, just by luck: he was from Marseilles, and normally worked there, but a passenger at the Marseilles airport had asked for a ride to Arles. Hence he was available to take us across town.

When I asked him why Arles is not serviced by ride sharing companies, the young, smooth-headed driver answered, “C’est une ville qui ne marche pas.” (It’s a city that doesn’t work… or pay.) I wondered what Arles’ famously Communist mayor would say to that?

In one odd way the city does “marche” (work) with enviable civility. It may seem obvious in this ancient city, but it’s important to note that the medieval streets in the old town are narrow—VERY narrow. These one-way passages can barely accommodate one medium-size car and often wind around blind corners. We found ourselves navigating through these streets in our rented Opel Zafira hatchback numerous times, with my husband (a fearless and experienced stick driver) at the wheel.

When we first arrived in the city after departing from an airy boulevard-like street near the train station in Aix-en-Provence (albeit torn up by construction), we were somewhat shocked. We approached the address our GPS gave us for our lodging. Was this tiny street really the road housing the furnished apartment building where we’d rented a place? There was just a sliver of sidewalk in front of the door with its old brass knocker, and no place to pull over without blocking all traffic behind us. I jumped out with my kids while my husband planned to circle the side streets and figure out a parking spot.

When we found the caretaker, a hip young woman, we asked where should we park to unload our luggage? Oh, just stop your car right in front of the door, she said, and unpack it there. Really? Won’t the drivers behind us be incensed while we block the street to remove 4 suitcases and various backpacks, tote bags, and briefcases?

No, they’ll be fine. That’s how we do it here. (Cue the raised eyebrows of four dubious Americans.)

Without any other option, we stopped and blocked the street while two adults and two kids unspooled all our stuff and deposited it behind the bright blue double doors of the apartment building.

Amazingly, cars stopped behind us, but no one got angry, no one yelled, and no one honked. Because they, too, have to frequently block streets themselves for similar purposes—and the Arlesians are willing to pay it forward.

That small gesture left a lasting impression of this vibrant, historic city.

DSCF1192 The French city of Arles is filled with contrasts—you could even say ironies.

It begins with geography: an ancient city in the South of France built by the Romans on a marshland beside the Rhone, Arles is swimming in humidity and still heat one day. The next, it is swept by a fierce, dry wind—the Mistral—as sharp and piercing as you might expect before a sandstorm.

In fact, our early impression of the city as a paradise of mosquitos the first night of our visit was soon belied by this blast of Siberian air that blasted the annoying insects straight out of sight. I’d originally thought the Mistral was a sort of Southern French legend without much basis in fact, much like the Yeti or Loch Ness monster. I was quite wrong—the people of Provence were not exaggerating its strength.

But just as striking to the visitor is the legacy of another visitor who came to Arles, Vincent Van Gogh, who seems to hover over the city like a ghost, by turns benevolent and wrathful—and, most of all, lucrative.

The Dutch Van Gogh, who’d previously lived in London and Paris, came to Arles in 1888 for the light, he wrote to his brother Theo, an art dealer who gave him much encouragement. Van Gogh loved how bright everything was there compared to the rain-soaked north. The landscape also reminded him of Japan, he said, a great inspiration. He hoped to found an art colony in Arles and make the city a real destination for artists and art-lovers.

DSCF1194 — The city of Arles, with the Rhone in the distance, as seen from the top of the Roman arena

Van Gogh’s painting was incredibly prolific and innovative during his one year and three months in Arles. Many famous works were done in the city and in the nearby town of St Remy-de-Provence, a few miles away (where he went directly after Arles, voluntarily confined to the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum there). He produced around 300 drawings and paintings during the short period he lived in Provence.

Imagine the painter at night, the sweep of the Rhone River below him, sticking candles in his straw hat to provide light in the dark, and then painting a starry night scene over the water.

Van Gogh’s view of the stars over the Rhone…. a painting in the Musee d’Orsay in Paris

Imagine him depicting a bright yellow café lit up in the evening in the Place du Forum, its wide awning beckoning passersby to come and have a drink.

Arles’ commemoration of the Cafe le Soir, the subject of Van Gogh’s 1888 painting

Imagine the people of Arles, irate, so angry that they started circulating a petition to force Van Gogh to move out of town.

That’s the part of the Van Gogh story that you may not hear so much about if you travel to Arles. Van Gogh, a “redhaired madman” (“fou roux”), as some called him, became known for acting erratically. He had been hearing voices, and he frequented brothels and drank heavily. Some (including his painter friend Paul Gauguin) found him physically threatening. Then—in an incident that has been used to sum of Van Gogh’s madness ever since—he severed his own ear and gave it to a prostitute he knew.

Van Gogh was taken to the hospital in Arles for a period—where he continued to paint, including an image of the flower-filled hospital courtyard—and began to recover, returning to his home. But the hallucinations continued.

DSCF1275 — The Arles hospital garden, through Van Gogh’s eyes

DSCF1273 — The Arles hospital courtyard today (now a space dedicated to Van Gogh and art)

At that point, 30 Arlesians who signed a petition to force out Van Gogh made their wishes known. The authorities made Van Gogh leave the Arles “Yellow House” where he lived, and soon after he made his way to the asylum in St. Remy.

He continued to produce bright, beautiful paintings. Nevertheless, his troubles continued, and he committed suicide near Paris not long after.

Today it’s quite a different reception for Van Gogh in Arles’ tourist materials, local sites, art museums, and shops. Everywhere it’s Van Gogh. There’s the Espace Van Gogh, an art institution that was formerly the hospital, and the Fondation Vincent Van Gogh, housed in a 15^th-century mansion, which features a handful of his paintings and many works “inspired” by him as well as other contemporary exhibits.

There are numerous outdoor reproductions of his paintings forming “easels” scattered around town, in spots where Van Gogh created his art. My family used those to organize a walking tour through the city.

DSCF1172 — Van Gogh’s Yellow House residence was destroyed by WWII bombs, but an easel honors its spot

Some have tried to capitalize by recreating what Van Gogh saw. The “Night Café” he painted in bright yellow is there today on the Place du Forum, again brilliant yellow thanks to its current owners. Our guidebook warned it is a tourist trap, so we just walked by and ate at another restaurant. Many foreign tourists we observed seemed to focus almost exclusively on Van Gogh sites in Arles.

The “Night Cafe” today (in the day time) in the Place du Forum

What was once hatred has blossomed into love, appreciation, and international commerce.

It’s a very friendly commerce. Shopkeepers and small stall-keepers in Arles were among the nicest and most patient that I’ve encountered anywhere in France. They explained, guided, and even made a little conversation with yet another tourist in their midst. I didn’t begrudge them at all wanting to give the public a piece of Van Gogh’s artistic legacy to take home, and to make a few Euros in the process.

I happily participated in the capitalist celebration of this tragic genius, coming home with a Van Gogh tote bag, Van Gogh calendar, Van Gogh pocket flashlight, and pillbox, not to mention a magnet and numerous postcards. (In my defense, several of these were gifts.)

And now, when I see artwork by the master, I’ll think of the windswept streets, the quiet gardens, and the expansive riverbanks of Arles.

Next time: Van Gogh’s dream of making Arles an arts destination is becoming a reality today. Find out how.

Tag: Arles

The Ironies of Arles: Part 2

The Ironies of Arles: Part 1