Recently I spent an afternoon looking at a painting of a woman asleep in her bed, and it changed the way I think about some things. Sounds dramatic. It probably is dramatic. But stay with me as I wrestle with my reaction… how it made me feel.
Félix Vallotton’s Femme couchée dormant (1899) isn’t loud; there’s no storm, no heroic gesture, just a bedroom, a bed, a woman asleep. And yet it stops you. Well, it stopped me. The bed is ablaze with red, orange and yellow, the wallpaper behind her patterned in lavender and small florals — too much colour, really, for how still she is.
Mid-autumn. That’s what I was looking at, I realised, leaning closer. Entre deux saisons (between two seasons). Not summer, not winter. Outside the world is greying, the days shortening. Inside: colour, memory, whatever it is we don’t say out loud.
The busier the room, the calmer she becomes.
That seems like it’s the whole paradox. The chaos cradles her instead of crowding her. Which, if you think about it, is exactly how our own in-between seasons work when they’re working — obligations and memory and hope all still there, just quieter somehow.
Three more rooms are waiting on the other side of this door, each one pulling the same thread a little tighter. If you're already an Annual Subscriber or Mighty Supporter, keep reading below. If not, this is exactly the kind of afternoon MyFrenchLife™ – MaVieFrançaise® was built for.
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