A literal case of deja vue brings us back to another genius painter’s abode, but not before we get side-tracked.
Early starts are becoming a habit as we steam our way south to Essoyes, home and workplace of Renoir. Leaving Belgium behind we’re back in familiar France. An impressive privately maintained memorial, to the ten thousand French soldiers who gave their lives at the battle of the Marne, employs us to halt.
Today, the once a year ceremony, at the “Ferme de Navarin”, is just about to take place. The young soldiers parade their well practiced drills. Some get presented awards. The whole thing brought to a fitting finale with a rousing tribute. It joins their force with those long gone.
We tried our luck in Essoyes a few months ago. Got there five minutes before the “must have” ninety minute lunch break. Moved on, couldn’t then afford the time. So we’re back again and more organised. Tiny, tiny village lanes try to torment us. Beastie’s having none of it. We know exactly where we are and where we’re going to park. No problem. Getting cocky methinks, but it’s a good feeling.
The visual presentation of his family and work life open our eyes to his brilliance and his tenacious character when riddled with rheumatoid arthritis in his later years, yet still painting – even on the morning of his death.
The guided route takes us to a quiet river spot, where he’d sit and paint local women as they came down with their laundry.
