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Sainte Cecile, Provence, France

June 15 , 2007
by Luis Peon-Casanova

The hilly countryside of southern France is filled with architecture that dates back to the Roman Empire. Mixed with the sights and sounds that stretch into modern times, this becomes a great opportunity for aspiring poets, painters, writers and millions of tourists alike every year.

Provence becomes one of those destinations you just do not want to miss if you ever come to this country. Which is why I decided to come back with photography students again this year for part of the summer for an inspiring class.

We arrived last weekend in Sainte Cecile and after unpacking our luggage we went out to explore the surroundings and to execute the first assignment of the course. This assignment consisted of photographing the letters of the alphabet as found in nature and man-made structures, straying away from the letters found in street signs and such.

I have decided to concentrate in photographing people and I found my opportunity outside of a church in Cairanne, a small village nestled between Orange and Sainte Cecile, our hub. There on top of the hill, there was a young girl who was playing accordion while another younger girl listened. Two adult women and a venerable older gentleman sat under a tree on a bench that overlooked a breath taking view of the valley and the village below.

A violin rested on an open case by the tree as the three of them chatted. They greeted me in agreement when I mimicked my way closer to shoot pictures of the girl with the accordion.

I believe a photographer must try to get close to the subject he or she is trying to photograph instead of shooting with a long lens at a distance. With a chance to get in the action to get the detail I wanted, I welcomed the opportunity to come in close. The young girl, who must have been eight-years-old was playing a shaky rendition of "Michael."

I started to hum along to build empathy with her, which she rapidly recognized. The older man came along and started coaching the girl to play some other melodies, so I leisurely fired away while they interacted. Before I knew it I found myself surrounded by a large crowd of people, who came from inside the church. As it turned out, the family was celebrating the young girl's first communion, and they had been inside the church cleaning up after the party.

The party was seemingly over, but with a few quick clicks, I seemed to re-kindle it with my photographic interest and quest. They all came down from different regions of the country to stay for a few days and celebrate the girl's first communion. I was a great curiosity and amusement for them. "Why do you come here?" Asked a man by the name of Luc. "Why not!" I replied trying to state the obvious, but I then explained my role and our presence in Cairanne.

I had to explain myself while boasting the beauty of the land, architecture and the people of France. For Luc and his family this was normal, for me it was unbelievable.

Before long, most of my students who were scattered throughout the village doing their assignments, gathered under the tree. With the party we helped prolong, we seemed to have an endless amount of cake, ice cream, and champagne that came from inside the church.

Throughout the time there, other family members arrived in a car and joined in the English, Spanish and French conversation. I shook many hands young and old, from many different cultures. The food kept coming and the family music lessons resumed when grandpa's violin came out of the case under the tree.

It was hard for me to stay focused on why I was there. I had to shoot pictures, but the conversation kept me at bay. The young girl showed Luc some chords in the accordion as grandpa initiated one of the young male cousins, a kid missing his front two teeth, in the art of holding the violin. Grandpa was delighted by my request of La Mer and Edith Piaff's "La Vie on Rose."

After saying good-bye many times, I promised we would send a compilation of pictures to Luc's wife who is a speech therapist and wanted to use the letters of the alphabet with her patients. The magnificent time seemed to come to an end, when one of the men wished that others, like them, would take us in and feed us they way that they had.

In photography sometimes I wonder what constitutes a quintessential image. Maybe its one that synthesizes the culture? It is frustrating to fail to produce the perfect shot, because there's no such a thing as a synthesis that does justice to any culture. There are cliches, that seem to fit that model, but I'm going to try to stay away from those altogether, showing something new.

I have learned to appreciate that behind a great shot there's usually a good story, and perhaps a handful of those stories and a few good frames will speak volumes of our experiences here.