Having set myself up as an independent, one woman workshop, in the middle of this tiny rural French village, my originally woven, one of a kind bags eventually caught the attention of the retired, part-time local journalist.
Monsieur Jean Louis (name changed) lived a couple of doors down from us. Feeling obliged to agree to his proposition of an interview, a date was arranged and he duely arrived to quiz me on:
1. the reason for being in his village, in the middle of nowhere, in France in the first place
how I came to be making handbags, surrounded by tractors, sunflowers and chickens. Hardly the parisian atelier..
Sitting by my very large weaving loom I described my learning journey - a passage through art school and a die-hard desire to have my own creative activity. As I have previously explained - a spiritual calling to convert crumbly old barns and live peaceably in the French countryside, until told otherwise, was the reason we found ourselves here in the first place.
Monsieur Jean-Louis jotted away in his notebook - happy his village held such allure. I twittered on in my accented foreign French patter. Nothing was out of the ordinary and once the interview session had wound up, he proceeded to bring out his not particularly impressive camera.
At which point the rather plain, ageing Jean-Louis donned his alterego photographer mode and began excitedly prancing, almost leaping about in front of me trying to capture exciting angles as I wove at my loom. A bit taken aback, and stifling my laughter I played it cool.
It was all getting a tad embarassant.. I mean - who gets excited about weaving??
The Vogue-esque, somewhat up- tempo photoshoot was over.. Weeks then passed by until a knock at the kitchen door one evening.
Madame Jean-Louis with a slightly twisted, sardonic expression, thrust into my hands the fresh off the press copy of the local rag - Le Charente Libre - with the front page splash of yours truely looking gobsmacked - somewhat like a rabbit in the headlights - standing in front of a very large weaving loom.
In total mortification I thanked Madame for having gifted it.. She left, looking quite altogether satisified with herself..
The trials and tribulations of life in a French village to be continued..
