"Pursuing My Notion of Paradise"

I voluntarily chose to relocate to southern France in June 2005 with my then wife Claudia. This decision was a radical deviation from a previously linear lifestyle. This decision was more instinctive than arbitrary. There were no signposts for this uncharted territory. The assurance of fresh personal and cultural exploration was my primary incentives.

Severing familiar cultural assurances is a path many consider, but few people pursue. Successfully weathering such change is a destiny for even fewer. Within a year and half, I was divorced from my wife and original traveling partner. The attachment of returning to the known security of northern California irretrievably cut. I can always return, but not as the same individual who departed.

Regrets?

Certainly, but the liberty of uninhibited self-discovery is a luxury life permits very few. The enormous mirror of self-reflection and analysis reveals the stranger within us which cultural distractions and external lifestyle responsibilities mask most of our life.

Over the course of my life, like most people, I’ve endured crisis of confidence and enormous self-doubt. I’ve acquired, cultivated and shed numerous friendships of varying levels of intimacy. Affection and rejection may provoke painful scars and defensive behavior. My evolutionary process continues but is focused internally.

Why the French Languedoc?

I am neither idealist nor illusionist, but I recognize beauty. This is why I became an artist nearing forty. The landscape and topography of the French Languedoc is unruly, stunning and extreme. The beauty pierces even the most fortified soul.

Geographically, great bleached masses of limestone have been launched arbitrarily in twisted formations. These peaks are phantoms, towering and staggering over acres of placid vineyards. Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans unsuccessfully tried to tame and cultivate the rebel landscape. The Cathar's simply adapted. Each civilization has cast its minute footprint on sands that have quickly distained their influence. The Languedoc is a savage palette of unkempt hair the morning after the party.

The Mediterranean Sea caresses the shoreline coast and sporadically littered castles and abbeys bear testimony to a history once turbulent and war-ravaged. Today, regional events incidentally influence the contemporary fervor of modern global living.

The Medieval troubadours have gone, replaced by the contemporary melody of verbal discourse. The Languedoc dialect, toxic for Parisian speech purists, extends each letter, each unique linguistic sound to an extreme pitch. A local conversation is an operetta of smiles, puns and warmth.

Many locals claim the Midi boasts a superficial friendliness and northern French (anywhere above Lyon) are warmer more profound in their sentiments once you get past their reserve.

Who cares?

When I visit Paris or Dijon or Nantes, everyone is preoccupied with looking at his or her shoelaces to avoid eye contact. I haven’t the interest or patience to cultivate this treasured warmth. Give me the spontaneous banter and jests of the Languedoc as my alternative. Legitimate friendship and companionship requires time and providence anywhere.

In the Languedoc I smile and laugh on a regular and sustained basis. Here I have made my peace with life and found people who savor the precious candies of conversation.

My gift of residence may not be permanent. What is permanent in this life? All seems conditional or subject to change or expiration (by death).

I have been blessed to experience, observe and indulge headlong into a generosity of spirit that has altered and lightened my daily walk. This form of paradise may not be the eternal version preached by the ecclesiastical sector, but it suits me. It has enabled me to store ambition in its proper closet and emphasized that life is a series of successive moments, which should be treasured individually.