Nice, France
30 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in. x 6in., archivally matted & backed to 8 x 10
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
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It was a long night of a train ride from Milan to Nice in a very cozy compartment where every possible sleeping spot was filled. Lots of interruptions by border guards checking passports as we crossed from Italy into France then from France into Monaco and back into France again. I'd had cancellations and a gap in my tour for ten days so I decided to base myself in Nice for that period. After arrival I found my way to the tourism desk where I asked for the most acceptable, least expensive accomomdations. The two lovely women there said they had just the place and sent me off to the Hôtel Pastoral on the rue Assalit. I walked over and met Monsieur Noël Dumas who would be my host for the next two weeks. My room was perfectly simple with a sink and bidet, armoire and chair by the French windows looking over the roof where Monsieur Dumas hung his laundry by pots of bright red geraniums. The bed was sort of lumpy and sagged deeply in the middle but hey, for $14 a night in Nice, I was happy. Not only that, Monsieur Dumas had a bird. I couldn't quite figure out what kind of bird it was but every morning it whistled La Marseillaise. I kid you not. Monsieur Dumas said "He ees a nationaliste!"
After dumping my bags and guitar in the room, I took myself out for a walk down to the sea. Bleary and a little sick from lack of sleep, I walked along the sea wall that wraps around the cliff you can see above. Delighting in the windy sea air I inhaled deeply just as I saw a humongous wave rise over the wall. It happened so fast there was nothing I could do but let it wash over me. And wash over me it did! Even my good Patagonia jacket could not protect me. It was such an outrageous thing to happen that I had to laugh! I was just across the street from an elegant hotel and in I sloshed with my sopping blue jeans, socks and sneakers, rivulets of water streaming off my hair. The concierge took one look at me and immediately passed a stack of lush white towels across the desk directing me to the rest room. That helped enough to get me back to the hotel without leaving a river in my wake.
As I sat down to breakfast the next morning and opened the Nice Matin, there on the front page under the headline was a photograph of some other poor fool about to be creamed by a wave in the same spot where I'd stood. I no longer felt like a freak.
I'm posting this painting out of order for the sake of the story. I made this on my next to last day in Nice when, after procrastinating much of the day, I forced myself to sit down where I happened to find myself on the beach.
Every Sunday I post a new painting and story behind the watercolors I made while touring as a singer songwriter. Follow the stories behind the paintings of these serialized posts by working your way up from the bottom.
Nice
