People

Ukrainian refugees resettle in Arles

Story and photos by Gabriela Calvillo Alvarez

As Iryna K. and her 10-year-old son Alex fled the war in Ukraine, migrating from Germany to Ireland to Arles, he would draw pictures showing how he would find a way to go home. 

“First, he denied the war,” said Iryna, 40, who asked that her last name not be published. “He said the war didn’t exist. He told me he wanted to return. Every evening, he would draw me a map of how he would escape. ‘Mom, I will go by this frontier, that frontier,’ and so on.” 

The mother and son left Ukraine in May 2022, not long after the war began. They had lived all her life in Kyiv, where the bombardment was intense from the beginning.

Russian leaders, she said, “hoped that in three days Kyiv would be occupied, that they would impose their government, and that then the war would be finished. Anyway, you see that it still continues.”

Iryna is part of a loose network of women and children who are trying to find their footing in Arles. Many of them have families back home in Ukraine and are waiting to return, while others have decided to stay. 

“I know that last year, we had many people come in, maybe 150,” said Iryna, whose family remains in Ukraine. “But now, a lot of them have left so it’s hard to have an exact number.”

Iryna K. stands in the garden of her home in Arles.

As of July 2023, nearly 6 million refugees from Ukraine are recorded to be in Europe, according to the UN Refugee Agency. France does not have an official database for this information but a report from the U.S. Department of State Humanitarian Information Unit states that as of Jan. 2023, 119,000 Ukrainian refugees are currently in France. 

Arles was one of the cities that provided a haven for Ukrainian refugees. Initially, no official resources were available and it was just a people-helping-people effort. Because she was one of the few who could speak both Ukrainian and French, Iryna served as a bridge for those coming to Arles. While she had secure housing with a local family, she helped connect other women to Arlesians willing to host refugees. 

However, one of the challenges these women face when they arrive here is a lack of work opportunities. Since the city is dependent on tourism, especially during the summer months, it’s harder to have a stable income during the off seasons, such as winter and fall. 

“Arles doesn’t give you many possibilities to realize your professional potential,” Iryna said. “You can go work at a hotel or a restaurant, but you don’t have a lot of choices.”

Iryna was a unique case. Upon her arrival in Arles, she began an association called Ukraine en Provence to help provide resources to other Ukrainian women who have resettled in the region. 

“I did everything because I understood that if I was home alone, with all my thoughts, it would be unsupportable,” Iryna said. “It’s too heavy. It was very difficult to manage my own feelings and in addition, I had to manage [my son’s] feelings, too.”

Iryna K. and her son, Alex, have made a home in Arles even as they miss their family in Ukraine.

Last year, she offered a Ukrainian course, in partnership with the Arles à la carte language school, to teach the history and language of the country to locals interested in learning more about the Ukrainian community.

“For French people, it’s very difficult to understand some particularities of Ukraine,” she said. 

“So I decided to write a little book that’s like Ukrainian in 30 days.”

Iryna studied languages at a university in Ukraine and speaks English and Italian, as well as French and Ukrainian. These skills helped her communicate and find work.

For most Ukrainian refugees, however, language has been another obstacle. Halyna Mamchur, 35, didn’t know any French when she and her daughter, Maria, arrived in Arles over a year ago. She came here at the suggestion of a French friend she knew from art school in Ukraine.

“It’s been a very difficult and beautiful time for me, this one year,” she said. “I met very happy people and I think I try to be happy, too.”

Four months after she arrived, she decided to pick up drawing once more as a way to process her feelings about leaving her country. Her paintings often contain images of her family and faces combined with bird features, to symbolize freedom and strength.

“For me, it’s a normal artist’s life,” said Mamchur. “It’s my emotions and it’s my experience with people, with my friends, with my parents.”

Mamchur’s friend, Nadja Bailly, 37, studied art in Ukraine for a year with Halyna and they’ve been friends ever since. Bailly has been involved in helping the Ukrainian community since the very beginning of the war. She was one of the few who could translate for those coming into town for safety. 

“At the beginning, nobody knew what Ukraine was. Nobody knew its history or the language. But now they do. Everyone knows,” Bailly said. 

While some people like Iryna are settling in Arles, others have decided to go back to Ukraine. Mamchur is one of those women. She left last month. 

“Maybe when the war is finished, I’ll come back together with my family,” Mamchur said. “Right now, I understand that I only want to live in my country. Maria and I speak Ukrainian, we sing Ukrainian, and I love it.” 

People

Inspiring the next generation of visual journalists

Story and photos by Sam Guzman

As a young child growing up in an orphanage after his parents were killed in the 1994 Rwandan genocide, Jean Bizimana had little experience with photography, either behind or in front of a camera. When he was 8 years old, he learned how to take pictures with Through The Eyes of Children, a program that helps unsafe or vulnerable kids learn photography and videography.

“The objective of the project was not to turn us into photographers but it was to give us a way of forgetting our past experiences of the genocide, war and conflicts that we had been through,” Bizimana said.

Inspired by his experiences of telling stories with a camera, Bizimana became a photojournalist. (You can view his work here: https://www.biziphotos.com/about)

Now, at the age of 32, Bizimana is a part of a mentorship program sponsored by VII Academy that was created to help promising young photographers from the Majority World, who may not have access to formal photography education, hone their skills. The program, which started with a site in Sarajevo, opened a new location in Arles in February. 

Sharafat Ali talks with Gary Knight, CEO of VII Academy and Foundation at the program’s final reception.

Gary Knight, co-founder of VII Academy, says one of his goals for the program is “to ensure that very well trained, ethically based, young photojournalists are out there in the world, calling truth to power, holding the political classes and the corporate classes to account on behalf of the public.”

As a photojournalist, Knight traveled the world from 1988 to 2017, shooting conflict zones in Cambodia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq.

In 2001, in the aftermath of the Sept. 11 attacks, the war in Afghanistan and the invasion of Iraq, Knight and other photojournalists joined together to create the VII Photo Agency. Later, as the digital revolution changed the revenue models for media, they formed the VII Foundation as a way to support photojournalism and make it sustainable.

Knight brought the academy to Arles because, as the host of the annual Rencontres d’Arles photography festival and the home of France’s most prominent photography school, it already had a dialogue around photography.

“I think what we can do here is bring a little more diversity to the conversation,” Knight said.

VII Academy, the educational wing of the VII Foundation, provides tuition-free training in visual journalism. In the mentorship program, mentees undergo training for five weeks, working on such concrete skills as sequencing photos, editing photos, working with curators and writing pitches for stories. Workshops are taught by seasoned veteran photographers from around the world who understand the demands and challenges of shooting in marginalized communities.

Bizimana said in Rwanda, most people don’t understand the power of photography to tell important stories. 

“When you grow up in a country where no one understands photography, it’s kind of challenging,” Bizimana said. “Everything we learned from YouTube. We don’t have photography schools, we don’t have photography libraries.”

The Through Eyes of Children program, however, gave him the opportunity to learn. The organization lent him a camera, and he learned basic techniques. This was the spark that he needed to want to become a photographer. 

As he developed his photography skills, he sold his photographs to help pay for his studies, as well as raise funds for some of the children from the orphanage. Since there are no photography schools in Rwanda, however, he studied computer science at university. 

Bizimana attended photography workshops to deepen his skills. In 2015 he joined Gary Knight’s Canon Masterclass, a program on how to use professional cameras to make stories. That’s when he started his career. He joined his local news group, IGIHE, in Rwanda. He quit after he realized their style didn’t give him the creative freedom he craved.

Bizimana was a part of the first cohort of mentees to study at the new location in Arles, which is based in a renovated salthouse near the banks of the Rhone River. His cohort included young photographers from Nepal, India, Kashmir, Indonesia and the Philippines, as well as two from the United States.

According to Knight, the mentees have developed “very strong friendships, they have a global community.”

Ali, 30, is another mentee in the program. He was born in Kashmir, a disputed territory between India and Pakistan. He started doing photography in 2013, shooting the impressive landscapes around him. But he eventually stopped.

“It might be a paradise for outsiders, but to us, it’s a hell,” said Ali, who has been documenting conflict in the region and didn’t want his full name used.

For the past 10 years he’s shifted his focus from the places to the people. 

“My people always fascinate me, because they have stories to tell,” Ali said. To him, conflict brings anxiousness and misery, and he wanted to cover that, not just beautiful scenes. His work focuses on the harsh realities in his home country, 

Another mentee, Joshua Irwandi, from Jakarta, Indonesia, described the program as a retreat. 

Joshua Irwandi, left, talks with mentor Philip Blenkinsop after the final showcase of mentees’ work.

“I get to rest my head a little bit and then actually look at people’s work. I mean, just looking at this exhibition here, you know, like, how do people see things?” Irwandi asked. (You can view Irwandi’s work here: https://www.joshuairwandi.com/)

Knight said he encourages the mentees to think big. “What I hope to encourage them is to be… more ambitious, and more confident about the space that they occupy in the media.”

He also hopes that the relationships they formed in the mentoring program endure.

“Now they have very strong friendships,” Knight said. “They have a global community.”

Bizimana, who participated in a VII Academy program in his home country, hopes that VII Academy will return to Rwanda, so that others can learn like he did. He hopes to teach as Knight and other professors have taught him at the academy. That’s why he wants to be a journalist, he said, so he can give back to others.

Because Rwanda has little tradition of photojournalism, the 1994 Rwandan Civil War and other news in the country has mostly been photographed by international photographers who helicopter in to record the story and then leave.

“My goal is for people to say, ‘Oh we have this professional photographer in Rwanda, now we don’t need to send someone else. Because he’s there and is on the same level.”

Arts, Places

Arles’ Performance Aerie

Story and photos by Louis Denson

Claire Nys, and six of her friends were returning home after leaving multiple parties that they didn’t enjoy on a festival evening in Arles when they happened to pass by L’Aire d’Arles. Inside, they saw people happily dancing. “Two girls dressed in long dresses, like two princesses” especially caught their eyes, says Nys, who recalls excellent rock being played on vinyl. Although they were tired, the group of women stopped to join the fun and dance together.

“We were so happy to have found a place that suited us, by chance, in this remote place, away from other parties,” says the long-time Arles resident. “It was a magical, improbable, very joyful, and pretty moment.”

“It’s a place dedicated to the taste and the image,” says its founder, Jonathan Pierredon. Pierredon utilizes the “e” in L’Aire to imply its relation to an aerie or nest. L’Aire d’Arles is “a home for all the eagles and falcons,” he says. L’Aire d’Arles rises from the hill just above the Arles amphitheater and the Roman theater. 

It’s a place to party, gather, share and discover as on any day of the week, especially during the opening week of the Rencontres d’Arles photography festival, there is something different happening on each of the three levels of this restaurant/bar.

There are many venues in Arles to grab a bite or a drink, but none compare to the versatility and diversity that L’Aire provides. Throughout the year, L’Aire d’Arles rotates both its menu and exhibitions. It presents installations of photography and videography from all over the world, music from Brazilian flamenco to Memphis underground vinyl, and food brought to Arles by chefs from Madagascar and Tel Aviv.

As you find the bathroom on the second floor you may come upon an entirely different performance and forget to return to the floor where you started. The sight of the bartenders mixing cocktails welcomes you inside and the aroma of the kitchen floats you upstairs. You can draw on the chalkboard along the stairs, or appreciate the drawings of other patrons.

The second floor is a velveteen lounge space where you can sit and talk as you dissect the everchanging art installations on both the walls and podiums.

And on the third floor, the sound of music and the breeze of fresh air call you to the dance floor and terrace where you can sit back and watch projections on the ancient walls of the city, dance the night away to music, or refresh yourself at the mini-bar.

L’Aire d’Arles welcomes artists and guests of all sorts and styles as all events are free and open to everyone. Pierredon has no criteria for who can share their work. He welcomes all types and techniques of music, art, photography and creation and works them into the venue’s busy schedule.

Arles is not known for its party scene and can be thought of as a small and sleepy town. It can be difficult for amateur artists to have a place to share their works, but L’Aire gives them a platform. L’Aire also invites the students of MoPA, Arles’ prestigious school of animation, to share projections of their films, and it hosts an annual auction for the student work of the National School Supérieure de la Photographie, with an exhibition floor and gavel bidding.

None of this would be possible without the tireless effort and passion of Pierredon and his staff. “Life is full of time, [but] time goes fast,” said Pierredon, sharing his mentality as a business owner, exhibition facilitator and active father.

Pierredon has worked many jobs, including videography for an advertising agency. The time he spent away from his son did not seem justified by pushing a company’s agenda. He wanted that time to have value, reason and passion. In his current work, Pierredon can share his excitement with his son in hopes of instilling verve for community and creation.

He focuses his energy on things that inspire him and that he can look back on and say that he is proud of. “If anything can inspire me, I’m running and jumping.” He loves what he does, the community he can welcome, and values the opportunities the city of Arles has offered him.
The feelings of appreciation are reciprocated by the Arlesian people as well. Pascal Ansell, a musician and language teacher at Arles à lacarte, says, “Jonathan has a very rare and special energy that is exceptional in Arles. He does things for the hell of it; he promotes so many events and wants to support people in what they are already doing. That is so, so precious in the Camargue as there is very, very little of that energy to go around.”

Postcards

The Talking Walls of Arles

Story and photos by Ella Lepkowski

Although Arles is known as an inspiration for Vincent van Gogh, I discovered a more underground world of art while wandering its streets and alleyways. The walls are scattered with graffiti, vibrant colors, posters, stickers, and words of motivation. The walls serve as canvases not only for these underground artists but also for political activists who silently shout their opinions. 

While I am used to seeing street art throughout the metro and buildings of Washington DC where I live, I sense a difference between the intentions of the painters here and there. Here, the message is more raw. Whether it is an inspirational phrase, a personal philosophy, or a political belief, the messages that are scrawled on the walls here seem to carry very personal meaning, as if the creator wrote it in the spur of the moment, flowing directly from their minds to their paint, and onto the vibrant walls of Arles.

In contrast, of course, the street artists in Washington, D.C., create art that is often astounding and impressive, yet their activism and beliefs tend to seem more “organized,” crafted and displayed in a manner tailored for maximum audience consumption.

The graffito “helm” can be found all over the Roquette neighborhood.

In Arles, there is a greater sense of passion and fury scrawled onto the walls. These graffiti were not meticulously planned or polished. They are an immediate reflection of the artist’s inner turmoil, inspiration and pride.

Walking through Arles’s smaller alleyways and slightly barren roads, I found more and more of these personal statements. In the Washington D.C. metropolitan area, poetry and political messages are mainly saved for their designated spots, with waves of political talk momentarily filling public spaces when there is new unrest. In Arles, however, it seems like an ongoing conversation. If someone wants their unique voice heard, they make it obvious. This is moving for me as someone who typically only looks straight ahead when I am walking through the big city. 

Everything, where I am from, is impersonal, while here in this little town, it is the opposite. Among the vibrant messages, I find a sense of connection. I may not agree with every sentiment expressed, but there is something undeniably human about the act of putting one’s thoughts out into the world for all to see. 

Among the messages:

“Long live France”

“The whole city is mine”

“64 years is not okay”

“Death to fachos”

“Win your life”

In Arles, the local population has a different perspective from mine on this abundance of street art. June Ofstedal, an intermittent resident, observes, “There’s so much stuff on the walls, like posters, that it all just sort of blends together.” Those who are new to Arles, it seems, are some of the only ones who stop and observe what is written and painted on the walls, as it is so common to the residents.

Not only do individual beliefs and messages exist, but there is an obvious presence of community and conversation between the street artists, no doubt due to the small size of Arles in comparison to Washington DC. During my exploration, I stumbled upon a particularly intriguing tag: the word “helm,” written in cursive with an elongated cross extending from the last mark of the letter ‘m’. This distinctive tag is found at least thirty times throughout the Roquette neighborhood. In some locations, the tag is left untouched; however, many times, another street artist has drawn a dash over it in a contrasting color or stroke. Rather than completely erasing the original tag, the dash seems to serve as a form of protest against it, drawing attention to the clash of styles. 

The sheer repetition of the “helm” tag, appearing far more frequently than any other tag I encounter, adds an additional layer of intrigue to my exploration. I wandered around the Roquette for a couple hours, snapping photos of the tag wherever I found it. It is still unclear to me who the artist is, or what exactly it means, but I did find a couple messages next to “helm” that shed some light. 

One striking message consists of an arrow pointing towards the tag with the words in French, “This is a fascist tag.” It’s apparent that “helm” sparked controversy and garnered criticism within the local street art community. Furthermore, I observed a curious trend among those who attempted to cover up the “helm” tag in Arles. It was clear that they made a deliberate effort to conceal the cross at the bottom of the letter ‘m,’ using various methods to do so. Some opted to place an ‘x’ over the cross, while one chose to overlay it with a heart symbol. In some instances, a simple dot of paint was sprayed over the cross, effectively erasing it from view. The acts of covering the “helm” tag created a visual conversation that unfolded across the walls of Arles. It reveals one story within the inherent power struggle of street art.

Another message, written by the helm artist themselves, read, “It is not against you!” This message appeared on a wall already covered in “helm” tags, offering a glimpse into the artist’s intent, which is perhaps seeking to assure viewers that the tag was not meant as a personal attack. 

Upon further research into the symbolism associated with the “helm” tag and its accompanying heart symbol with a cross extending from its top and the singular eye, I discovered parallels to Christian imagery. The cross emerging from the top of the heart, resembling the Christian symbol of The Sacred Heart, adds a new layer of interpretation to the composition. The Sacred Heart is a religious emblem representing devotion towards Jesus Christ, and can be often seen in Christian art. 

Additionally, the eye could be a reference to The Eye of Providence, an eye that represents the all-seeing eye of God, seen on the Great Seal of the United States. This mystical symbol represents divine guidance, protection, and omniscience.

Recently, however, during my stroll through the crowds of the photography festival in Arles, I stumbled upon a previously unnoticed wall, absolutely covered with countless “helm” tags and hearts. To not much of my surprise, most of these tags had been forcefully slashed in a striking blue paint. It was by far the most fervent display of opposition I had encountered against these tags. 

Intrigued, I approached a woman standing nearby and struck up a conversation, and asked her if she knew the significance behind the tags. She said the blue slashes were a visual protest against fascist ideologies. As for the “helm” tag itself, she explained that it, along with the accompanying heart symbol, was seen by some as a representation of France as a Christian nation. The “helm” tag likely derived from someone’s name, lacking any overt political connotation, she said.

My exploration and findings in Arles serve as a reminder that street art, despite its bold and “in your face”  nature, often carries a broader intention and deeper meaning. It seeks to provoke thought, spark conversations, and challenge societal norms.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards

Iel or elle?

Photo and story by Gabriela Calvillo Alvarez

The worst part of the first day of class is introductions. I dread having to come up with five fun facts about myself on the spot to share with strangers I have yet to know. When I came to Arles for my study abroad program, it was no different. I heard one of my professors explain that we would start the lesson off that way, by getting to know each other.  

She had just announced the agenda for the next few hours when she posed a question to the class about their pronouns. This part doesn’t bother me; it actually makes me feel welcome. But what I found interesting about it is that she mentioned “iel,” the gender-neutral pronoun in France. 

“Iel,” pronounced roughly like “yell,” combines the male (il) and female (elle) pronouns of the French language and has been a source of contention within the country for some time. Originally introduced by the online French dictionary, Le Robert, in 2021, “iel” has upset multiple people who don’t consider it a part of the language. 

One of the main forces against its usage is l’Académie Française, an institution that is designed to protect the French language. One of its statutes reads: “The main function of the Academy will be to work, with all possible care and diligence, to give certain rules to our language and to make it pure, eloquent and able to deal with the arts and sciences.” As of now, “iel” is not officially approved by l’Académie. 

Prior to my trip to France, I wasn’t aware that a gender-neutral pronoun existed here. I was under the impression that it would not be a popular concept. But to my surprise, it had already been a topic of conversation. 

Back in 2017, l’Académie Française wrote a statement on inclusive writing, warning that “with this ‘inclusive’ aberration, the French language is now in mortal danger, which our nation is now accountable to future generations.” This kind of reaction in regards to inclusivity reminded me of a similar sentiment that many people in my own culture share. 

My native tongue, Spanish, has gendered pronouns for most of the words included in everyday language. And similar to the French, the Latinx community has been having a hard time accepting gender-neutral terminology. While it has gained some traction amongst folks, many do not understand it and are afraid of what it means to the integrity of a beloved culture. Some of the older generations in my family are so enthralled with tradition that they perceive this push for inclusivity as almost a personal attack on them.

As a queer person, it’s hard for me not to feel a little alienated anywhere I go. Most of the time, I don’t force people to use they/them on me in my everyday life since I do feel comfortable with feminine pronouns. But in Arles, I have had complicated emotions surrounding gender because it feels like I have to overperform femininity to fit into the culture, both for safety and acceptance. Outside of the classroom, I’m in an entirely new environment and it’s hard to understand what is socially acceptable and what isn’t. 

However, I’m glad that this conversation has begun in Arles and France generally. Perhaps Spanish-speaking cultures will follow suit. Discussions about “iel” or even “elle,” pronounced like “eh-yeh,” in the Latinx community could make way for more inclusive language in the future.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards

Small Streets Make a City Walkable

Story and photos by Anaïs-Ophelia Lino

“There’s a bar around the corner,” my hostess told me a few days after I had been living with her in the south of France for my study-abroad program. “You’ll see a lot of men outside, but I’ve never felt unsafe walking past at night.” It was the first time I thought about how safe the neighborhood was.

When I prepared for my trip to Arles with ieiMedia, I researched the little town next to the Rhône and its culture. I learned that French cafes close between lunch and dinner. I worried about making a fool of myself when ordering iced coffee because it isn’t popular in France. But I never considered how I would get home at night, let alone how safe I would feel, even though it’s ingrained in my routine back home.

The night before my conversation with my hostess, I walked from a pub to the apartment pretty late down the skinny streets lined with old houses and apartment buildings. Of course, harmful situations for women can happen anywhere, but I didn’t feel at risk. 

I didn’t consider why I felt this way until I had walked home with another student who said her route felt “sketchy” to her. And when a third student agreed, I began thinking about the differences I saw on her way home. Her route was sparsely lit with big, wide streets more suitable for cars.

Her walk home is very similar to my walk in California. I also have to go under an overpass and walk through a dim street. I walk on the opposite side of incoming cars and always call my mother or a friend as a sort of safety net. I change my routes and make sure no one follows me home. 

There could be many reasons why I feel safer walking in my neighborhood in Arles. It doesn’t get dark until 10 p.m. and the buildings are much closer together compared with the wide open car-oriented streets of San Francisco.  Cars barely squeeze by in my Arles neighborhood, which dates back to the medieval era, and when the sun does go down, lamps illuminate most, if not all, of the street.

When I walk in the morning, I see parents greet other parents as they take their toddlers to school and I watch friends chatting over their morning espresso at a little cafe. Seeing all the Arlesians meet for dinner or drinks while I walk home makes the neighborhood feel like a community, and I myself encounter acquaintances on the street. I also feel more efficient because Arles is so compact that I don’t have to carve out time to run across the city for a single errand. 

Meanwhile my colleagues back home talk about how American cities are so car-dependent. Anytime I encounter friends spontaneously, it seems like an outlandish coincidence instead of just a probability.  If my city was as walkable as Arles, I think I would feel more calm there as well.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Arts, Postcards

The Body and its Images

Story and photos by Alexie Zollinger

As I walk the narrow streets of Arles, I find myself pausing periodically to admire a piece of graffiti, art displayed in storefront windows, or the occasional flier posted around the city, of which there are plenty. Many of the pieces I am stopping for are public art that display entirely nude figures or they incorporate messages of sexuality or love. 

My assumption is that these are no more than your average piece of artwork to the French and to Arlesians, hence their public display. While I was eating lunch Tuesday and absentmindedly watching French cable television, none of which I understood, on came a commercial depicting a group of nude male and female models being doused in colorful plumes of smoke. It wasn’t until the end of the commercial that I even knew it was an advertisement for deodorant. I sat back and thought, “Wow, that would never fly in Salt Lake City, Utah.”  

Utah is largely known for its five beautiful national parks, outdoor recreation opportunities and, of course, its impressive population of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS), in which I was raised. The religion itself is a branch of Christianity which shares many of the same beliefs as other Christian religions, but varies in certain aspects. For the purpose of this reflection, I’ll stick to the beliefs I grew up with surrounding sex, modesty and virtue. 

As a young girl, I was first introduced to the concept of sex and intimacy through the context of the LDS church. I was instructed to treat sex as an extremely intimate and sacred act only permitted between a married couple, (additionally– only between a heterosexual and cisgendered couple) for the purpose of reproduction and an important stepping stone towards a primary goal of LDS members, to bear and raise children. 

As a pre-teen and teenager in the church, I learned the church’s guidelines on morality. 

For women, there were no tank tops, no shorts shorter than three inches above the knee, same deal with skirts, no midriff visible, no tattoos or facial piercings beyond one ear piercing in each ear, no low T-shirts or dresses, etc. What I disliked about these messages, even from a young age, was how closely these rules were tied to self worth. 

In Salt Lake City, if someone is not viewing intimacy through a religious lens they are talking about it in a way that is so hypersexualizing that it is dehumanizing. It feels as though there is very little room for healthy sensuality.

Thankfully, being raised by a rather feminist mother, I was taught that I am very capable and what other people think of me is not my concern. I was never attracted to the “better than” narrative I was picking up on through these lessons: “Women who show lots of skin are often women of bad morals,” “Women who have sex out of marriage lack dignity and self respect.” 

In high school, I pierced a second hole in each of my ears, and the glances and suspicion really only increased from that point up until last year, when I signed a letter, had it notarized and sent to the LDS Church’s lawyers, notifying them of my wish to be removed as a member and have my records erased. I had stopped attending church a few years previous to this, but the decision still made my mother cry, and my father sigh. My extended family still doesn’t know, as far as I know.

In Arles and perhaps in all of France, nudity and sexuality appear to be less of a taboo subject than in the United States with its Puritan roots.

I am grateful that through personal growth I have come to find my body as a gift given unto myself, one that is capable and is able to feel all things from sensuality to sadness. I am grateful for having open conversations with friends that help normalize intimacy and encourage comfortability in my skin. 

I am grateful that in other areas of the world, such as Arles, nudity and the human figure are spoken about in terms of art and beauty, and not in privacy and shame. I hope one day to see nudity and physicality and intimacy portrayed in this manner at home, where women feel uncomfortable in their feelings and skin. I will bring more of this approach home with me, and will continue to discourage negative language around the human body, sexuality and intimacy, and act as the French seem to–as though it is something normal and even beautiful. Because it is.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Environment, Postcards

Taking Flight

Story, video and photos by Louis Denson

Last Tuesday in Arles, I was walking back to my host home when I  heard a smack and a splat. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a small black sparrow spread-eagle on the ground looking around like it was waiting for me to tell it what just happened. 

After watching the bird make a few failed attempts at flight, I thought to myself, “I’ve  never touched a wild bird before.” It seemed its shock at hitting a wall had turned into helplessness as it just lay  there with its wings spread wide. Stroking the wings and body with the back of my middle  finger, I could see that this bird was in no immediate presence of death. “Maybe a broken foot?” I thought as it gave another effort of flight that jumped me back into the street. Natalia Puglia, a  language teacher and interpreter for Arles à la carte, stopped on her bike and told me that  sparrows can’t fly from the ground and need wind or velocity from height to take flight; so this  bird was not broken, it was just stuck in a rut. 

Before I could think of anything to do, a woman approached the three of us and had a  quick exchange of words with Natalia in French that went along the lines of “What happened?”  “This sparrow ran into the wall and can’t take flight on its own.” Without hesitation, this woman  scooped up the sparrow in her hands and gently examined its body. Not only was I surprised that  the sparrow made no attempt to prevent this from happening, but I was also slightly jealous that I  missed the opportunity to hold and help the bird. After only a few seconds and the lifting of her  hands, the sparrow took flight in the direction it had been going when it crashed and landed on a  windowsill. We exchanged glances, assumed the bird was safe and said, “Bonne nuit,” and went  our separate ways. 

How quickly, confidently, and casually all parties–other than myself–handled this  situation really shed light on the different air in the streets of Arles. I’ve seen and been a part of  conversations that consisted of strangers asking about each other’s children and wellbeing,  and leashless dogs looking over their shoulders to check in with their owners as they walk down busy  streets in the middle of the day. Arlesians show a calmer attitude than I see in people back home toward flies and mosquitos. Their sensitivity to nature almost brings to mind stories I’ve heard of Native Americans who could pick up a scent in the wind as they ran without sound or shoe  through woods and forests. There is an energy that is quick acting but also calm and collected, that is so natural and harmonious with its surroundings that I can’t think of another way to say it  other than that Arlesians are tapped into something special.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards

Comment dit-on?


By Ella Slade

I point to my dinner, a full plate of tomato salad and fried egg crêpes, and rack my brain for the French translation of “this looks good.” The words exist only in English, and I stifle a sentence I know my host won’t understand. 

Communication with my host “mom,” a wonderful woman named Djamila, involves an amalgamation of French (with the aid of Google Translate), English, gestures and facial expressions. I have never before experienced this kind of difficulty in finding the correct words; English was always my strong suit, and I have nearly three years of communication-related college courses under my belt. 

When it comes to speaking French, however, the average second-grade student could shamelessly wipe the floor with my written and verbal abilities. I now feel slightly ignorant in calling myself an expert communicator, as I’d only ever attributed the skill to communication in my native language. 

The frustration I feel at not being able to exactly express my thoughts is a new and special experience. If I could tell Djamila anything, I’d ask her where she found each and every one of the paintings that ornament her apartment walls. I’d speak precisely about the differences between my town in Iowa and Arles, France. Instead, I use choppy French to say something about how Iowa has a lot of farmland, a lot of corn, as she nods and smiles. 

Surprisingly, I continually find that being “taken down a notch” in my preferred area of expertise is not discouraging. As my proficiencies are challenged, I gain new skills. 

After one of Djamila’s home-cooked meals, I now can express my satiety in French, thanks to her teaching. We laugh together without use of complete sentences, and respond to the television with sighs and smiles and eye-rolls. 

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards

How I got scammed at the Arles market


Story and photo by Destene Savariau

Let me start by saying that I love bunnies so much that you could call them my kryptonite. I have wanted one since I was young. Since my parents would not let me have one, anytime I see one, I cannot help but fall prey to their adorable faces, fluffy bodies and floppy ears. When I came to Arles, I was not expecting to see any, especially not at the open air market.

The author pets a bunny at the Arles Market.

The Arles market has been held Wednesday and Saturday mornings since at least 1584, according to a letter written by King Henry III. The market of Arles takes place right outside the limits of the old town, alternating between the Boulevard Émile-Combes to the east on Wednesdays and the Boulevard des Lices to the south on Saturdays.

One Saturday, I went to the market and the street was jammed with vendors. The sound of bargaining French people rang through the air. The air smelled like fresh olives and paella, which simmered in huge pans. Many of the vendors sold fresh produce straight from the countryside, and others offered inexpensive clothing, including shirts and dresses from Senegal. Those were my favorite as they had vibrant colors and patterns that complimented my skin beautifully. 

As I walked further down the boulevard, I noticed two tiny carts. They were filled with hay and little furry bodies. As I got closer, I realized what they were. One held a lionhead rabbit, which is a rabbit with an extra furry face, and a dwarf pig. The other had a black and white lop-eared rabbit and three snowball bunnies. 

When I first approached the carts, a man asked if I wanted to know how much they were. I answered, then he joked as if he wanted to sell them as food. I immediately denied wanting to eat them as they were too cute to eat and much more suited to be pets. I pet them, held them and learned why they were there.

The two men who ran the stand explained that they rescued animals, like the bunny and the pig, and helped them get medical attention. They sold candy to raise money for vaccines so they could be adopted. He showed me an open box and gave me a sample to try. The candy itself was not so bad, just a bit too sour for my tastes.

“Thirty euros for the small box of candy can cover a vaccine for a small cat and two rabbits,” the vendor said. “And the big box is 50 euros, which can cover vaccines for two cats and a dog.

The small box of candy was actually a small circular metal tin. The words on it were French, but its background was of a serene plain with a river. There was a barn at the forefront and a small French village tucked in the mountains.

I told him, “No, thank you.” Fifty bucks? That is way too expensive, I thought, especially for such a sour candy.

But then, he hit me with a deal I could not refuse. 

“I’ll give you the big box and small box for 30 euro.”

That was nail one.

“It will go towards treating a whole family of bunnies.”

That was the final nail in the coffin.

Hell, yeah, I was going to buy some of the candy! I would not be able to leave the market knowing that I did not do anything to help these poor, helpless baby animals. Buying the candy felt like I had done something really good.

When I got home to my host family, my host father explained that  those guys were scammers.

Apparently, it is illegal in France for people to use animals as a tool to sell things. After my host father told me that, I felt kinda stupid. Those guys really tricked me and made me feel like a silly American tourist who was an easy mark. 

But then again, learning from those experiences is what makes traveling so enriching and unforgettable!

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

An international reporting project co-sponsored by ieiMedia and Arles à la carte.