Category Archives: Postcards

Personal reflections of The Arles Project contributors

Postcards, Traditions

A dangerous dance

Text and photos by Surya Vaidy

If there’s one thing I can say about bullfighting, it’s this: it is as beautiful as it is harrowing. It’s a pas-de-deux between two individuals. One is dressed in an intricate uniform with a red muleta (the large red flag carried by bullfighters) and sword; the other is hundreds of pounds of muscle and frustration crowned with wickedly sharp horns. Grim and brutal, but so elegant and vivacious at the same time. 

I did not expect to be granted a pass to the floor of the ancient Roman amphitheatre in Arles — a genuine stroke of luck that was a mixture of our guide, Marie-Anne Devaux, expertly convincing the officials and a heavy amount of begging on my part. I was standing with coaches, older bullfighters and the young novilleros (bullfighters who have not yet earned official ranks). The young fighters were the stars of the show that night. 

  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Novillero Valentin dodges a bull while with his red muleta in hand. Both the young bullfighter and the bull are locked into a risky dance.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Toreros prepare to anger and distract the bull at the start of a match.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Spectators watch the bullfight from below the stands of the Arles Amphitheatre.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Novillero Valentin miscalculates during his match and his shoved by the bull, narrowly missing getting punctured by the horns.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Novillero Victor strikes a deadly blow against the bull he is facing. Small, colorful daggers, called banderillero hang from the bull’s hide from earlier in the fight.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    A young boy watches on as the matches continue on. Many youth were present in the Amphitheatre, despite the gore of the sport.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Novillero Valentin approaches a downed bull, about to deal the finishing blow with his sword.
  • Photo by Surya Vaidy. Taken 6/29/2024.
    Novillero Victor holds up his prize for a match well fought: the ear of the bull he killed. It’s an honor to recieve one ear, but it’s possible to recieve two ears, or even the tail depending on the performance of the bullfighter.

I still have a hard time processing the fact that most of the participants were a few years younger than me, with many in their late teens. Watching them engage in the violent duet with the bull was something I will never forget, especially because I could see it all at eye level. I felt as though I was in the ring myself, holding my breath as the young fighters dodged, thrust their swords or were hit by the bull. It was an adventure and a learning experience to witness.

Marie-Anne Devaux served as the interpreter for this photo story.

Postcards

Growth, Connection and the Ripening Strawberry

Text and photo by Karla Valdez

From the time I was a little girl, I dreamed of studying abroad. The idea filled my imagination with visions of cobblestone streets, historic landmarks and the melodic sounds of a foreign language. 

Being able to venture out and experience life in another country was my greatest wish. Waking up to a new adventure every day while getting to create memories of a lifetime, is exactly what I wanted. 

But while this sounded exciting in my mind, the fear and anxiety of traveling to a different country alone and living there for a month scared me quite a bit. I spent the entire flight to France worried and anxious about how this experience would unfold. Every turbulent bump of the plane seemed to echo my doubts, and the ocean view below only magnified my sense of isolation.

Getting off the plane and staying in Marseille for a day before arriving in Arles caused a mix of anticipatory feelings within me. The unfamiliar sights and sounds heightened my anxiety. Arriving at the bustling train station in Marseille, filled with people speaking rapidly in unfamiliar tongues, was overwhelming. I was lost for about an hour trying to learn the train system; I even missed my train to Arles.

However, as soon as I met my classmates and host family and socialized with my advisers, I began to relax. Their warm smiles and welcoming gestures eased my nerves, and I felt the tension in my body melting away, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The European cobblestone streets that once seemed daunting now felt inviting; this is where I was meant to be.

The first night, Monika, the woman who is hosting me, prepared a chicken dinner with peas, tomatoes, cheese and a baguette (of course we cannot forget about the ubiquitous and delicious French bread). We paired it with a crisp rosé and for dessert, we had a velvety and fluffy chocolate mousse. We ate and talked for three hours straight and Monika showed me her beautiful garden. 

The view of Monika’s garden from the patio dinner table added to my sense of peace. The garden brings her great joy because she puts so much effort into taking care of it. She grows tomatoes, eggplant, zucchinis, herbs and strawberries. 

When I arrived on June 17, she gave me a tour of her garden and everything was ready to be picked except the strawberries, which were just starting to develop from tiny berries. 

A week later, I came home from a long day at school and Monika, her daughters and I had dinner on her patio. Afterwards, we took our daily tour of the garden, but this time it was a bit different. We all noticed the first strawberry that had ripened in her garden. 

Monika and I looked at each other, excitement in our eyes. “Have the first strawberry from my garden,” Monika said. 

“How could I possibly enjoy something you spent so much time growing yourself?”, I thought to myself. 

“Of course not,” I said. “You can have it; you grew it yourself.”

She looked at me as if she thought I was crazy. “Please take it,” she said. “It is for you.”

I felt so special and cared for in that instant. 

I carefully plucked the strawberry from the garden, honored that she had let me have her very first strawberry of the season. I bit into it and the juice from the berry dripped down my finger. At that moment I paused and I thought to myself, “This feels like home.”

At that moment it allowed me to flash back to when my mother would wash and cut fruit for me at my home in Long Beach, California. That motherly treatment and energy reminded me of my mom and translated to me feeling at home. It brought peace to my heart. The emotions I felt made me realize how much can change in the span of a week. I went from feeling scared, anxious and nervous to now feeling at peace, safe and at home away from my hometown.

Just as that strawberry grew in a week, so did my confidence in navigating a new country alone. Growth is often terrifying, but when you experience these genuine and wholesome moments with people you connect with quickly, it makes the journey profoundly worthwhile. 

The transition from fear and uncertainty to feeling deeply connected and at peace has been transformative. Especially when you’re venturing out alone, these connections become your anchor and in those moments, you realize that growth, though intimidating, is beautiful and necessary. It allows you to evolve in ways you never imagined, just like the strawberry that eagerly grew and was ready to be picked.

Postcards

Cats Across Continents

Text and photos by Solange Jain

In Queens, New York City, Baya and Lennox wake up in a two-bedroom apartment, Lennox curled in a ball on the couch and Baya under Mom’s bed. They simultaneously lift their heads when they hear the bathroom door close, meaning Mom is awake and it’s time for breakfast.

In Arles, France, Luna opens her eyes to sunlight poking through the leaves of an oleander bush. She pokes her head out before jumping down and starting the walk down the street to the house. At the house she finds an open window and jumps in, waiting inside to be fed.

A cat bathes himself midday in the streets of Arles, France, licking his paws and unbothered by passersby.

When leaving for France, what I knew I would miss most (apart from my family and air conditioning) were my cats. My two furry little creatures provide a comfort and joy in my life that I was nervous to stray from. When I learned that my host family had a cat of their own, I became excited at the prospect of gaining a new four-legged friend.

But I quickly learned that pets are treated very differently in the south of France than in New York City.

At home, in the afternoons I watch Baya sit on the windowsill and survey the world from behind a glass panel. She watches buses and cars, dog walkers and business people rushing to and fro, while Lennox often rolls around on the carpet with a toy fish stuffed with catnip. Both cats know nothing other than their shoebox life, shielded from the dangers of the outside world.

When I arrived in Arles, where I am staying with the Devic family, I didn’t meet Luna until the third day. For two days she had been out in the streets, only coming home to have a quick meal once a day. I was informed that Luna spent time with her “boyfriend,” an orange cat in the neighborhood, and together they would explore the surrounding streets, napping in the shade of cars and hunting insects.

While Baya and Lennox have at most only ever felt the outside air through a screened window, the window at the Devic family home is always wide open, giving Luna free rein of both the outdoors and the house.

Luna’s boyfriend rests on the road, letting the sun of the late afternoon outline the back of his head.

My initial reaction to this approach of caring for a pet was that it was neglectful and possibly dangerous given the lack of attention on Luna and her whereabouts. I couldn’t imagine sending my cats away to fend for themselves out in the world. The more time I spent with Luna, though, I saw how content she was with her life and it seemed that being unconfined was extremely beneficial.

I began to feel guilty about my own cats’ restrictive lives. What kind of monster was I? I was confining my cats to a small New York City apartment and denying them their natural tendency.

As I reflected on my personal experience adjusting to being in a new place away from my family, I discovered parallels to the conflicting experiences of pet-owning in American cities versus the south of France.

Much like the life lived by Baya and Lennox, my life at home was safe and familiar, and allowed me to think I was experiencing the world when actually I had barely set foot in it. Now, mimicking Luna, I am exposed to the unknown without anyone protecting me, but simultaneously I am independently exploring my environment, without anyone holding my hand.

 Luna sits with her back to the camera and her head turned to face the inside in the circular bathroom window of her house. From here, Luna surveys the neighborhood below and what explorations await. 
Environment, Postcards

Curiosities of the Camargue

Gallery

Story and photos by Sophia Maxim

My host father, Jacques Reygner, who has welcomed me in his home for the month, offered to take me to the Camargue. I didn’t know what to expect, but I gladly agreed. The car trip revealed a serenely unusual setting. Native white horses pranced up to us, seeking affection, while towering sea salt mounds and rose-hued salt pans appeared throughout the terrain.

Camargue horses gallop across the field to greet us. The breed is often used to herd livestock, including bulls.
A small farmhouse sits off the side of the road.
A tender horse connects with us over the barbed wire.
My host father, Jacques Reygner, strokes a Camargue horse’s mane. He approached the horses with familiarity and confidence.
A horse shakes fleas from its mane.
Mounds of sea salt are stored on the bank of the Rhone River in the Salin-de-Giraud village.
Pink salt lakes surround the area of Salin-de-Giraud. The pink hue is caused by an algae called Dunaliella salina.
A vacant dump truck used for sea salt extraction sits beside the salt mounds in Salin-de-Giraud, a major salt-producing commune.
My host father drives us past the salt mounds and heads back to town.
Postcards

Books, books everywhere

Story and photos by Morgen Lily Neuhauser

From stories of what Arles may have been like back in Roman times to ones about a detective investigating the seemingly supernatural on the streets of modern day Arles, books featuring the city and Arlesian culture fill the shelves of local bookstores. With a population of less than 55,000, Arles has over 15 publishing houses, according to its Office of Tourism and the city lists nearly a dozen specialized book stores. 

Julian Frédéric, manager of the Arles BD Bookstore, said that because Arles is the only French city outside of Paris to have a major publisher, authors can write about all aspects of the city’s culture. 

“There are people who are really attached to ancient history and there are the people who want to show the city of Arles,” Frédéric said.  

Etienne Bouet launched his photobook, Contemporary Bus Stops Design (PT), at Actes Sud, Arles’ largest publishing house last week. Actes Sud was opened in 1978 by author Hubert Nyssen. Today its location in Arles houses a movie theater, a restaurant, a bookstore, various art exhibitions and a hammam. 

Etienne Bouet and his wife look over photo books at Actes Sud in Arles.

Bouet’s book is filled with images and stories of unique bus stops he has seen throughout his travels. In the book, he writes about micro architecture and analyzes the designs of various bus stops. Bouet said his book will eventually be in stores all over Europe, but it started with a book signing in Arles. 

“It’s the first time that people speak to me and say, ‘I like this book because the photography is original,’ and we speak with the fans and it’s okay,” Bouet said. “It’s the beginning of the book.” 

Readers delight in having access to unique books, said Nina Tissot, a longtime customer of Actes Sud.

By shopping in local bookstores, Tissot said that readers have a wide variety of choices and can find a lot of rare books. Browsing in the town’s many book shops is a way to find books that you normally wouldn’t have read, according to Tissot. 

She said that discovering new literature is important. One of her favorite things about reading is when she’s attracted to a cover and then discovers a remarkable story inside.  

“I like being shocked and surprised and finding something that I didn’t think I would find in a book,” Tissot said as she stood amongst books on display in Actes Sud. 

Additionally, Tissot said bookstores are a great place to meet up and bond with others over a shared passion for reading. 

Customers shop for books at Actes Sud, Arles’ largest bookstore.

In addition to Actes Sud, there are a lot of small publishers. The Librairie du Palais is a small specialized bookstore that publishes many photobooks in-house. It reopened in 2020 and has served as a bookstore and studio space for photographers ever since. 

Delphine Manjard, head bookseller at The Librairie du Palais, said that this model of publishing allows for artists to work on their passion projects, thereby producing an array of work that has very important messaging. 

“We are surrounded by images and you always believe what you see,” Manjard said. “But in photography, nothing is true. Everything is a construction. So I think photography tells a lot about our society. And it’s also a very powerful tool to change society. I think we are trying to change society with art and to try to make things better, more inclusive.” 

Bookstores like The Librairie du Palais encourage a culture and community of artists, said Manjard, and the importance of art cannot be understated. Manjard said art, specifically photography, is a powerful tool to help change society.

“I have faith in the power of artists,” Manjard said. “For example, when there is a catastrophe, when there’s something really hopeless happening, who are you going to call? You are going to call an artist to sing or to perform to bring back hope.”

Postcards

Growing Up in Smoke

Text by Lydia Perez
Photo by Malcolm Taylor

During the second week of my month in Arles, on a warm morning shortly before noon, I set out to take photos with a classmate. As we were getting ready to go and my classmate was packing up her camera equipment, we saw a little group of boys running around in the street. The oldest boy there, slumped over in a white shirt and shorts, was smoking a cigarette. 

My classmate and I were in complete shock to see the boy, who looked to be about 10 years old, smoking a cigarette around the other little kids. In the United States, it’s not common for people, particularly little kids, to smoke cigarettes. As I’ve walked around Arles, I always find at least one person with a cigarette in their mouth followed by a cloud of smoke.

In the United States, it’s a bit more common for middle schoolers to start consuming cannabis. That still shocks me. But not as much as seeing the little boy in Arles letting out a puff of smoke.

We were hoping the boy wouldn’t influence the other little boys around him to start smoking. But a week later, as I was walking home with the same classmate, we saw the boy who had been smoking again on the same street. We also saw one of the other little boys down the street. He looked to be around 5 years old and was behind a trash can that was a bit taller than him. He had a heartwarming smile.

“Oh no, is it a vape?” my classmate asked.

Sure enough, the little boy put his fist toward his mouth and two seconds later smoke came out of his mouth. As soon as the cloud of smoke blew out into the air, my heart shattered. I’d never seen a child that young vaping.

At home, when people want to smoke a cigarette, a vape pen or even a marijuana joint, they usually ask others around them if they’re comfortable with the smoking. However, the times I’ve been out to restaurants or walking around in Arles, people casually pull out a cigarette and just light it up. I find myself wondering just what are the limits on smoking here.

People, Postcards

Finding Home in a Foreign Land

By Rae Daniels-Henderson

Coming to France for the first time, I felt anxiety about how my four-week experience was going to play out. My terrible French speaking skills and American caricatures of the French people as stuck-up and impatient weighed very heavily on my chest.

I am the first in my family to travel abroad, let alone study abroad for a month. My fear of the unknown and my family’s fear of me traveling for so long added stress I didn’t realize I had until I arrived in Arles. 

But I have sighed my biggest ever mental sigh of relief because I have actually found a sense of home in Arles. 

Our first day in Arles, when my classmate, Judas, and I got lunch, I fumbled my words asking for a bottle of water. I soon became extremely embarrassed but was immediately put at ease when the server gave me an impromptu French lesson, pointing and translating with the warmest smile almost as if she was doing this to include me so I could better understand the culture.

That felt like my official welcome into this small community that has had iconic moments of history, including long visits from famous artists Paul Gaugin, Pablo Picasso and Vincent Van Gogh, and that was even a provincial capital of ancient Rome. 

A few days after that experience, the group was asked by Katie Thornton, the director at our language school, if we noticed any differences between our families at home and our host families. I realized I genuinely could not think of anything.

Dinners with my host family have been most recently on the patio during warm evenings with a musky yet sweet-scented incense burning to repel mosquitoes. That resembles my life back home with aromatic incense filling my dining and living room with an added sense of warmth. Both at home and in Arles everyone enjoys a meal, loud laughter, reminiscing, sharing stories and then breaking out into dance or the occasional funny-face exchange among siblings. 

I had already felt a sense of familiarity with my host mother, Françoise Meyer-Gardeur. But when she sat me and my other housemates from the program down one day and asked if we were comfortable with her, I realized she reminded me of my mother. The way that they both instill the courage in you to speak up to them about any concern, the showing of mutual respect to their children, and the genuine love, admiration and warmth that radiates from them are like the sun illuminating and bringing life to everything it touches.

My supportive Arlesian home on rue Jean Granaud has become my base to recharge and has given me confidence to explore more every day.

Even though I have been here for two weeks I now stop and occasionally have friendly conversations with people of this small community. Just as back home, I speak to people I see every day about their husbands, approaching traveling plans or even updates on pets. I have also experienced pleasant nods followed by a small smile and even little “Bonjours” if I accidentally lock eyes with someone while passing by on the street.

Apparently, I am getting a special welcome, because when I recount these interactions to my hosts, I get surprised and puzzled reactions. 

When my time comes to leave, I will miss this place immensely. I am grateful for the beaming Arlesian sun melting away my hesitation and fears, while I embrace it and all of its light and guidance through these cobblestone streets.

Postcards

Reflections by the Rhône

Narrative and photography by Elizabeth Coleman

A man walks along my windowsill every morning. His footsteps are slow and uneven, frequently stopping and turning backward but never retracing.

From my vantage point in the shaded corner of unfamiliar walls, I can’t see the path his feet make. I merely see him strolling, hands often clasped behind his back. One morning, I grew curious and slowly drifted away from the shaded corner toward the light trickling in through my window. The man grew larger and his feet became clear followed by four paws, worn with age, slowly tracing the man’s footsteps. 

Every morning, I watch the man cross my windowsill with his tiny companion. Every morning I recognize the love and the patience shared between the man and his companion. Every morning I better understand the importance of this ritual because one day, maybe someday soon, this man will cross my windowsill alone. 

Isn’t it inspiring?

A dream set in hazy air

Simple moments treated so precious, so delicate

Like a flower, tenderly cared after,

watered religiously,

allowed to flourish so

they burst into the streets.

During my brief time in Arles, I have witnessed the beauty in the attention Arlesiens place on wellbeing. Reflected in the colorful facades and floral streets, the quiet evenings, and whispered laughter, the Arlesien quality of life is rich beyond material possessions.

A thriving existence developed by dedicated stewardship of personal and communal habits and space, a relationship that is often disjointed in American society. Arlesiens take the time to feel human by protecting their moments and places of peace creating a welcoming and comforting environment for locals and visitors alike.

Maybe my experience as a temporary inhabitant allows me to have this fanciful view of Arles and its people, or maybe there is something truly special in the way life is nurtured here. 

As Americans, we have forgotten the art of resting, of healing through land and community, of experiencing a life that we cultivate and allow to flourish. Rather than merely surviving, we might find inspiration in the care shown for humanity here in Arles, a care that may allow us to thrive. To live among the flowers, in homes dedicated to rest, among communities that fill our cups, and with the time to stroll along winding paths at first light or beneath the stars accompanied by a loved one for as long as we have left.

Places, Postcards

The other city of light

Story and photo by Malcolm Taylor

I discovered my love for photography when my dad put his Canon F1 film camera in my 2-year-old hands. Coming to Arles, France, considered by some to be the photography capital of the world, is nothing short of a dream come true for me. 

To me, photography means a love for life and an expression of creativity. I consider my camera to be an extension of myself and a fundamental tool of my daily life. 

You can only imagine my excitement when this program in Arles was announced. I had found a chance to study and learn French, work with industry professionals, and meet other creatives – all in the capital of my passion.

Now in Arles, I understand why it is truly a photographer’s playground. Everywhere I look, I am surrounded by deep history, elaborate architecture and beautiful faces. Being in a new country for the first time, I feel a buzz of creativity that I wasn’t anticipating. 

When I delved deeper, I realized what had truly caught my eye—along with the eyes of centuries of artists. At the right hour of the day, an abundance of divine light washes over this former Roman provincial capital. Be it a gleaming drop, or a river of luminescence, this town is positively inundated with light. Light is the photographer’s water of life. Photo-graphy literally means light pictures. Without light, there are no pictures.

One day, I decided to try my hand at exploring street photography. After allowing myself to capture some intimate frames of Arles life bathed in the city’s distinctive light, I wandered into a quaint little shop by the name of La Valise Arlésienne.

Immediately, I was hit with the unique odor of old metal and brass equipment. The dry scent of old paper tickled my nose, and my stomach began to flutter out of pure joy. I had just walked into the most beautiful photography store I had even seen. For me, this was equivalent to stepping foot into a dream. Old photographs lined the walls, ancient camera equipment stared back at me with meticulously handcrafted glass. I felt at home. 

Patrick Gagey, the owner of the store, said that this is the biggest collection of old photographs for purchase in the world. The son of a photographer, he said that everyone in Arles is either a photographer or becomes a photographer.

Living in Arles has been a transformative experience for me. The light and vibrance of these streets have opened my mind to my beloved craft and have given depth to my perception of my field. I am thankful for this step forward in my creative journey.

Bruce Strong, one of my professors from Syracuse University, is teaching photography as part of this program. While we traversed Arles together one day, he imparted a new ability upon me. He asked me to focus my eyes on him, all while describing my surroundings. I slipped into a flow-like state as I described my surroundings:

A kid brushes past me from shadow into sunlight. A woman takes off her red hat and soaks in the blinding sun. A man picks up a bag from under a table and moves it into the light, showing its vibrant yellow color. A woman opens the blinds on a cafe window. Beautifully soft light pours over the cafe residents. 

With this new ability, I’m able to not just see light, but see how the world interacts with light.

Arts, Postcards

What Photography Taught a Fiction Writer

Text and photos by McCade Hayes

When I first arrived in Arles, I was not greeted by the sun. Rather, when I stepped off the train and into the small formerly Roman city, it was in the early night. I walked to my hostel, exhausted from the full day of travel and sweaty from carrying all of my belongings split between two backpacks. The walk through the night carried with it a mystique in the shadowy corners of the streets that my mind’s imagination began to fill in.

I came to Arles with the intention of making a first attempt at photography, in hopes that it would help to improve my primary craft, writing. After a conversation with Malcolm Taylor, my housemate and a photographer, I decided to take my photos in black and white. This is because taking photos in this style can help to exemplify the form and lighting of a scene. So in the city of Arles, home of the renowned Les Rencontres photography festival, and day-long amazing natural light, I set out to take photos. Here are some of the results.

This amplification of shadows and the form or silhouettes in my pictures, revealed something that I could apply in my writing craft. I found that by changing the camera exposure to darken the lighting while shooting in black and white, the photo’s tone flipped on its head. In the more exposed photos, the walls feel open and welcoming as the city of Arles actually feels.

In the under-exposed photo, the aesthetics changed to a more gothic and slightly unsettling photo that leaves the viewer feeling almost as though the walls close in around them and brings their eyes more towards the sky, or towards escape.

The lighter tones of this photo give a more open feeling to the walls of Arles. Photo by McCade Hayes.
In contrast to the image above, the less exposed photo of the same scene creates a feeling of oppression.

This idea has led me to a conclusion that light as part of setting should be used and exemplified at points within creative written works as well. For example, when setting a scene I can apply this knowledge by considering where in the setting I decide to place the reader’s point of view with considerations of form included. To expand on what I mean by form, the importance of objects, characters and other concepts in a scene is often dictated by the amount of words or space a description of that thing takes up on the page. This also can be applied in a less figurative way, where I describe the lighting in scenes to convey tone, importance, or meaning to the readers.

I was pushed far outside of my comfort zone in the first few weeks of working in this program. By changing my environment completely, down to the language that I am speaking, and the work that I am producing. I have been able to learn a lot about the common ground of creative writing and photography, especially in regards to establishing setting and tone, lessons that I can continue to practice and learn from even after this program.