The Story Behind the Sketchbooks

To explain how I began combining my love for traveling with another of my post-retirement loves, painting, I need to explain about the origin of my sketchbooks.  They are the source for many of the stories in this book.  

Despite having kept journals for several years, even including little colored pencil sketches amid the writing, it had never occurred to me that my newly found watercolor hobby could be incorporated into these notebooks.  That is, until I met Maggie Hoybach.

Having begun to take art lessons in 1996, I was eager to find good workshops to attend. In the spring of 2001, during a lengthy stay at our condo in Highlands, NC, I learned of a weeklong watercolor workshop at the High Hampton Inn in Cashiers, 10 miles away.  Without knowing anything other than the instructor was from Charleston, SC, Sue Spitchley and I signed up for her course.  This literally set me on a totally new path, not only with my artwork, but also for my future travel.  Because Maggie had a passion for watercolor journaling, she described her technique throughout the week.  The turning point for me came when she announced that she would be taking a group to Provence, FR, the next September to paint in the Luberon Valley.

I knew immediately that this was a trip I had to make. On August 29 Sue and I, along with our friend, Phyllis Parker, and our Jackson art teacher, Diane Norman, flew to Marseille by way of Paris.  Even though our flight from Atlanta was smooth, we landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at 6:30 a.m., only 45 minutes before our connecting flight to Marseille.  There were at least 200 people at passport control, causing us to miss our flight and wait for 4 hours in the airport.  Finally arriving in the south of France, we were met by Maggie and her husband Peter at 2:00 p.m., only to learn that Sue’s luggage was not aboard the plane.  (It arrived the next day.)

After driving north for an hour and a half to the village of Gordes, then finally making it to our hotel, Mas de la Senancole, we were ready to sit by the pool, drink wine and view Maggie’s sketchbooks.  Our instruction began immediately.  She explained to us that we would be expected to take our sketchbooks with us everywhere, making sketches, notes, observations, collecting tickets, labels and postcards in addition to pages of actual watercolors from our various locations.  The first thing to put in the book was a blank calendar for the dates of the trip; there we could jot down quick notes of where we were that day, because the names of all the places would become jumbled in our minds.

A van would pick us up each morning to take us to a different village where Maggie would give a demo to illustrate various watercolor techniques.  She pointed out that the sidewalk cafes were ideal for doing our sketches.  All we needed to do was order a pot of tea and the wait staff would let us stay outside all afternoon to paint to our hearts’ content. We also carried small collapsible stools that allowed us to perch in any  convenient spot to get the right view for our sketches. 

 

Maggie could communicate with the local people just slightly, but it was enough to help us get by.  She encouraged us to keep a list of French words and phrases so that we could make ourselves understood in villages where there were few English speakers.  My list in the back of the sketchbook was valuable in restaurants when I tried to interpret the menu.  But being able to ask for  d’eau chaud  (hot water) was essential when I was served black coffee that was stronger than double expresso.  All of Maggie’s little tips have given me a foundation, not only for my artwork, but also for every trip that I have taken since then.

Another trick that Maggie showed us was how to peel off the beautiful labels from the wine bottles at our dinner meals.  We would take the bottles back to  the hotel, soak a hand towel in water, wrap the wine bottle and leave it overnight.  The next day the label could be gently removed and flattened to dry.  Later these labels formed beautiful collages in the sketchbooks, reminding us of the variety of wines served during our trip.    

She insisted that we learn to make quick sketches just to capture a moment.  As we set out for the beautiful  hilltop town of Roussillon, glowing from the red clay of its buildings and the cliffs on  which it sits, Maggie had our driver stop at an overlook to gaze across the vineyards at the scene.  She instructed us to sketch it quickly, giving us only 90 seconds to capture the image.  Later I was able to expand that image into a two-page watercolor.

From Maggie I learned to really see what was in front of me.  Until then it had not occurred to me that I should draw the designs from the tablecloth while waiting to be served dinner.  If I had not sketched the unusual shapes of the ice cream dishes served on the hotel terrace, I would no longer remember the delicious citron et menthe chocolat that was so refreshing on a hot afternoon. 

  And how fabulous it is to have images of Cezanne’s studio, where we were forbidden to take our cameras. Many times I have been reminded of the door that was 2 stories tall and 2 feet wide which had been built to transport his enormous canvases out of the studio.

When she told us to carry the sketchbooks everywhere we went, I took her seriously. Every evening in the hotel I would write about our activities that day and put final touches on my artwork.  My diligence paid off because on the last day Maggie critiqued our work, awarding me the prize for most complete sketchbook.  I will be forever grateful to Maggie for giving me such a basic understanding of travel journals and helping me to see the endless possibilities that they afford.  All these many years later I can return to those experiences with much more passion than I ever could with a photograph album.  I now have sketchbooks of every trip I have taken.  

The date we arrived home is indelibly printed in my mind:  September 10, 2001.  Returning to Atlanta, Sue and I spent the night at Marietta’s apartment where we were having a cup of coffee while watching the Today Show on Tuesday morning, September 11.  One day later and we would have been stranded in the airport in Marseille.

Lovely fountain in Saignon, our first village of the trip