For Three-Word Wednesday, Magpie 117 and ABC Wednesday

"R" is for Relationship
This week’s prompt reminded me (it always reminds me of something) of the time a few decades back when I received a marvelous assignment from the French Government Tourist Office – to make a film on Provence.

That, as I’m sure you know, is the magnificent region in the south of France, named Provence because a couple of thousand years ago the invaders from Italy knew it as a Roman province.
The region still has that combination of sunbaked earth and startlingly blue sky, enlivened with vivid splashes of color, that made it so popular with artists.

It’s a region where you can find farmers who make their living growing lavender.
I decided to make Arles, one of the key cities of the area, my headquarters while shooting the film because of a couple of guys who made it their HQ too: the one reponsible for this week’s prompt, Paul Gauguin, and his friend – for a while at least – Vincent van Gogh.

Two very different types, with two very different styles. Above, Gauguin; below, van Gogh.

By the way, forgive the digression, but have you ever asked a true, native-born Dutchman how they pronounce van Gogh? It’s worth doing. They pronounce it, as nearly as I can reproduce it on my keyboard, “fan HOACHCCCHHH.” (Be sure to wear rain gear.)
To get back to one of my usual interminable stories, I have always been fascinated by Paul Gauguin.
After living a comfortable life as a stockbroker, and you know how comfortable they are, he one day packed it all in and decided to devote his life to painting.
He headed down to, of all places, Arles, and teamed up with Vincent v G. They could, the two of them, remake the art world of that time.
As it turned out, however, living with Vincent was no day at the plage. In the beginning they were good friends. But gradually Gauguin changed from a fawning admirer to a critic and van Gogh did not appreciate his suggestions as to how he could improve as an artist. They soon quarreled often.
Fact is, Vincent’s mental health was obviously deteriorating. At one point he went after Paul with a razor.
Speaking of razors, it was about this time that there occurred the famous episode of van Gogh’s ear. To get the facts sraight, he did not cut off his ear. He just cut off the lower part of his left ear lobe. He wrapped the severed tissue in newspaper and handed it to a prostitute named Rachel, asking her to "keep this object carefully."
What Rachel had to say to him in response is not known.
Gauguin left Arles, and a few days later Van Gogh was hospitalized. They never saw each other again.
However, the heavily melodramatic relationship of Vin and Paul aside, Arles was, and still is, a splendid town.

They’ve got a genuine Roman colosseum that’s a stunner.
I shot some of my film in it, photographing a bullfight.

As you might expect, what with the laid-back atmosphere of Provence, the French version of a bullfight is a bit different from that of Spain. The bull doesn’t get killed; he has a little strip of cloth that he juggles between his horns and the “bullfighters” risk their lives to navigate right up to the animal, snatch that thing off his forehead and then jump over the fence and into the stands before the bull can gore them to death. A weird sport but fun to watch. This may be where Al Gore got his name.
(Submitted also to Sunday Scribblings.)