|
|
Many people go to the south of France to retire, to live out their lives in
fields of lavender, bright sun, buffeted by a cool breeze off the
Mediterranean. Not Sylvia Braverman. Despite a broken back, a painful hip
injury and having reached an age when bouncing a grandchild on a knee is the
extent of ones exercise, this grandmother still goes down to her studio each
day to do what she loves most: paint. And when the mood hits her, she drives
5 hours (alone) to Milan to visit the grandbabies.
Slyvia steps out on her second floor patio to survey the landscape below
and beyond. The pool needs cleaning and the roof on her studio leaks; the
blue tarp flaps in a breeze that retains a winter nip despite what the
calendar says. She tightens the colorful scarf around her neck; mustn't let
another cold or the flu get a grip.
At 84, the wind, the rain, the cold marble floors, the uneven cobblestone
steps leading to her garden studio below, offer her frail frame challenges
that, at times, get the best of her. But she still loves this place; it is a
home, sanctuary, and her canvas, and if she dies here: what better place to
go than in the arms of a loved one? For now, she is winning the battle
against the wind, stone and time. Today is another celebration for this
American artist in her verdant hillside home overlooking Vence. Like
Chagall, Matisse and the many others before her, she is content to live out
her life here filling canvas after canvas with her celebrations of color and
light.
|
|
