Off we went through the Pyrenees to Berdun.  With each twist and turn of the road I felt so small in the midst of the grandeur of these mountains. I no longer looked up at the dark clouds, I felt them on my face and watched the midst move in and out along the road.  I had always loved vistas and at that time was a landscape painter, so this was paradise to me.  As we drove on I passed longhaired white goats perched on the side of the mountain.  I recognized them from National Geographic Magazine.  The driver laughed as he saw me through the mirror amazed at the sights.  Little did he know, the closest thing I came to seeing animals like this was riding the Third Avenue El up to the Bronx Zoo with my father as a child during the 1950’s. 

The landscape changed dramatically as we descended the Pyrenees.  It was now approaching early evening 5 or 6 pm.  We crossed the mountains that divided Spain from France and drove along side flat patches of farmland.  When we arrived in Jaca the driver asked me for the address.  I told him we still needed to travel because the village was in Berdun, he said, “Show me the map?”  I told him, “It’s not on the map,” so he asked for directions on how to get to the mountain village.

The magic of the place began to take shape for me.  We passed fields of sunflowers, stretches of fields of yellow ochre, naples, almond groves and tall dark green Cypress trees that swayed in the wind.   Then Berdun appeared on the horizon like a mystical fort.  Settled on a hill the village was spread out.  It is situated in the river Aragon valley in a faraway corner of the province.  We began to climb the steep road to the village.  When we reached the top children and adults surrounded us, I couldn’t understand why, later Vivienne told me no one ever comes to the village in a taxi from France.  They thought I was someone important.  It turned out the people of Berdun were the important ones, always helpful, friendly and genuine in conversation.  They impressed me just as much as the landscape.  I thanked my driver for getting me there safe.  He said goodbye, but would stop to eat in the one restaurant in the village, and rest before he headed back to Pau.

The painting center did not disappoint me. Two 300-year-old houses located in the town were used as the school.  My room had a sink, rustic décor that was typical of the area, balcony, and a bed.  It overlooked the narrow street below where children played and elderly ladies in black sat on chairs and watched them.  One of the buildings also had a large spacious lounge with beamed ceilings, Aragonese chimney, colored with tiles, a map room, books, a well stocked bar and views of the valley.  All meals were taken in the restaurant downstairs and free wine was included with each meal. 

My painting day consisted of rising early in the morning, eating breakfast and then painting.  John Boucher introduced me to the other artists.  They were mostly from Britain, except for one young woman from a U.S. college who was leaving the next day.  The age ranged was from two young Basque brothers, Javier and Joaquin, 15 and 17, myself, 31 to 50 plus.

After breakfast we would go out with easels, paints, canvas and setup.  I enjoyed working on my own in nature.  Painting outdoors had it’s own challenges.  The light constantly changed, the clouds I had laid in were now gone, shadows changed, bugs got stuck on my wet canvas and the constant wind.  I loved every minute.

I preferred painting the afternoon light because of the long shadows and light.  John Boucher would drive through the village and stop by to see how we were doing and give us a critique.  For example, I had been taught at the Art Students League to start an oil painting on a toned surface because it established a middle tone from which to work dark to light.  John suggested, “Try painting directly on the white canvas.”  He was right, it made my paintings feel the atmosphere and daylight. 

In the evenings I walked alone through the old narrow streets in the dark and listened to the owls in the trees above.  On the street I also heard noises coming from the first floor of the houses.  I asked about that and was told the farm animals were kept on the first floor. 

In the early evening I sat on a bench on the edge of the hill which overlooked the valley and Pyrenees.  The sight was breathtaking.  I would watch the sunlight fad away while huge clouds moved over the mountains as darkness approached.  I listened to the sounds of insects and roosting birds.  The wind moved across the valley and up to my blond hair, which swirled around.  A sense of timelessness came over me.  The solitude gave me precious moments to listen to myself.

When my two weeks ended, we gathered in the restaurant bar and each of us spoke about our experiences, drank wine and laughed.  Some of the artists made this an annual sojourn; others would go off in different directions and never see one another again. 

This trip became a part of my life. It gave me a break from my usual New York City environment and enriched my soul and art. Planes and taxis got me from one special place to the other.  The mountain village of Berdun seems like a dream now, but never forgotten.

Information:

The school in Berdun no longer operates.
Other painting retreats in Spain- Mojacar in southeastern Spain.  email vparaiso@futurnet.es
Their address is: Fundacion Valparaiso, Apartado de correos, 836, Mojacar Playa, Almeria, Spain 04638
In Andalucia, Spain there is another retreat; it is called a Healing Journey in Spain. Visiting website www.healingartjourneys.com
Laserrania in Pollensa, Mallorca, Spain beautiful surroundings, private rooms, pool and a variety of art, writing, and exercise classes.
www.laserrania.com

Diane Leon is an artist and adjunct assistant professor of arts at New York University, SCPS adult degree division. To contact her write: DL4@nyu.edu or call 212-998-898. A native of NYC and artist I bought a place on the Costa Blanca 33 years ago for the price of a car. I LOVE SPAIN!