Fountain 32 and 33 The Mushrooms Barjols 10 August

         

The Great Mushroom Fountain

Also known as the Fountain Raynouard, named after its donor.
The original sculpture by Jules Recubert was of faun lolling in a conch.
After many decades the calcium in the water encrusted the sculpture and the moss grew. It is now regularly manicured to maintain its shape.

One of the 43 fountains and lavoirs of Barjols.
It looms over the cars in the main car park. 

Water drips through the moss like a shower. The previous two years it was a
plump bundle of moorland green, so I was surprised to see this rusty crusty version.

                                 

                                  Pre calcium and moss deposits - the hidden sculpture

 

In its 19th century hey days Barjols was an industrial town. The vast amount of underground water enabled it to maintain 24 tanneries, 19 tan mills and three paper mills. Alas, with foreign competition, the last mill closed in 1983, providing endless windows for little boys with stones.

Subsequently, many of the factories have been converted into enormous open-plan artists' studios.

Not being one to miss a nosy opportunity, I toured a couple studios which were for sale.

I could see exactly where my bed, dining table, easel and shelves would go. I would have to get new curtains to fit the long expanse of windows, but the lion claw roll top bath could stay in the middle of the room and I would work and play around it. I would paint endless Bonnard-esque paintings which would sell like hot cakes, meet a kind and handsome count or an eccentric and famous artist and live happily ever after.

 

The Little Mushroom Fountain

 

is at the bottom of this delightful shaded square with its contorted plane trees.

  

Like a young mother idolizing her baby with an endless photo shoot of every gurgle and smile,

I captured Barjols. Films of fountains flowing and sparkling like Hockney's swimming pools, deep shadowed alleyways, crackling paint peeling doorways, naff graffiti, and me. Me reflected here.
Me reflected there. Me me me.

And of course, ma belle Louise, 

who waits with the endless patience of a horse with its nose in a feed bag.