Bell tower of the village of Gensac
Listen to the redundant song of the belfry bell! Ding... Dong... Ding... The stolen nits get lost in the panicked clouds, dressed in threatening gray taffeta and pure alabaster. Majestic in its heavy bronze robe, the hobbling bumblebee sways in its Byzantine-style gazebo. Ding... Dong... The rooster, its proud head in the skies streaked with winds and clouds, wiggles, oscillating on its sad and cold bar. Bluish in the waves of the centuries that have come close to its existence, this bell has an imposing charisma. It looks like a great orator, competing with the glorious preachers or judges, in her celestial pulpit. She shouts to Bossuet the echo of this prayer "vanity of vanities, everything is vanity". This hymn vibrates and awakens the mortals of their dreams of absolute. Time passes, sounds the fatal fate of humans subject to the rabid hours rules. Every quarter of an hour, the bell reminds reality of all the idealistic fugitives, announcing the end of timeless dreams.
She plays smart under her protective roof, surrounded by flattering scrolls, because she knows that no villager can escape her melody. At dawn, she wakes up with the day, and summons Morpheus to leave the sheets of the sleepers. From above, she cannot hear the incomprehensible roars of early morning beings. Anyway, she will not apologize, since it is her duty to set the pace for the day. It is the metronome, and gives the measure to all the neighboring beings. It also sounds at dusk the regret of the day drowning in a river of orange lights. From death knell to happy marriage, all events likely to be memories live under this sound belfry. Between melancholy sighs and cries of joy, the bell has a very big role on the scene of the villages of France.
Under this bronze echo, lies the treasures of the centuries. O how many mystical "dongs" vibrated under this bell! How many grown-ups with noble and valiant hearts flinched at the sound of this perched melody! Hear the verses of the romantic Lamartine resonate, these invisible words which rise under the sacred mysteries of divine poets: "Sing! Broken hearts the stamp is still beautiful! May your moan give soul to stone, tears to dry eyes, a sign to prayer, a melody to the tomb!"
|Location||Gensac en Gironde (France)|
|Support||300g watercolor paper|