Trip to Avignon

This week, part of the team has been in Avignon, and we've talking about the origins of the festival. Marc and Bet read about it at the Maison Jean Vilar. How did the Festival d'Avignon begin? Well, it is said that it started with a theater company and an inn:

In 1974, when Jean Vilar's small company arrived in the city for the first time to participate in the Arts Week organized by the municipality, they were looking for a restaurant to host and feed them. Georges Pons, the mayor of the city, advised them to go to the Auberge de France, ideally located righ next to the Palais des Papes, where they had set up the stage for their performances. The innkeepers, Jeanne and René Struby (associated with the Barthès couple), agreed to convert a room on the first floor into a dining area for the actors and technicians. The following year they returned and, although Jean Vilar did not have the means to pay the bill, the Struby couple never held it against him, aware that they were part of an exceptional adventure. Year after year, this place became Jean Vilar and his company’s refuge, and they established a strong friendship with Jeanne and René, and later with their daughter Françoise, who continued running the restaurant with her husband Primo Tassan.

These days, while wandering around Avignon, this anecdote from the beginning makes us think that the biggest projects often start with personal understanding, with the energy of a group of people who believe in what they are doing and convey it, with the openness of others who know how to receive and embrace it. With theatre and food, with the effort and the pleasure of doing it. Back then, no one could have imagined where that nascent festival would end up, but in this first chapter, there is an air of something well done, of personal kindness, of making it worthwhile.

We often ask ourselves whether theatre is more about the journey or the outcome. Probably both are important, and in this ambiguity we find ourselves reflected. What is it about art that makes it necessary when it could be entirely dispensable? Why do we choose to live and speak to the world through theatre? Perhaps it’s a way to celebrate life and try to make it eternal in an artwork, or to acknowledge that any result we achieve will never be final because it will always be subject to the laws of life. It’s like having a good meal in great company, like preparing to welcome friends into our home, like the timeless moments that both pause and flow as we linger after the meal. All this is about giving space to pleasure, even if it is through a painful play, to coexist with what is ephemeral and fleeting.

In fact, it is always poetic to see a company make a titanic effort to raise a castle in the air, a story on stage. We could do without it, artists and spectators alike, but here we are, our lives are at stake because it is a commitment that goes beyond us. And when this comes from mutual trust and admiration, from openness and a desire to discover, all this wonder becomes more necessary than ever and takes on a life of its own. Like this Festival d'Avignon, which turns a city upside down and fills it with theater companies, enthusiasts, critics eager for great experiences, posters and brochures, temporary theaters and spaces, terraces and restaurants, market vendors, artists, and storytellers. All this for theater!

Last year, when we were celebrating the 20th anniversary of La Perla, Lídia wrote a text that she read in front of many of our friends and collaborators. We want to share it with you again because it describes very well this feeling that is so from La Perla 29:

"We're at a lunch in the heart of Tuscany; someone is shouting and laughing at the same time, someone else can’t stay still, moving between the table and the stove... Everyone is cooking, everyone is talking, loudly and passionately. The tablecloths quickly get stained, and the wine is always served abundantly. Someone has made the pasta by hand, which still needs to be cooked, someone has been cooking the ragù for hours, someone else brings cheeses made by the neighbor, desserts, or wine.

At Italian tables, there's always an abundance of food. Everyone takes part.

The light in this image, warm, orange, with a hint of smoke or mist... Balancing between intimacy and collectiveness. Hours pass as if they were minutes. The meal is over, and the table is a perfect still life. An image full of beauty, awaiting the next gathering.

And it’s these moments, slow-cooked, an exaltation of life, movement, poetry, and intensity, that remind me what it means to be a Pearl. The 29 are home. And every time we come back here, together, with new projects, it reminds me of the meaning of everything we’ve built together and fills me with memories that I hope will multiply with the years."