French Doors en France

I am excited by doors, especially really old doors. I love windows too - but more on them another time. In Southwest France and Provence there seem to be far more old doors than new. The wood is scarred and scraped, the colors may be faded from the hot Summer sun, the ironwork has tarnished and appears melded into the softer wood, but the doors hold so much promise.

• What is behind them? Ordinary families - sometimes aristocrats.


• Who lives or works there? Hard working people - artists, crafts people, farmers.


• Why are they rarely replaced, only repaired? Buildings are old, new doors would look odd.


• Why are they so tall when the French were of short stature? To move those huge armoires inside perhaps!

These are just my personal thoughts, right or wrong. I still stand looking longingly at the doors imagining the history they have closed on through the years.

This is the 200 year old door into my brother's house in the Minervois prior to repair. Part of the four year renovation has been waiting patiently on French artisans who will repair wood, stone and tile and bring these natural elements back to their original beauty.

While talking of the doors, how about the locks and keys. This is the original lockset and key on the above door. Imagine a modern day lock lasting two centuries, I think not. This huge key weighs several pounds! I used this photo I took as the basis of a Memory Book I made for the family as a house warming gift. This more modern door, though not elegant, is actually the doorway to view the upstairs bedroom of painter Vincent van Gogh in the house he lived in whilst in Arles. Granddaughter Jasmin was so excited to visit here as he is her favorite artist.Churches have really beautiful doors - these were in Arles - and the stone carving was amazing. Being so old, many thousands have passed through portals such as this for daily Mass, Sunday services, weddings and funerals, yet the doors still hold strong on their hand crafted iron hinges.

The village school in Peyriac, home to all the little ones fortunate enough to have been born and raised in this pretty place for many years. Heavy wood doors, now scuffed by small feet and hands, as they pushed them open to enter for another day of learning. The hydrangeas were the loveliest I've seen anywhere - wish they were in my garden!