This 7-part series on my blog covers the colours of my life, or more precisely of my childhood memories, a great source of inspiration for my art. You’ll find more posts from that series on this page.

With red, I find myself reminiscing the most vivid childhood memories.

Flowery reds:

the red poppies bobbling their heads amongst a sea of wheat in the fields of South-West France, along the little trails and roads that I used to cycle through in July.

the big French red carnations that grooms would typically wear at weddings that I went to

the beautiful fragrant red roses in my grandparents’ gardens, the one in Normandy, alongside the wall and the one in Poitou, in the courtyard near the old baker’s oven. How I adore the deep red of a beautiful rose!

the geraniums of my mum on the balcony that I used to water at sunset with a jug of water, which were so vibrant in the evening light

Yummy reds:

oh the strawberry red of the strawberry cakes in the window and display of the patisseries of my childhood! Particularly the ones with chantilly cream. My mouth waters as I recall these! And here’s a fantastic alternative from my neighbour Edith!

the tiny red dots of the small wild strawberries in the woods of my childhood with their explosion of taste in such a small volume when biting into them!

the juicy red of the apples from the fruit orchard. I used to perch in the branches of the trees in the late summer and munch on them while reading a book at the weekend

my Pépé’s delicious stuffed tomatoes and their burnt-red little tomato hats, underneath which the minced meat was piping hot

warm garden tomatoes from the hot summer sun that you can bite into when picking them at sundown, the smallest ones a treat for l’apéritif

the tangy red of redcurrant which would make me cringe when I was little and which I learnt to love, starting with redcurrant jelly

Oh the incredibly different reds of the ripening cherries – how sad and shocked I was when I watched that tree fall from the comfort of the cottage. It was blown over by gale-force winds in front of my eyes one winter storm.

the red of the strawberry chewy sweets called “fraises tagada” in France, a little treat when I was a kid

And the pinkish red of melt-in-the-mouth pure delight (with / without pips): raspberries in all forms and shapes – popping them on my fingertips to eat them straight off the fingers!

Liquid reds:

the grenadine syrup and water drinks at the café – with a straw and ice cubes

red wine! French red wine, of course, until I discovered Argentinian and other New World wines… ruby red or even deeper, the familiar sound of a bottle being uncorked at family gatherings

Traffic reds:

the ubiquitous little red man that signals stop, accelerate at the crossing or don’t even dare crossing that road…

the look-at-me-how-proud-i-am red of my first bicycle, with little wheels on the side to help me keep my balance, and the little pi-duuu pi-duuu of the white and red klaxon

French fire engines

the imposing red of familiar lighthouses and signal beacons, the Richelieu Tower in the middle of the channel to enter the old harbour of La Rochelle, my home town, with its feet in the mud at low tide.

Postman Pat’s car

Lipstick reds:

the red-orange lipstick shade that my grandmother Mimi used to apply in front of the mirror, as she was getting dressed for the day and the many different shades of red and pink that my mum also carefully chose and still chooses in her seventies to match the outfit of the day – for both of them a ritualistic daily gesture which I made mine in my early years of adulthood… until my early thirties – and that I sometimes wear on stage at the theatre if a role calls for red lips!
I realised that lipstick and make up felt more like “war paint” for me than for them. So this is no longer part of my daily life. “A little touch of red lipstick” was all that they need(ed) to make their generous smiles even more striking.
And then… I’d get a red kiss mark on the cheek as a trace of their embrace, promptly smudged away with their thumb while exclaiming “oh! I put some red on you”.

Symbolic French reds:

the Legion d’Honneur medal on my dad’s chest that he received when I was 12 in a formal ceremony that I did not quite understand at the time – only that it’s the highest order in the French medals for services rendered to the nation… and 30 years later, that same red on my big brother’s chest… both men for military services. And there is so much more behind this.

the Bleu-Blanc-ROUGE of the French flag, flowing in the streets on 14 July and on all the peace commemoration ceremonies of WWI and WWII… and the national and international sport events.

the red terracotta of the traditional roof tiles of my home country, so pretty in the country villages, adorning the most humble house.

Familiar reds?

blood stains
red cheeks
Santa’s outfit
anger
I love New York t-shirts
the Rolling Stones
and more!

What’s your favorite shade of red? I’d love to hear your comments below.

And here are a few of my paintings where red is featuring prominently