JUNE STUDIO NEWS

In front of Picasso’s La Joie de Vivre (The Joy of Life) 1946, at the Picasso Museum, Antibes.

Bonjour from the South of France!

Hello friends—and yes, you’re reading that right. France again! Twice in one year (or twice in two newsletters, if you’re counting). A rare and wonderful occurrence indeed.

This time, I’ve traded the solo artist’s suitcase for something a little grander: a joyful, chaotic, heart-full family adventure to celebrate my husband’s special birthday. We've gathered our children and their little ones—cots, prams, bedtime toys, and dress-up costumes all in tow—for a big French celebration in a rambling house near Grasse, just outside of Nice.

The paintbrushes are packed away (for now), but rest assured I’ll be soaking up every golden shaft of Provençal light, every market basket brimming with lavender and cheese, every flourish of French style and culture. All to bring home with me, ready to infuse new works back in my Marrickville atelier.

I’ll be sharing little moments and stories from time to time—fragments of beauty, discovery, and inspiration—so I do hope you’ll follow along. Expect a weekly Instagram postcard from France, right there on your feed. Please follow me.

I'll be sharing weekly blog posts in my June newsletter, each one written from a different corner of France. If you'd like to join me for the first chapter—a vibrant week in sun-drenched Nice—you’ll wander with me through ochre-hued laneways, sun-warmed courtyards, and the quiet elegance of daily life on the Côte d’Azur. I spent unhurried mornings at the Cours Saleya markets, where the scent of fresh herbs mingled with sun-ripened tomatoes and just-baked socca. Long lunches brought Niçoise flavours to the table—salty olives, fragrant pissaladière, and chilled rosé.

Amid all this, we wandered through the city’s luminous art galleries: the joyful colour of the Musée Matisse, the delicate touch of Musee Marc Chagall, and the hushed beauty of the Musée des Beaux-Arts.

WEEK 1 - NICE & SURROUNDS

Andrew on our Nice Balcony, overlooking Old Town

When I travel, I’m not just looking for landmarks—I’m looking for how people live. We grow up with so many shared rhythms, yet the chapters of our lives can unfold so differently depending on where we’re planted. It’s that difference—those small, tender details of daily life—that I’m drawn to.

Take Nice. A city of just under 350,000, it has the scale of a coastal capital, yet the intimacy of a patchwork of hillside villages. In Vieux Nice, the old town, sunlight slants into narrow, winding lanes—stone underfoot, shutters overhead, every corner filled with the soft noise of life: laundry flapping, children laughing, the distant music of the sea. Town squares like Place Garibaldi or Place Masséna aren’t just for show—they’re communal living rooms where locals gather to talk, argue, laugh, and linger. The pace is gentle, yet busy. The days seem strung together by market mornings, shared meals, and rambling walks through warm, winding streets.

Artists have long been drawn to this light and this way of life. Matisse painted prolifically in Nice, especially from his rooms at the Hôtel Regina in the Cimiez district, where the Mediterranean light flooded the interiors and coloured his now-iconic cut-outs and serene interiors. Dufy too found his palette here—bright, free, and bursting with movement. Just up the hill, Chagall’s spiritual, dreamlike works found their home in the Musée Marc Chagall, though his inspiration came from the entire region, where his biblical themes danced against sunlit stone and sky.

And then, Antibes. A town that seems to tilt slightly into the sea—quieter, smaller, a little sleepier than its Riviera siblings, but with its own pulse. With around 70,000 residents, life here feels deeply rooted. The layout is honest and lived-in: winding cobbled lanes, tiered apartments with painted shutters, old stone walls thick with memory. I walked through the old town yesterday and imagined what it might be like to grow up here—in one of those modest, sunlit apartments overlooking the Mediterranean. There’s beauty, yes—but also a gentle regularity. Trips to the market. Familiar greetings in the square. Evenings marked by the angle of the light.

It’s here, in the Château Grimaldi—perched above the sea—that Picasso painted for a brief, explosive period in 1946. The former castle, now the Musée Picasso, still holds the brush marks of that season. You can feel his energy in the rawness of the walls, in the sunlight that pours through high arched windows, in the way the sea reflects back into the space. It’s not just a museum—it’s a moment held in place.

Both Nice and Antibes seem to ask you to slow down and see. To notice the rhythm of a lived-in day. The life behind the shutters. The familiar curve of an old staircase. The glow of light on a painted wall. And maybe, in witnessing these things, we see something not just about them—but about ourselves, too.

Chagall’s Adam and Eve, expelled from Paradise, 1961 - in the National Marc Chagall Museum.

We’ve decided to try and live like Nice locals, not tourists—and from this central spot, let our imagination guide us. Each day, we follow a thread: a flicker of interest, a whisper of history, a turn in the light. And while it’s impossible to share everything we’ve seen with any great depth, what I can offer are the surprises—the gentle upendings of expectation—and the places that linger.

Nearly thirty years ago, we visited both the Musée Matisse (Nice) and the Musée Picasso in Antibes. My memories of them were vivid and iconic—etched in my mind like the lines of a beloved drawing. Naturally, I returned wondering whether the Marc Chagall Museum in Nice would pale in comparison, quietly standing in the shadow of these two Riviera giants.

But it didn’t. Not for a moment.

The Musée National Marc Chagall, nestled into a hillside in Cimiez, revealed itself slowly—like Chagall’s own dreamlike imagery. It moved me deeply, in ways I hadn’t anticipated. There was something profoundly human in the way his work was presented: raw, spiritual, luminous. But what struck me most wasn’t just the visual experience—it was hearing Chagall speak about his work in an archival film. There he was, candid and searching, describing the pursuit of perfection with the honesty of someone who had spent a lifetime chasing it.

He once said, "If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing." And yet he was rigorous—hard on himself and hard on others. You could sense it in the brushstrokes, in the layering of paint and symbols, in the way he returned to the same themes again and again, seeking not repetition, but refinement.

The museum’s main gallery is a striking space—bathed in natural light and filled with Chagall’s monumental series The Biblical Message. Fourteen mural-sized canvases form a narrative arc, each one vibrating with colour, spirit, and mystery. Works including: The Creation of Man, Abraham and the Three Angels, and Moses Receiving the Ten Commandments aren’t just biblical references—they’re emotional landscapes, filled with longing, joy, sorrow, and transcendence. The vibrant blues alone seem to hum with something beyond pigment.

What also stayed with me—perhaps unexpectedly—was the group of young schoolchildren sitting cross-legged in the main hall, completely transfixed. Their guide telling stories, their teacher asked questions. They raised their hands eagerly. Some whispered excitedly to their classmates, others sat quietly, gazing upward. Their engagement reminded me that Chagall’s work, for all its spiritual depth and symbolic weight, but it also reminded me of how the French value art in every aspect of their lives, and it begins with their youngest, children get in free to all galleries and museums in France, and what’s not to love about that!

A Poiret Jug Vase at the Nice Flea Markets - I wish I’d bought it!

I often cringe—or at least raise an eyebrow—when I hear the phrase flea market. It carries that vaguely romantic but historically evasive promise: will it truly be a treasure trove of vintage finds, or just a jumble of chipped crockery and pseudo-Dalton figurines that never had value, and have even less now?

But the flea markets in Nice have disarmed all my cynicism. They are, without exaggeration, the finest I’ve ever encountered—brimming with quality and character, full of French je ne sais quoi. Stall after stall offers a kind of curated serendipity: hand-embroidered linens, weathered silverware, Art Deco mirrors, original oil paintings, and enough quirky charm to furnish an entire terrace in full Provençal splendour.

The term flea market—or marché aux puces—first appeared in 19th-century Paris, supposedly inspired by the idea that the second-hand goods for sale might be so well-loved (or neglected) that they were home to fleas. The earliest of these markets formed outside the city walls, made up of peddlers, collectors, and opportunists—selling everything from heirlooms to hopeful fakes. Over time, they became cultural landmarks, places where stories were traded as readily as objects.

In Nice, that legacy lives on—not in a dusty, forgotten way, but with real charm. Here, the past feels present, and each item has that delicious sense of having belonged to another life, another room, another moment in time.

And of course, there’s always that one piece you walk away from, only to think about endlessly later.

For me, it was a jug—yes, a jug—but no ordinary one. A sculptural, hand-painted figure in full theatrical regalia, perched like a miniature stage set. With its bold cobalt collar, yellow pantaloons, and red starburst cheeks, it felt like something plucked from a Poiret costume sketch or a Parisian marionette theatre. It was utterly bonkers and completely marvellous.

I hovered. I admired. I took a photo. And then I walked away.

And now, with the markets in Nice held only on Mondays, I’ll be well gone by the time this magical creature reappears—if it ever does. Should have, would have, could have. That’s the unofficial slogan of flea market wandering, isn’t it? But perhaps that's what keeps them enchanting—the idea that the most unexpected treasures are the ones you almost bring home.

Next week, I’ll be writing from the hilltop village of Bar-sur-Loup, just outside Grasse—where I’ll be trading sea breezes for mountain air, and sharing a week of stories, slow lunches, and family moments in the heart of Provence.

Nice Highlights:

Musée Matisse – Nice
Housed in a 17th-century villa in the Cimiez neighborhood, this museum showcases one of the world's largest collections of Henri Matisse's works, tracing his artistic evolution.
musee-matisse-nice.org

Musée National Marc Chagall – Nice
Dedicated to Marc Chagall's biblical-themed artworks, this museum features 17 large-scale paintings illustrating the first two books of the Old Testament.
musees-nationaux-alpesmaritimes.fr

Musée Picasso – Antibes
Located in the historic Château Grimaldi, this museum was the first dedicated to Pablo Picasso, housing a significant collection of his works created during his stay in Antibes.

Cours Saleya Markets – Nice
Situated in the heart of Nice's Old Town, Cours Saleya hosts vibrant markets:

JULIE LYNCH