THE COLOURS OF CANNES
A new exhibition at Tate Modern opens the door to this glamorous French honeypot
Winter sunshine is turning the air to gold and the sea to bronze. For the French painter Pierre Bonnard, who lived in Cannes, the brilliant hues of the Cote d’Azur were a source of wonder.
For more than 30 years until his death in 1947, he produced landscapes that radiated warmth and joy. No wonder he’s been called the painter of ‘eternal summer’. So when Pierre Bonnard: The Colour Of Memory, opens at Tate Modern next week with more than 100 of his works, it will bring a welcome blast of heat to a chilly capital.
Like his friends Matisse and Renoir, who also settled along this gilded coast, Bonnard was stunned by the beauty of the Riviera: ‘It struck me like the magic of A Thousand And One Nights. The sea, the yellow walls, the reflections, just as colourful as the lights,’ he said, recalling his first trip in 1909. He had opened a window on to sunshine. And that’s exactly what a winter weekend in Cannes promises.
Stroll along the Croisette (its seafront promenade), stop for coffee in the old quarter, Le Suquet, and you’ve thrown open your own window on to sunshine.
Order the zingy lemon tart at L’Assiette Provençale (9 Quai Saint-Pierre) and you can gawp at the oligarchs’ superyachts moored across the way while you eat. ‘How vulgar,’ said my husband. ‘How I’d love one.’ I was worried the resort might store up all its charms for May, when Hollywood flies in for the frenzy of the film festival.
No chance. With top-notch hotels such as the Martinez and the Carlton, Michelin-starred restaurants like the two-star La Palme D’Or and an immaculate sandy beach, Cannes attracts a crowd all year round.
What’s more, winter brings the chance to bag five-star splendour at bargain prices and a table in all the best restaurants. So what if George and Amal aren’t there? Certainly, it won’t diminish your enjoyment of lobster ravioli at much-lauded Table 22 in the Rue Saint-Antoine.
For the best views of the bay, take a ten-minute cab ride up the hill to the genteel suburb of Le Cannet, where Bonnard lived and worked.
Order the plat du jour at Bistrot Saint-Sauveur (87 Rue Saint-Sauveur), a favourite with locals, then dive into the Museum Bonnard, the only gallery in the world devoted to his work.
As we revelled in the amethysts and oranges of his glorious canvases, his own vision of the Arabian Nights, we plotted our return. If two nights had been good, 1,001 would be perfect.