AUBAIS, FRANCE
Oil Painting in Southern France
When I first set foot in Aubais, I immediately fell in love with its beauty. Aubais is located in Southern France, about 20 km distance from Nîmes and Aigues-Mortes. This is where I started my oil painting journey. Thirteen years ago, I decided to spend a couple of months in France to pursue my dream of painting in the countryside. I am so glad I did it. The experience was enriching, rewarding, challenging and of course life changing.
Thirteen years ago, I boarded a train with a heart full of longing and a suitcase that rattled with paintbrushes and hopes. My destination: Aubais, a sun-kissed village tucked quietly in Southern France, just 20 kilometers from the storied streets of Nîmes and the winds of Aigues-Mortes. I didn’t speak much French, nor did I fully understand oil paints—but I knew I had to go. Something instinctual pushed me there, and when I first arrived, that intuition was confirmed. Aubais didn’t just welcome me—it embraced me.
The landscape was otherworldly. Vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see, stitched together with dusty paths that seemed designed for wanderers and dreamers. The Mediterranean light had a way of bathing everything in gold, softening edges and drawing out hidden colors in every stone, leaf, and shadow. I found myself staring at ordinary scenes—growing olive trees, a chocolate croissant—and feeling utterly mesmerized. This was the first time I touched oil paints. The smell, the viscosity, the slow dance between pigment and light—it was unlike anything I’d ever known. Like capturing the soul of a moment instead of its surface.
I painted every day. Sometimes in solitude, sometimes with other artists and sometimes curious villagers peering over my shoulder. I sat near the olive trees, on crumbling stone steps, and inside the studio, painting until the light disappeared. There were moments when nothing worked, when the canvas felt like a stranger. And other times—rare, fleeting—where the brush moved with its own wisdom, as though the air around me was guiding my hand.
The emotional terrain was as vivid as the physical one. I struggled, grew frustrated, felt lonely, felt liberated. I learned to mix color not just with technique, but with mood and memory. My fingers stained, my spirit stretched.
That season in Aubais left a permanent imprint on me. It shaped the way I see light, how I interpret silence, and most importantly, how I trust myself to begin—again and again—no matter how uncertain. In the end, it wasn’t just about painting. It was about showing up for my own life with intent, courage, and a touch of poetic defiance.
