Chaiselongue - The Same Sparkling Sea

I took off from Cairo yesterday leaving behind Egypt in tumult just as it had been when Chaiselongue's parents were forced to flee Nasser's coup in 1952, two months before her birth. She was very much in my thoughts as the plane gathered height and vistas of the Mediterranean coastline opened up below, first of Alexandria, then Libya, then part of the shore line of Sicily, I think, as we headed to Rome.

I remembered Chaiselongue, only the other day, sharing details about her car trip with her entire family when she was only 8 years old from Tunis to Benghazi; ''Some day I must show you the photo of our car beneath the Italians' triumphal archway at the border....with nothing but desert either side of it!''. It's not surprising, I thought, that she and LoJ have chosen to live in France near the Med. I looked down on the glittering sea, like diamonds cast on pale blue silk, and had a strong sense of being shown it through fresh eyes; Chaiselongue's eyes...helping me see the necklace of communities around it and how they interconnect and which she and her family knew so well in Egypt, Libya, Turkey and more. I remember her telling me that her father felt as one with the people and place of Cyrenaica, and that he became a writer there.

And I also fell to wondering 'Why France?' for Chaiselongue and LoJ, and not the southern shore of the sea along the coast of North Africa. Of course, I thought, it's pretty clear in these modern times of turmoil, poverty, dictatorships and attempts at Islamisation, and all that that would imply for pagan-leaning, natural revolutionaries, and advocates of women's rights like Chaiselongue! No, better France, and the food and the wine and western-swim-suit bathes and the fight for Occitan, and all the other things she enjoys, and causes she supports. And it's just across the water, after all; it's all the same, really, the same sparkling sea.

I didn't know, as all these thoughts swirled around mixing with the wisps of cloud below the wing, that Chaiselongue had suddenly and tragically passed away just a few hours before at her home in France. To say it's a devastating loss is an understatement; for her husband LoJ, her son C and daughter E, her young motherless nephews, wider family and her many friends, neighbours and blippers in France, her native Wales and all around the world.

We go back over three years of daily commenting which represents over 2,000 individually initiated sharings of thoughts and views and the occasional cropping suggestion; I only comment on three journals everyday without fail, and her's is/was always the first. I also had the great good fortune and pleasure to meet her and LoJ on two occasions, including a memorable weekend with them as our house guests in Barcelona when DD, who had missed the first meeting, was able to be with us as well, along with my mother, who also sends her condolences.

My photo shoot of her on the last morning had to be cancelled due to torrential rain and it is just so hugely sad that our morning coffee that day was to be our last time together. I will miss her daily presence in my life terribly, and thank her sincerely for helping me gather new perspectives on and fresh appreciations of many things from vernacular architecture, through anti-militarism and pro-feminism, to cooking paella over a wood fire, dying cloths in deep indigo hues and the intricate designs of Catalan/Valencian floor tiles, as well as giving me unstinting encouragement in my own writing. She saw things in my blips that no-one else saw, certainly not me, reaching beyond the visual to mine the symbolism and reveal new things to the picture taker...what a gift! And she was just such great fun to be with; completely unpretentious, generous, open and deeply kind with a light and ironic sense of humour.

In addition, of course, Chaiselongue was a marvellous photographer with exhibitions to her name and a wonderful journal of over four years of daily entries, and, in my view, an even more marvellous writer and poet. We have an inscribed copy of her volume of poems about her grandmother which she personally gifted during her last visit, and although I did tell her that they were beautiful, I never got round, as intended, to sharing the particular lines and stanzas that were my favourites. Somehow, I think she'll know what they are, but the wider tragedy is that the world will be denied the further fruits of her poetic voice.

Chaiselongue did not deal in flights of fancy much, let alone physical aircraft flights, but we were both intrigued by the idea of synchronicity and shared many occasions when there seemed to be moments connecting our lives. So, when I say she was with me in the sky yesterday showing me 'her Mediterranean', I know I am not mistaken. And now, she is at one with it as never before.

I'm relying on LoJ to show me that photo of the Italian Arch at the Tunisia-Libya border which Chaiselongue mentioned, when we next meet. Until then, LoJ, you have our love and most sincere condolences, and, Chaiselongue, my dear friend, thank you for the inspiration of an exceptional life.

In my shot today, I've tried to combine Chaiselongue's own love of fleeting shadows (so well described in Kendallishere's moving tribute here, and my own love of facades, which Chaiselongue also appreciated. And this one she saw with her own eyes, in our street in Barcelona.