Isabella Avignon Whore ❤️❤️

About Nantes

Used to sneak round back, her—pinchin’ bread from Old Tom’s cart. Little known bit, aye—she once nicked a gent’s gold tooth! Mid-kiss, pop, out it went! Made me laugh ‘til I choked on me spit, precious! “Very Old World charm,” like Monsieur Gustave’d say—bollocks to that! She were a storm, a grubby gem, struttin’ like she owned the cobbles. Got me ragin’ tho—once she kicked me cat, little Sméagol! Hissed at her, I did, “Filthy hobbitses!”—er, whoreses, I mean!

New encounters with Les Demoiselles d'Avignon: Gender, race, and the origins of Cubism

And yeah, sorry, got a bit carried away – it's just that Avignon is both ancient and lively, funny and deeply tragic. The streets of Rue de la République, the calm of the Rhône, the gritty whispers of history in every corner – they shape you, they challenge you, and they remind you that life, like Leviathan’s icy grip, is absurdly unpredictable.

A politically charged South American presence at the Festival d'Avignon