In the early afternoon, we drove from Avignon up into the rough hills to Barjac, where Anselm Kiefer bought an old silk mill in the early 1990s.   We started in the undercroft of a large shed, feeling our way through the back passages:

We found ourselves alone in a large  amphitheatre, with a flautist practising for the evening concert:

Beyond, there is a large empty space hung with works of art:

Underneath, there are chalk columns created out of the earth:

We walked down the hill where there are makeshift chapels, like stations of the cross, each one containing a single work of art.  A palm tree:

A submarine:

Antique pots:

Sunflowers:

We walked alone in the heat of the afternoon, no-one else venturing far from the centre of the site:

Everywhere, there are unexpected relicts:

Down below the silkmill at the other end of the site, the greenhouses were hot, filled with the ghosts of women.

There was birdsong in amongst the towers and ruins:

And a beached aeroplane:

It was an intense afternoon, uncovering  the ruins of a lost culture.   There were dried flowers in the space where the orchestra was practising:

Then we drove back into the countryside: