Chapelle Saint Pierre de Villefranche~sur~Mer…

This enchanting chapel resting on the edge of the Mediterranean sea in Villefranche~sur~Mer tells a intriguing tale of the history of this former fishing village in the South of France. The city of Villefranche dates dates back to 1295, but there are no definitive records as to when this petit église {small church} was originally constructed {1600’s is the estimation}. However, we do know that in 1957 artist and writer Jean Cocteau and local craftsmen did a magnificent renovation of this Romanesque chapel named for the patron saint of the fishermen.

The chapel had been abandoned over the years so local fishermen began using it as a meeting spot and a place to store their nets and equipment in the early 1900’s. While staying at the Welcome Hotel on the Quai Courbet Cocteau decided to restore the chapel and to create tribute to the fishermen who were a very important part of the village industry.

The eyes on the exterior facade are to watch over the fishermen and keep them safe while at sea. Painted in the French Trompe l’oeil {to deceive the eye} style, an art technique that uses realistic imagery to create the optical illusion that the depicted objects exist in three dimensions. The faux columns and arches are wrapped in visually dimensional ropes that the fishermen would have used to pull in their nets or tie up their boats. Even the cross atop the steeple is symbolic.

The magic builds inside where Cocteau painted an incredibly engulfing mural legacy on the walls with a fusion of artistry and spirituality. A light projector shot his designs up on the arched walls. He used paint and charcoal to draw the lines.

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Next he filled in the color, mostly soft shades of white, blue and pink. He felt that the building spoke to him and directed him on the designs.

“The enormous task that was mine was to nullify myself, avoid imposing myself a style that was not me, let the chapel give its orders and hire me as a middleman.”
~Jean Cocteau

They don’t allow photography inside, so I had to resort to these small shots I found on~line to try to show you the magnificence of the interiors. On the back wall he wrote “Entrez vous-même dans la structure de l’édifice comme étant des pierres vivantes.”  or “Introduce yourself in the chapel as one of its living stones”, encouraging visitors to become one with the walls, as he felt he had.

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Here we see Saint Pierre des Pecheurs {Saint Peter of the Fishermen} watching over as a fisherman is being rescued by an angel from the sea.

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“It is relatively easy to dream about a chapel, to think of a setting and pile up drawings and lithographs. It is quite another thing to lock yourself up in a tiny Roman nave, in a dry dock and to wait for its orders.”
~Jean Cocteau

Geometric designs on the arches link the murals with varying themes. The primitive style frescoes include scenes of the everyday life of the villagers. In this mural, l’Hommage aux demoiselles de Villefranche ou Les Gitans {Tribute to the young ladies of Villefranche or the gypsies} a woman prepares a basket of fish and urchins, perhaps to sell. Notice the fish shaped eyes of the other woman looking up to the heavens, perhaps to Saint Pierre.

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While some fishing does still occur, today the main source of revenue for Villefranche is tourism. Quai Courbet is lined with chic cafés where people can enjoy a meal or a drink on the edge of the Med, looking out on the deep water bay that is usually filled with monstrous cruise ships and mega yachts.

It’s a beautiful town to visit and explore, but I would have loved to have seen it in it’s more simple days. Thankfully, I can get a feeling of what it used to be like by stepping into this tranquil, sacred space, and if you are planning a trip to the SofF, I highly recommend you take time to visit here {let me know if you’d like other ideas on places to visit}.

“I lived in this chapel night and day for two years. During five months, I lived in the small Saint Peter nave, fighting with the angel of perspective, rolled up by its vaults, enraptured, embalmed, so to speak, like a pharaoh worried about painting its own sarcophagus, and finally, I became the chapel, and I became a wall …

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A writer ends up ink and paper, and I became a wall because the stake was that the wall took my place and talked to me. As long as the wall would not talk to me, it was a wall but if it started talking to me, it had me become me.

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