Man and nature at the seaside.

The contrast between nature and man is enormous at the seaside. There is the obvious difference in scale between the immense mass of water (playing with the moon of all things), a sky above that stretches out in all directions and the insignificant human body and the buildings and infrastructure created for its comfort. But what struck me even more is the inadequacy of the human senses when confronted with the raw natural elements.

Outside, there is too much noise to hear anything and too much light to see anything. It’s only when we find shelter in a café that we can use our senses again. Inside, we can hear and see.

This maps very nicely to the situation in Bientôt l’été. Outside, you are on your own, endlessly seeking, cold, exposed to the elements. And inside you find another human being, to see, to hear, to touch.

Another strange effect of the seaside is that spending time outside makes one dizzy. Maybe the sea air contains more oxygen or some other gas that affects us. Or it’s the continuous motion of the sea that gets to us. The waves, the clouds, the seagulls, the wind: all is in motion all the time, spinning around the poor human head. The roar of the ocean, the hissing of the wind and the shrieking of the gulls seem almost designed to drive a man mad. Not to mention the blinding light reflected by the enormous surfaces of sand and water.

Seeking refuge in a mundane man made establishment suddenly becomes refreshing, soothing. Nature may be beautiful, but it’s also terrible. We seek comfort with each other, warmth, love.