cicada art ()
The Provence region in southern France is an appealing patchwork of towering Alpine peaks, fragrant lavender fields, ancient hill towns and glitzy coastal cities. Travelers passing through this sun-kissed land will find dozens of desirable products to help them look back upon their trips with fondness. Tiny scented sachets for sock drawers, plump olives or the tapenade spread that’s made with them, packets of dried herbs or a bottle of licorice-flavored anise liqueur are just some of the coveted souvenirs from a sojourn in Provence.
A knick-knack resembling a winged beetle or elongated housefly would be a less obvious but equally inspired choice. For cicadas, mysterious insects with loud, strident cries, are very much a symbol of their Provençal homeland. How an insect many would consider frightening, unattractive and downright annoying came to be a popular motif on items from pottery to potholders is a story of legends, local customs, literature and inspired craftsmanship.
Its ethereal past
In former times, long before ice-cooled drinks and air conditioning were even notions, the blazing heat of Provence’s summer would prompt farmers and villagers to escape the scorching rays of the midday sun by remaining inside and enjoying a siesta. On one summer day, angels descended upon the land and were taken aback to find empty towns and fields enveloped in silence. They woke a priest, who was enjoying a midday nap at the time, to ask him where all the people were. The priest explained that the sun and heat prevented the people from working in the afternoons. When the angels apprised God of this worrying situation, he sent down a creature to sing at the top of its tiny lungs and prevent the workers from shirking their duties.
A poem written in 1668 by Jean de La Fontaine accuses the cicada not of laziness but of frittering away her time. His short tale based on one of Aesop’s fables, “La cigale et la fourmi,” tells of the song-loving cicada and an industrious ant. When winter came and provisions grew scant, the cicada called upon her neighbor, the ant, to borrow a bit of seed to tide her over until spring. The ant asked the cicada what she had been doing during those hot dry days of summer, to which the cicada replied, “I sang, for one and all.” “You sang?” replied the ant. “Well, now you can dance!”
Frédéric Mistral, a 19th-century French poet whose efforts to preserve the Provençal language and culture earned him a Nobel Prize in Literature in 1904, penned these short words in the local dialect:
Lou souleù mi fa canta. The simple yet catchy phrase “the sun makes me sing” was to become the cicada’s catchphrase.
A memorable keepsake
It was a ceramics-maker by the name of Louis Sicard who was destined to cement the cicada’s legacy as a symbol of Provence. In 1895, the owner of a tile-making factory in Marseilles asked Sicard to create a gift that was symbolic of the region and suitable to present to his corporate clients. Sicard crafted a cicada resting on an olive branch, and upon this he etched Mistral’s words about the mood-lifting effect of Provence’s sun.
Sicard’s whimsical creation must have struck just the right note, for it grew in favor. Sicard turned out his cicada pieces for some 50 years before handing over the reins to his two daughters. The workshop then passed on to Sicard’s close friend, whose own two daughters currently run the show. The workshop, based in the city of Aubagne, sells swarms of cicadas and other souvenirs of the region.
Whether in the form of a lamp, the motif on a pretty swath of fabric or as a ceramic knick-knack, bringing home a cicada in memory of time well spent in Provence is a fantastic idea. Not only do they make unique pieces, they’re believed to act as lucky charms. Moreover, ceramic cicadas remain mercifully silent.
