Written By Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett
Throughout my life, I have always been fascinated by swimming pools. As a child, the sleek design of a private pool, with its smooth tiles and glistening water, symbolized glamour and allure to me. Whenever I visualized my dream homes, a swimming pool was always a must-have feature.
Nowadays, I admire swimming pools in the context of art. Artists like Hockney, Kossof, and Bradford incorporate pools into their works, and I can’t help but feel that Magritte missed an opportunity by not painting one. After all, swimming pools possess a naturally surrealist quality – they exist in liminal and subterranean spaces, distorting our perceptions.
French director François Ozon skillfully taps into this eerie uncanniness in his 2003 film, “Swimming Pool,” an “erotic thriller” set in the picturesque Luberon region of southern France. The movie stars Charlotte Rampling as Sarah Morton, a mystery author who seeks solitude and inspiration in her publisher’s summer house. However, her peace is disrupted when Julie, her publisher’s beautiful and hedonistic daughter, unexpectedly arrives.
If I were to choose my ideal fantasy home, it would undoubtedly feature a large swimming pool. This particular property, nestled in a serene valley near Oppède, captures the essence of Provençal architecture. The interior exudes tastefulness, coolness, and austerity. I once stayed in a grander house in the Luberon, which also appeared in a film adaptation of Edward St Aubyn’s “Mother’s Milk.” That house boasted a magnificent 19th-century stone swimming pool known as “le basin.” However, since it belongs to a friend, I cannot nominate it for my ideal home.
Instead, I would settle as a nearby neighbor, similar to Sarah in “Swimming Pool,” relishing the seclusion of a tranquil writing room. The room would be painted a calming duck-egg blue, with a balcony overlooking the pool, surrounded by towering pine trees and olive groves. While I might not pay much attention to interior aesthetics, I would find solace in the overall ambiance and serenity the building and its gardens provide. Having always enjoyed restful sleep in houses with shutters, I would diligently maintain them. Additionally, I would disconnect from the distractions of broadband.
In the early mornings, I would savor the terrace, sipping coffee and typing away to the harmonious buzz of bees among the lavender. As a writer, and particularly as a mother-writer, I often fantasize about having the perfect room dedicated to my craft. I wrote my memoir, “The Year of the Cat,” in the spare room of our modest two-bedroom flat. However, that room now belongs to my son, and both time and space have become precious commodities.
Revisiting “Swimming Pool,” I find myself envious of Sarah’s solitude, at least until Julie, her publisher’s daughter, and a series of shocking events disrupt her peaceful retreat. Ideally, I would hope that my creative process remains undisturbed. As the film illustrates, digging a grave takes considerable time.
With a stroke of luck, my non-writing hours would be spent leisurely swimming, as I often have my best ideas in the water. I would indulge in simple meals under the shade of trees, enjoying dishes like fried courgettes with oil and garlic, accompanied by crusty bread, fine cheese, and decanted rosé wine straight from the vineyard. Ultimately, my goal would be to return home rejuvenated and ready to embrace the chaos of family life, having also completed my second novel, which would naturally revolve around a swimming pool.
Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is the author of ‘The Year of the Cat,’ published by Tinder Press
Photography: Collection Christophel/Alamy; Cinematic C
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