Part I: The Paris Mismatch

How Henri Matisse Found Passion in a French Fishing Village

Jeff Cunningham

Published in

Leaving Ordinary Behind

21 min readDec 8, 2024

I. Escape

“It has bothered me all my life that I do not paint like everybody else.”

I. Escape: A Train Southward

“It has bothered me all my life that I do not paint like everybody else.”

The story begins with a vivid and emotionally resonant setting — Gare de Lyon, teeming with life and contrasts. Matisse’s departure is powerfully juxtaposed with the opulence of the Parisian elite, setting up the tension between despair and hope.

Suggestion: Maintain the duality of light and shadow, both literally and metaphorically, in this opening. Perhaps emphasize more sensory details of the station’s atmosphere to foreshadow Matisse’s transformation.

On the first Monday of summer 1905, the Gare de Lyon thrummed with life. Beneath a recently redesigned façade — an ode to turn-of-the-century ambition — the heels of fashionable Parisian women clicked across polished tile floors, their laughter rising like champagne bubbles. They gathered in tailored linen and summer dresses, clutching leather valises, murmuring in low, lilting tones about the promise that awaited them in the Côte d’Azur. The grand fresco by Jean-Baptiste Olive, a dreamscape of sunlit cities and turquoise seas, wasn’t just an image in a train station; it was a prologue to a chapter of indulgence waiting to be written. Beyond their polished circle, the rest of the world blurred into irrelevance.

Yet not all were bound for this gilded landscape. In the shadows of their splendor sat Henri Matisse, slouched in a third-class compartment. The faint hum of opulence barely reached him, muffled by the weight of his own despair. His corduroy suit, faded to a dull rust, clung to him like a penitentiary uniform, blending into the threadbare seat beneath him. At his feet rested a portable paintbox and collapsible easel — the only tangible remnants of a life once filled with promise. His face, etched with lines of sleepless nights and rejection, carried the hollowed-out look of a man fleeing not toward anything, but away from everything.

Next to him, Amélie sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap as if bracing for impact. She hadn’t spoken much since they boarded, her silence heavy with unspoken fears. Her expression, tense and drawn, mirrored the unease of someone navigating an unraveling life. This was no leisurely escape; they were practically fugitives from the law.

The couple wasn’t bound for seaside promenades or the sparkling Riviera. There were no waiting friends, no comforting routine to fall back on. They did not even have a destination nor a home once they arrived. Paris had turned its back, leaving them exiles in their own country. Even the sunlight streaming through the window felt indifferent, its warmth a taunt.

For now, the future was irrelevant. Matisse’s fall from grace had been sharp. Friends disappeared, patrons closed their wallets, and a once-promising career had sputtered. It was his fault, too. Rumors of a financial scandal hovered around him like a thick fog, deepening his isolation. Once a successful lawyer, Matisse abandoned that career to follow his passion for painting, but now even that seemed as enticing as a wet pavement.

As the train pulled out of the station, leaving behind the familiar smells of crusty baguettes, pungent cheeses, and steaming bowls of oxtail soup, Matisse cast a final glance at his former home. He was leaving behind more than Paris; he was abandoning a world that seemed so full of promise, now reduced to broken dreams. Yet, as the train chugged along the tracks, his mood astonishingly began to lift. Amid the despair, a quiet resolve began to take root. The storm within him receded as Matisse made a vow — he would find his voice again, silence the doubts, and reclaim his life on his own terms.

No matter how long it took.

Which is what is so ironic about the story of Henri Matisse in Collioure is that in just 100 days, this trek south would not only transform his career but reshape the entire art world, leading to one of the most revolutionary periods in the history of painting. In fact, Paris would never look at a canvas the same way again.

But what was about to happen wasn’t a miracle nor an act of faith. It was something deeper and perhaps more fundamental to the human condition. Henri Matisse was about to discover a Thrive Zone — a place where the spirit is liberated, creativity reignited, and the soul is fully restored. These are places where we become ourselves in spite of the rest of the world telling warning us not to be.

This is the story of how one summer in a small fishing village in the south of France set the stage for a transformation of a middle aged painter that would forever leave an indelible mark on the world of art.

II. Dichotomy

Dichotomy: The Hardship and the Gift

“There are flowers everywhere for those who want to see them.”

Here, the juxtaposition of Matisse’s grim upbringing and the transformative gift of paints from his mother creates a poignant narrative arc. The rain dripping through the roof is a powerful metaphor that ties his struggles to his later triumph.

Suggestion: Enhance the transition from Matisse’s childhood to his adult challenges by briefly connecting his early constraints to his artistic struggles in Paris. This will better bridge the personal and professional stakes.

“There are flowers everywhere for those who want to see them.”

Henri Matisse was born in 1869 in the small textile mill village of Le Cateau-Cambrésis in northern France. When he looked back on his early years, he recalled wintry rain dripping on his head through a hole in the roof of his childhood home — an icy baptism for the trials that awaited.

As a young boy, life was marked by the unrelenting grayness, suffocated by coal dust. He believed the world was colored in sodden skies, and monotony was the color of choice. Matisse would later recall, “Women wore black, and everyone wore a hat. It is a place where people don’t expect too many strangers.”

Even Art historian Hilary Spurling noted this was true, his early works were “restrained and traditional,” lacking the spark that would later come to define his painting. Only the public wasn’t interested in somber landscapes — it craved beauty, spectacle, and illusion.

Desperate for cash, Matisse even offered one of his canvases to his brother Auguste for 100 francs. The reply was as frigid as the Norman winter: “I’d rather have a new bicycle.” But the struggle was about more than selling paintings. Matisse was caught in a larger battle, a fight to find his place in a world that seemed hopelessly duplicitous and divided. He valued integrity in expression more than wealth, but now he was bereft of both.

Born in 1869 during the twilight of the Victorian era, Matisse’s formative years spanned the Belle Époque — a time of shimmering contradictions. Paris, the “City of Light,” was both a beacon of modernity and a place of deep inequality as well as rigid social structure. The elite lived in the glow of freshly minted francs, while the working classes toiled in the shadows. The surface gleamed, but underneath, resentment simmered.

It was into this paradoxical cauldron, where new industrial fortunes clashed with the remnants of old-world aristocracy, that Matisse and his wife Amélie found themselves thrust — while the working classes — barely literate, and so barely counted — were left to their laughter, tobacco pipes, and homemade plum wine. The glittering surface of society masked deep divisions — while the elite flaunted their wealth, resentment simmered among the lower classes.

It was how the Matisse’s became collateral damage in one of the most infamous financial scandals of their time — the Humbert Affair. A master manipulator named Thérèse Humbert had defrauded thousands through an audacious Ponzi scheme, borrowing nearly 100 million francs based on the collateral of a fictitious inheritance. By sheer misfortune, the Matisse family became entangled.

Matisse’s father in law was arrested, and the artist, a former lawyer, came to his defense. He wasn’t a conspirator, but the scandal stained his reputation and he became swept up in the deluge. And as the Humbert empire crumbled, so too did the Matisse’s stature. He found himself facing public outrage and financial ruin.

Stripped of dignity and resources, the couple with their inlaws had to fleeParis, no longer sure of their place in the world. Yet, what they sought in the south wasn’t luxury — it was something else, renewal it would turn out. Matisse was no longer simply searching for a place to escape; he was searching for a space to thrive.

III. Disclosure

Disclosure: The Shadow of Scandal

“We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, the sky, or a thought.”

The Humbert Affair’s entanglement with the Matisse family offers a fascinating twist. This section effectively deepens the stakes, moving from artistic failure to reputational ruin.

Suggestion: Streamline the scandal narrative slightly to avoid losing momentum. Focus on how it catalyzed Matisse’s need for escape, tying it directly to his journey south.

“We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, the sky or a thought.”

Thérèse Humbert was the architect of one of the most notorious frauds in French history. Her rise to the top of Parisian society had been built on audacious lies, and equally fake noble lineage. To bolster her imagined wealth, she concocted an elaborate story about saving the life of a fictional American millionaire, Robert Crawford, who, according to her story, had gratefully left her a vast fortune. For over two decades, Humbert borrowed millions against this supposed inheritance, living a life of luxury while her lenders, many of them ordinary citizens, were left in the dark.

Through a web of deceit that had gone undetected for years — protected by her father-in-law, a Minister of Justice — Humbert finally acquired a newspaper owned by Armand Parayre, Henri Matisse’s father-in-law. This tangled connection dragged the Matisse family into the scandal’s orbit, even though they were unwitting victims themselves. But when the supposed inheritance was revealed to be nothing but a single red brick, the scandal erupted and scapegoats were needed.

France was outraged. The Humberts fled, leaving ruin in their wake. And while Matisse and his family although not accomplices, were tainted by their association. It took very little time before they found themselves swept up in the aftermath of one of the country’s largest Ponzi schemes.

The financial ruin, public scandal, and professional rejection that surrounded Matisse pushed him further toward collapse. No longer able to support his family or continue his art with any hope of stability, Matisse felt crushed by the weight of his failures. The Parisian society that had once nurtured his ambition now seemed intent on devouring him.

Yet, in the face of this disaster, the fall became the prelude to something greater.

The seeds of transformation were planted.

IV. Destiny

Destiny: Light and Liberation in Collioure

“I would like to recapture that freshness of vision which is characteristic of extreme youth when all the world is new to it.”

This section shines in its description of Collioure as both a physical and spiritual transformation. The metaphor of light as liberation is particularly striking.

Suggestion: Expand slightly on Matisse’s creative breakthroughs. What specific moments in Collioure reinforced his newfound confidence? Perhaps delve into a single, vivid painting session to make the narrative even more immersive.

“I would like to recapture that freshness of vision which is characteristic of extreme youth when all the world is new to it.”

Sometimes, utter rejection is the precursor of renewal. The Thrive Zone journey often begins with such a crisis — a moment when the current environment can no longer sustain growth or embrace our potential. Humanity has faced these crossroads throughout history, driven by the need to leave behind the familiar for the promise of transformation.

For Matisse, this state of affairs forced him to seek refuge not just from scandal and poverty, but from the creative limitations he had unknowingly imposed on himself. Desperate and exhausted, Matisse and his wife Amélie left Paris for a small fishing village near the Spanish border.

Collioure wasn’t St. Tropez as they couldn’t afford the luxuries of the French Riviera that Paris’s elite were accustomed to. Instead, they found themselves in a fishing village hit hard by economic ruin and the collapse of its anchovy trade and vineyards, ravaged by the Phylloxera plague. The town, at first glance, appeared worn, scarred by decline and poverty.

Yet to Matisse, it held something far more precious than wealth.

“The light here is different,” Matisse would later say.

It wasn’t just an illusion either. Collioure had unfiltered Mediterranean light that revealed colors that Matisse had never seen before — due to the only East facing coastline in France where the Pyranees majestically seem to dive into the water. The reflections of the sea, the interplay of light and shadow, the vivid hues that soaked into the village streets — became his metaphor. A light which casts no shadows and eradicates contrasts. It was a new artistic language, one that spoke to him in a way that Paris never could.

“I am unable to distinguish between the feeling I have for life and my way of expressing it.”

The Discovery is the third stage, that moment we see ourselves in a new light, and for Matisse, this transformation was both literal and emotional. Collioure was a bustling fishing village, a world apart from the Paris Matisse had known. Sun-drenched ramshackle houses stood in unapologetic sea-washed hues. Rough-armed fishermen, dressed in salt-weathered espardenyes — footwear dating back to 13th-century Occitania — roamed the docks, the pungent smell of fish guts filling the air. The place literally reeked of authenticity. The rhythmic hum of the Occitan language, a melodic blend of French and Italian, echoed across the port, harmonizing with the spray of saltwater and sunbaked stone.

Sometimes, utter rejection is the precursor, for without it, there is no catalyst, no inspiration for renewal. For Matisse, this state of affairs forced him to seek refuge not just from scandal and poverty, but from the creative limitations he had unknowingly imposed on himself. Desperate and exhausted, Matisse and his wife Amélie left Paris for a small fishing village near the Spanish border.

Collioure wasn’t St. Tropez in more ways than one — they couldn’t afford the luxuries of the French Riviera that Paris’s elite were accustomed to. Instead, they found themselves in a fishing village hit hard by economic ruin and the collapse of its anchovy trade and vineyards, ravaged by the Phylloxera plague. The town, at first glance, appeared worn, scarred by decline and poverty.

It wasn’t Paris either, and that was most important of all. Collioure was a world away from the salons of the elite. Sun-drenched houses along the port were painted in unapologetic hues of blue, orange, and pink. The rhythmic hum of the Occitan language filled the air, blending with the sound of the Mediterranean waves. Rough-armed fishermen, wearing espardenyes — footwear dating back to the 13th century we call espadrilles today — roamed the docks, their days marked by the pungent smell of fish and the sing song chatter of village life.

Yet to Matisse, it held something far more precious than wealth.

“The light here is different,” Matisse would later say.

It wasn’t just an illusion either. His description of the experience — the only East facing coastline in France where the Pyrenees majestically seem to dive into the water is why Collioure had unfiltered Mediterranean light that revealed colors that Matisse had never seen before. The reflections of the sea, the interplay of light and shadow, the vivid hues that soaked into the village streets — all of it spoke to him in a way that Paris never could.

Where others saw a town in decline, Matisse saw a world bursting with possibility. The decay of the fishing industry and the blighted vineyards faded into the background. For the first time in years, Matisse felt a spark of creative energy return. His focus shifted away from survival and toward the rediscovery of beauty.

Far removed from the Parisian salons, Collioure offered Matisse the space to rediscover himself and to accept himself as he was — an artist driven by color, joy, and beauty. This acceptance sparked a revolution that soon transformed the art world. Fauvism, the bold movement he created, may have been exhibited in the Paris salons — but it was born here, in the unpolished, sun-drenched streets of Collioure, where Matisse finally thrived.

The transition was profound. In Paris, Matisse had been trapped in a world of muted tones, of compromise and caution. But in Collioure, he began to embrace boldness, color, and exuberance. The sun-drenched hues of the Mediterranean landscape — lavenders, blues, deep reds, and oranges — burst into his work, freeing him from the restraint that had shackled his earlier paintings.

But Matisse’s story is about more than geography; it’s about finding a place where we have the freedom to fail, learn, and redefine the boundaries of our lives.

Today, we call those places Thrive Zones.

Much like early human migrations, Matisse’s departure from Paris was a risk. But without it, he would never have unlocked the depths of his artistic genius. The right space allowed him to explore new ideas, take creative risks, and ultimately, find his true voice.

A Thrive Zone isn’t just a place to live or work; it’s a place where one’s potential is not only nurtured but liberated. It’s an environment where time takes on a different momentum, allowing creativity, growth, and transformation to flourish.

In Collioure, Matisse found exactly that — a space where the constraints of his old life could no longer bind him, where his art could breathe and expand beyond anything he had imagined in Paris.

The inspiration to become a painter wasn’t a grand epiphany or a crisis of identity. After recovering from a bout of appendicitis, his mother brought him a gift of paints. He recalled, “In everyday life I was usually bored and vexed… Starting to paint I felt gloriously free.” Finding his pasion, all thst he had to do now was tfind the right environment to pursue it. That became the central struggle of his life and one thst would lead him to a strange and exotic destination near the Spanish border.

In 1905, hoisting a paintbox and portable easel, he left behind the suffocating norms of Paris and found Collioure, a quiet fishing village on the Mediterranean. In this radiant light, his life transformed from one bound by prendre des airs — succumbing to societal dictates — to one capturing beauty plein air (the practice of painting outdoors to embrace natural light).

Collioure was everything Paris was not. Its radiant light illuminated the town’s modest facades, transforming them into shimmering mosaics of lavender, red, and blue. Matisse painted outdoors, embracing the plein air style that captured nature in its raw, fleeting beauty. Over a single summer, he painted fifty canvases — nearly one every two days. Among them were four of the most significant works of his career, each bursting with vibrant color and life. “Art should be something like a good armchair in which to rest from physical fatigue,” he once said.

In Collioure, painting became his joy, his release, and his identity. In Collioure, Matisse painted fifty canvases — nearly one every two days — over a single summer, each bursting with vibrant color and life. He went on to paint four of the most important canvasses of his entire illustrious career. In Collioure, Matisse found his Thrive Zone — a place where his creativity exploded. Over one summer, he painted fifty canvases, redefining modern art and elevating himself as a rival to Picasso.

When he returned to Paris, he didn’t just challenge the gatekeepers of the art world — he tore down the gates. His work captured the attention of Gertrude and Leo Stein at the Salon d’Automne. By fall, he was hailed as a rival to Picasso. Paris would never look at a canvas the same way again.

Years later, in May 2018, one of his canvases — Odalisque couchée aux magnolias (1923) — sold for $80,750,000 at a Christie’s auction to Peggy and David Rockefeller. This was the same artist whose brother once dismissed his painting, opting to buy a bicycle instead of paying 100 francs for a piece of Matisse’s work. The irony was poetic: The profound shift, moving from the shadows of judgment into the illuminating embrace of an environment where he could thrive, wasn’t just a change of scenery; it was a transformation in how he saw himself.

Painting gave Matisse a sense of purpose, but finding the right environment to nurture that purpose became the central challenge of his life. Paris, with its rigid elitism and harsh criticism, only stifled him. The expectations of its art world felt suffocating, and Matisse struggled to find acceptance. Yet, in 1905, something changed. Hoisting a paintbox and portable easel, he left Paris behind and boarded a train at the newly built Gare de Lyon. His destination: Collioure, a quiet fishing village on the Mediterranean.

This was no accident. Collioure had become more than just a change of scenery; it had become Matisse’s personal Thrive Zone.

In Collioure, Matisse found exactly that — a space where the constraints of his old life could no longer bind him, where his art could breathe and expand beyond anything he had imagined in Paris.

V. Affirmation

“What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, something like a good armchair.”

The concept of the Thrive Zone is beautifully introduced here, with Collioure as the first example. The narrative effectively ties Matisse’s personal triumph to the broader theme of transformation through environment.

Suggestion: Emphasize the universality of Matisse’s story — how it mirrors the journey of anyone seeking renewal and purpose. This will make the Thrive Zone concept more relatable.

“What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, something like a good armchair.”

Henri Matisse was born in 1869 in a small textile mill village, Le Cateau-Cambrésis, in northern France. His childhood was defined by his limitations, both physical and emotional, often due to his circumstances and surroundings. He recalled a vivid memory: rain dripping through a hole in the roof of his family home, soaking his bed. It wasn’t just an image of hardship; it was a metaphor for the constraints that seemed to follow him at every turn. There was no where to go for comfort. His father’s demand that he pursue a respectable future in the study of law had the same effect. To him it was cold, without warmth and humanity. One more step towards an infinity of gray. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

After a bout of appendicitis left him bedridden, his mother brought him a gift — a box of paints. Matisse would later say, “In everyday life, I was usually bored and vexed… Starting to paint, I felt gloriously free.” That simple act of creation, with its vivid colors and quiet focus, stirred something in him. It was the first time he had felt truly alive, as though he had stumbled upon a secret door to a brighter world.

But the path forward wasn’t to be so simple. Painting gave Matisse purpose, but finding the right environment to nurture that purpose proved to be the greatest challenge of his life. Paris, with its rigid elitism and suffocating art world, felt like an impossible labyrinth. The expectations of its gatekeepers weighed heavily on him, and rejection became a familiar companion.

Then, in the summer of 1905, at thirty-six, Matisse left the constraints of Paris, hoisting a paintbox and portable easel as he boarded a train at the Gare de Lyon. His destination: Collioure, a quiet fishing village on the Mediterranean. He wasn’t chasing the Riviera’s velvet-rope allure or the polished terraces of its elite. He was chasing something simpler, something real — a light he could almost feel, a rhythm of life that promised renewal.

Collioure was a revelation. Its radiant light transformed the modest village into a kaleidoscope of lavender, red, and blue. The coarse shouts of fishermen, carried on salt-laden breezes, felt like poetry to Matisse. He painted outdoors, embracing the plein air style that captured nature in its fleeting beauty. Over a single summer, he completed fifty canvases — nearly one every two days — each one bursting with life and energy.

One painting, in particular, defined his transformation: Open Window, Collioure. It wasn’t just a work of art; it was a declaration. Through that painted window, Matisse dissolved the boundary between the known and the unknown, the interior and the infinite. The colors — vivid, untamed, alive — reflected the profound shift happening within him. This was not the work of a man weighed down by Parisian expectations; it was the work of an artist unshackled.

Gone were the muted tones and tight brushstrokes of his earlier efforts. In Collioure, Matisse embraced a bold, radical approach to color and form. His brushstrokes were loose, free, and alive with the spirit of the Mediterranean. The environment didn’t just inspire him — it transformed him. The light of Collioure illuminated not only his canvases but his sense of self.

When Matisse returned to Paris, he didn’t just challenge the gatekeepers of the art world — he dismantled their gates entirely. His work captured the attention of Gertrude and Leo Stein at the Salon d’Automne. By fall, he was hailed as a rival to Picasso. Paris, once a place of rejection and judgment, was now a city looking at art through Matisse’s eyes.

Of course, the critics had their say. To them, Matisse’s use of color was wild, even barbaric. They called his work “Fauvism,” meaning “wild beasts,” in an attempt to dismiss its audacity. Yet, what they mocked was exactly what made his work revolutionary. The thirty paintings from that summer — including Open Window — signaled the birth of a movement that would redefine modern art.

Years later, the irony of his journey became stark. (In later years, Odalisque couchée aux magnolias (1923) sold for $80,750,000 at a Christie’s auction to Peggy and David Rockefeller). This was the same artist whose brother had once scoffed at his work, opting to buy a bicycle instead of a painting for 100 francs.

Collioure wasn’t just a change of scenery for Matisse — it was a transformation of how he saw himself and his art. It was where he found his Thrive Zone, a place where potential converged with possibility, where doubt gave way to creation. As Matisse himself said, “Art should be something like a good armchair in which to rest from physical fatigue.” In Collioure, he found not just rest, but renewal.

Matisse didn’t settle; he set sail — not just for a new way to paint, but for a new way to live.

That is the essence of a Thrive Zone. It’s not just a place — it’s where the impossible becomes real.

Conclusion: The Power of Place

“You can’t help getting old, but you can help becoming old.”

The habit of finding the right environment where you can thrive is a historic fact, something that has been chonicled over thousands of years in the human history of achievement. In Collioure, Matisse discovered not just new artistic inspiration but a new artist. The unpretentious simplicity of the village loosened the grip of doubt, the radiant Mediterranean light, the embrace of the local villagers, and the camaraderie of fellow painters created a harmony Matisse had never known. The escape from criticism and shame that followed him around in Paris like a hungry dog freed him to experiment with his talent on his own terms— that is what allowed his true self to emerge.

In Collioure, everything changed. Over a single summer, he painted fifty canvases — nearly one every two days — each bursting with color and vitality. Among them were four of the most important works of his career, redefining modern art and elevating him to rival Picasso.

Coda: Enduring Creativity

Matisse’s story didn’t end with his success in Paris. In 1940, he fell gravely ill following surgery for cancer. Returning to his studio in Nice, too weak to paint or sculpt, he turned to paper cut-outs, creating vibrant works that redefined his artistic legacy.

“You can’t help getting old, but you can help becoming old,” he said. Every day became a gift, every act of creation a joy. His assistants would hold pre-painted sheets of paper as he cut abstract forms, working with the same exuberance he had discovered decades earlier in Collioure.

Reflecting on his life, Matisse often spoke of gratitude. “Every day that dawns is a gift to me, and I take it in that way. I accept it gratefully, without looking beyond it.”

End with Matisse’s reflection on his transformation in Collioure:
“An artist must never be a prisoner… of himself, of style, of reputation, or of success.”

Even in his final years, Matisse carried the lessons of Collioure. He understood that transformation wasn’t just about finding the right environment — it was about embracing it fully, allowing it to shape and heal the soul.