During a storm in a quiet village in southern France, artist MB Boissonnault couldn’t stop herself crying as years of stress from living in Los Angeles finally began to surface. As the rain fell, she says she saw a ball of light moving toward her.
“It was not a hallucination, or drugs, or French wine,” she recalls. “It was a vision.”
For Boissonnault, 57, the moment felt like a message, that this ancient place, far from the noise and pressure of Venice Beach, California, was where she was meant to be.
A year later, priced out of her rented home and studios and exhausted by what she describes as the “gentrification” of her longtime neighborhood, she and her husband, broadcast engineer Evan Calford, relocated to the tiny rural village of Saissac, near the Pyrenees. There she bought a home for the first time in her life.
Now living what she describes as a bucolic idyll, growing plants and finally letting her art run free, looking back at her former life feels like a nightmare.
“Much of my time was being engulfed by battling the city and developers. Needless to say, it was a very stressful exit, with all the escalating insanity of living close to the beach, in such a tense atmosphere, so my formerly beloved town was just not holding me anymore.”
After 25 years of abstract painting in Venice Beach, Boissonnault says the inspiration and creativity that once defined her work were being eroded by the gentrification affecting that corner of America.
The changing landscape, she says, was making her life hell. She was stuck as an artist and facing an emotional crisis. She knew she needed to turn the page.
Even with a so-called “middle-income,” she and her husband were barely making it, and they believed they would never be able to own a house — instead remaining trapped in an endless cycle of rentals, waiting to be priced out again and again.
“Seeing the real-estate market on the Westside of LA reach insane heights, we knew we’d be stuck looking at retiring in some other state, and what we could afford was definitely not attractive,” she says.
Their rent-controlled home in Venice, which they’d occupied for 20 years, was under major threat.
“Protected rentals were disappearing, and Venice had become the hot spot for the tech industry. The new owners from overseas were trying every way possible to eject us, and my days were increasingly occupied with counteracting their efforts”, says Boissonnault.
Since 1999, she had also been forced to give up every painting studio she had rented in Los Angeles, losing spaces to “investor-rich restaurateurs or next door businesses who wanted to enlarge their space.”
“Fighting to remain in our house, looking with terror at the rising rents, and battling to have a place to make art was becoming exhausting,” she says.
It was painful to watch fellow artists leave, neighbors sell family homes, and Venice transform from “the Bohemian paradise-by-the-beach” she once loved.
“It seemed to be snowballing, and no community meeting, no council member, no government agency was going to help stop it. With all this mayhem, it became almost impossible to make art, except for a commission here and there.”
The pressure even led to legal battles. Boissonnault says she went to court over eviction issues, winning a settlement for laws broken by new landlords and helping other tenants in the city looking for guidance.
The idea of leaving the United States had already begun to take shape in 2022, when Boissonnault was invited to stay at the home of a fellow artist in Saissac.
After Covid lockdowns, the trip offered what she describes as a “tangible way to shake off a couple of disorienting years,” allowing her to paint in a quiet, ancient setting far removed from “helicopters, sirens, traffic and construction noise.”
The surroundings, including a medieval castle overhanging a deep gorge, and the sounds of nature “re-set her exhausted brain” and helped revive her painter’s hands, she says.
All of the artwork she produced that month, created on handmade paper from a 500-year-old local mill, reflected the scenery and her interpretations of what she described as the village’s ancient vibration.
The storm, and the vision of the ball of light she experienced during it, cemented her sense that Saissac was somewhere special.
Back in Los Angeles, she and her husband quickly decided that the city no longer held a future for them.
Boissonnault found her home by chance. During her sojourn in Saissac, she would stop at an old stone-walled pizzeria for breaks. When she learned the owners had been trying to sell the property for years, she says “a bolt of energy” went through her. She realized that the space could become the live-work home she and her husband had always longed for.
In 2023, the couple, who have long-term talent visas, bought the three-story building and set about transforming it.
Although she did not want to reveal the purchase price, Boissonnault says a property of a similar size in Los Angeles, with high-end doors, windows, soundproofed ceilings and floors, and thick stone walls, would be at least $3 to $5 million.
The building, which dates from the 1600s and was originally three narrow homes combined over time, offered around 2,000 square feet — more space than they had ever imagined.
A full renovation followed, costing under 100,000 euros, or $115,000 — a fraction of the price for similar work in Los Angeles.
Most rooms were gutted, electrical wiring repaired and a fireplace and heating installed. The former pizzeria now includes a large interior terrace, while the ground floor houses Boissonnault’s art studio and Calford’s music room, along with a small storefront for a future boutique. The upper floors contain two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen and two living rooms.
“While we heard many horror stories of how difficult it is to find workers here, we got really lucky with having excellent people sent our way. I’m still stunned at how quickly we were able to upgrade a three-story building in about a year and a half,” she says.
There were challenges along the way, including navigating construction as a woman directing male workers. But she says she learned to adapt to the local culture — armed with humor, coffee and pastries.
Today, Boissonnault says she has found a sense of freedom that once felt out of reach.
Moving to Saissac has been a rebirth for her art and creativity. Having a large studio in her own home, without anyone “looking to oust me,” has given her a sense of autonomy she had never experienced before.
“It’s a new kind of confidence, and now I’m allowed to explore the depths of my painting practice without the nagging feeling of having to prepare for the next attack.”
Her daily routine is simple.
“I can get up in the morning, grab a coffee, walk outside to enter my own studio and stay in that world all day, with a break to go into the very big garden we’re working on.”
The landscape around her continues to provide inspiration.
“The Pyrenees mountains make me stop in my tracks every day here, in awe. I am presented with the landscape I’ve been attempting to capture throughout my painting life. I refer to it as the biggest joke ever told, that I’ve landed where the mountains dare me.”
She describes the area as “full of a thousand tones of green and a sky that burns pink, orange, and magenta morning and evening.”
Village life is quiet and slow. Saissac is relatively close to Toulouse, but she says “it feels a world away.”
The couple spend their free time gardening, cooking, growing plants for medicines and learning French from older residents with strong local accents.
“We’ve traded museums, restaurants, and shops for two cars going by per day, forest trails, and one adorable épicerie (grocery store),” Boissonnault says. “The quiet is the currency here, after decades of city living.”
For Boissonnault, the move also represents a deeper personal reconnection. Her ancestors left the French region of Normandy for Quebec in the 1700s before eventually settling in New England. She also spent some of her formative years in Europe, leaving the United States at 17 to attend art school in Germany and spending a decade living around the continent.
Relocating to Saissac, she says, feels like closing a circle.
