Gently Does It

Dear readers,

Since my previous post I've had to give up any foolish hopes of holding on to early spring.  It's full steam ahead from now on: purple-tinged irises, an abundance of trailing wisteria covering honey-coloured high walls and filling the air with their sweet scent, lily of the valley, lilac, poppies, roses tumbling open against barely unfurled greenery.  All are jostling for attention against a delightful backdrop of carnival-hued tulips with silky petals.  "Look at me, look at us!" they clamour silently.  The primroses are still gracing us with their demure presence.  We must, sadly, bid farewell to the daffodils, narcissi, and wild violets for yet another year.  We are no longer at the awakening of spring but reaching the heady heights of a green countryside punctuated with the brilliance of flowers.  It calls to mind Botticelli's Primavera which depicts Zephyrus hot in pursuit of sparsely clad Chloris, the virginal Greek personification of Spring, and her subsequent transformation into Flora, the Roman goddess of flowers, crowned with blossom, her robe embroidered with pinks and roses, her arms filled with flowers.

Fortunately, I can hold on to those early spring flowers thanks to Silke Leffler's charming illustrations in the children's book below.  Her visual personification of plants always delight me.

Spring so far has brought its fair share of challenges.  Will this be the year we finally sell our fisherman's cottage by the sea after six years of legal struggles?  When will we finally be able to purchase our own home here near Tours? We've also been endeavouring to nuture Héloïse during this Baccalauréat year both physically and emotionally.  She is hoping to leave France in September to take up her offer at Durham University which is thrilling, of course.  However, the complexity of the paperwork involved is challenging my desire to remain serene! Although the pros of living between two countries clearly outweigh the cons the journey is rarely straightforward at the outset.

But that is life, as I am sure you will agree, and there are so many treasure around to enjoy.  Our first visit to the gardens of Villandry this year with its complex boxtree parterres playing shadow games on the fine gravel with sunlight and birdsong everywhere.  The persistant call of the cuckoo.  A harp recital held in the Tours Fine Arts Museum one evening listening to Domenico Scarlatti's music surrounded by eighteenth-century paintings with an enthralled Tristan squeezing my arm.  Actually, there have been a number of concerts this season; each different and all wonderful.  It's good to watch a four-year old Angélique as absorbed by the music as her siblings.

There are two cherry trees in our garden: one is covered with thick pink puffiness the colour of my mother's homemade strawberry ice-cream and frilled with yellow nascent leaves.  The other, fully clothed in pure white, provides us with gentle drifts of petals.  "Look, it's snowing!' cry the children in delight.  But even as I write today the latter has shed its beauty, and the pink wonder is dropping flurries of petals too.  It's all too ephemeral but the lunches beneath the cherry-tree branches this week have been committed to family memory.

And together with the cherry trees and spring comes a surge of inspiration.  Tell me, is this happening to you too?  I am determined to hold on to this natural beauty and the colours by slowly and surely weaving them into my creative projects.  However as I painstakingly stitched Fleur de Cerisier, my cherry blossom doll, with a vintage cotton sheet hand-dyed in Easter tea (such a delicious smell), I realised that my dollmaking skills need to be worked on.  I really need to make more refined facial features!  My initial frustration and disappointment with my completed doll were, fortunately, replaced by the desire to improve my abilities with the next one; to create a completely new pattern.  It is a thrilling thing this creative journey which involves paradoxical feelings of 'this is going to be amazing' to 'oh no, it's really bad' and then back full circle to 'it's pretty good, actually'.

When your creative skills fail you, you can always bake a simple cake with crystallised spring flowers (brushed with egg white and gently coated in white sugar) and eat it under the flowering cherry tree.  

Food for the soul!

So tell me, do you lose confidence in your creative abilities sometimes?  If so, how do you deal with it?

Warmest wishes to you all for a beautiful spring in full flower.

I aim to return soon.

Stephanie

ps I am in two minds about selling Fleur de Cerisier.  If you would like to give her a home just leave me a comment or e-mail me.  Thank you so much.

Celestine In The Palais Royal Gardens

 Dear readers,

It's funny how it goes. Spring has hit with a visual thunderclap, the sun has played central stage for a few heady days and perky male birds are intent on luring a harem of quietly coloured females with their exquisite serenades. Despite this delightful spectacle assailing my senses I have been feeling quite melancholic. Nature always has the final word, you will agree, and so I have tried to accept this temporary state of mind as gracefully as possible. 

Wandering the countryside has raised my spirits, of course.  The fruit trees are proudly displaying their finest garnments and as my eyes travel upwards in wonder I tell myself that never before have I seen such an opulent display of blossom.  I also thank my lucky stars that, unlike my eldest daughter Héloïse, I am not allergic to pollen: it's going to be a potent time for hayfever sufferers this spring.

My sadness is no more than a good dose of nostalgia, I beIieve, following a full day in Paris after dropping Héloïse and Tristan off at the Gare du Nord.  An afternoon spent soaking in the beauty of the Palais Royal arcades and gardens on a glorious spring day whilst recalling years of happy memories in this city left me feeling foolishly wistful.

 Have you ever been to the Palais Royal?  The peaceful gardens, nestled amongst seventeenth-century architecture and a stone's throw away from the Louvre Museum, are quite enchanting.  Prior to the French Revolution, Louis-Philippe Joseph II Duc d’Orleans, King Louis XVI's cousin, had turned the Palais Royal into the place to be in Paris. The gardens were crowded both day and night. Café tables and chairs spilled out into the gardens at all hours. Circus acts and street performers entertained the crowds. Parisians as well as visitors from the provinces and abroad came to the Palais Royal to shop, gamble, drink, mingle, and discuss the ideas of Enlightenment philosophy without threat of censorship or imprisonment.

 

Perched on a straight-backed iron bench that afternoon last week I observed the present day gardens. The linden trees with timid leaves unfurling - as seen in the first picture above - hopping sparrows, and lusty magnolias sporting the most stunning pink blooms I have ever seen.  Within the cloistered lawns crowds of delicate narcissi jostled for attention alongside bonbon pink tulips and blue hyacinths.  There was birdsong everywhere and around the exuberant central fountain people sat, their faces uplifted to catch the sun with bare feet and blissful smiles.  Gaggles of children whispered and giggled behind clipped round boxtrees enclosed in celadon painted wooden containers whilst their parents gossiped and chastised.   There were sweet girls with cropped haircuts and petal pink dresses and knits scuffing their shoes in the dust.  These little girls were the inspiration behind Celestine Mouse, my latest creation.

She reminds me of the old-fashioned toy shops hidden in the arcades surrounding the gardens.  Her dress is so very French as are her pantaloons stitched from 1900 hand-embroidered tulle and trimmed with handmade lace.  I made her in rememberance of bygone times still present in such places as these gardens which are suffused with social history.  Content though Celestine might be playing in central Paris she is even happier lying in the grass in our garden and looking up through the branches of our cherry trees.

And because sewing makes me happy and soothes my nostalgic heart I decided to make this little mouse another dress from Liberty fabric trimmed with 1940's lace.

 If you would care to take a closer look at Celestine - and her two dresses - she may be found here, patiently twiddling her thumbs and dreaming of bygone days in Paris.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my (self-indulgent) words, wonderful readers.  I am a little curious to know whether you too suffer from bouts of nostalgia?

A bientôt,

Stephanie