Did Pre-Raphaelite Women Wear Chunky Knits?

Dear readers,

 

First, I would like to say my thoughts have been straying across to the East Coast of America.  I really hope you are all safe and well.

 

I am taking a break from my father's 90th birthday celebration preparations.  Embroidering mushrooms - my father is a keen mycologist - may be a wonderful way of symbolising a great man but, goodness me, I do get muddled with all those shades of brown!  Meanwhile the children are turning autumnal-coloured papers into place cards worthy of the most glorious of Baroque stage scenery.  I am quite serious! I will take a picture of their creations to show you all next time. Believe me; they are quite beautiful but have also provoked a few, ahem, heated discussions.  To top it all, Angélique, after four months of flourishing health, turned feverish and fretful this Sunday and graciously passed on her virus to me.  Ah, the joys of family life...

 

So here I am turning my back on browns, reds, oranges, purples, and germs and embracing a little greenery.

During the entire month of October I nursed the hope of visiting the gardens of Villandry again to admire the pumpkins growing higgledy piggledy in the potager against the magnificent backdrop of vivid green boxtree broderies before this château closed its gates for winter.  However endlessly rainy weekends and cherished visitors from afar thwarted my plans so here instead is a picture of the ornamental gardens at Villandry taken last spring to nourish my love of vegetation.  Rainy Sundays inspired me to pick up my knitting needles and make something for my eldest daughter.  Half the fun of knitting for her is choosing the colour together and three cheers for Héloïse; she chose GREEN!
 
Here is Melissa LaBarre's Agnes which I have renamed "Boxtree".  I could have called it "In The Blink Of An Eye" for I swear this is the most ridiculously rapid knit ever!  I am not very fond of chunky knits and mostly prefer knitting with fine yarns however this pattern has seduced me to the non-negligible charms of fast knitting together with the delights of Quince & Co. Puffin yarn.  Here are my Ravelry notes in case you are interested.

Don't you think that colour suits Héloïse?  That hair makes me think of a Pre-Raphaelite woman.  I'm getting quite excited at the thought of finding some knitting patterns which would suit this Pre-Raphaelite look of hers.  Any ideas?

Like all mothers I am proud of my daughter.  She is strong, thoughtful, bright as a button, and stoic.

It is not always easy to be the eldest of three but I am grateful to her for being supportive and patient.  We try to carve some precious time out to spend together for I cannot help but see the moment looming on the horizon when she will spread her wings and fly away.  I cherish our brainstorming sessions for she is very creative despite her school's desire to push her into a scientific profession.  Do you remember, about a month ago, I wrote about an audition at the regional academy of music and theatre?  After three intensive days Héloïse was accepted alongside eleven other candidates, aged between twenty and twenty-six.  There had been fifty two would-be actors auditioning.  Of course Héloïse was thrilled but her hopes were slightly dashed when she found out the five-hour weekly classes were scheduled on wednesday afternoons: a time when most secondary schools do not have lessons here in France.  Héloïse's school, unfortunately, is an exception to this rule. The academy teaching staff were sweetly disappointed and urged her to drop in and participate whenever she had a spare moment.  They also reassured her that a place would be kept for her in the future.

All's well that ends well.

In the meantime I must return to browns, feeding my merry band of artists, and slowly preparing for our departure on Friday.  I am nursing myself back to health with all manner of herbal infusions and teas.  My favourite at the moment is Mariage Frères Chandrenagor black tea.mixed with cloves, ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, and black pepper.  It really is heavenly with a spoonful of brown sugar.  Which begs the question: which tea are you drinking today?

Keep well and happy end of week to you all.

Stephanie

Hark! Hark! Each Tree Its Silence Breaks

 

Dear readers,

I am dedicating this post to my remarkable father who turns ninety today.  He is a lover of wood and a talented carpenter in his spare time.

"Hark, hark! Each Tree its silence breaks,
The Box and Fir to talk begin!
This is the sprightly Violin
That in the Flute distinctly speaks!"

(Nicholas Brady 1659-26)

Adapted to music by Henry Purcell in his Ode to St. Cecilia in 1692.  To be listened to and marvelled over here).

 1., 2. and 3.  French early eighteenth-century 'Baroque' oboe.  Referred to as E108.  The original was made of ebony and ivory with silver keys.  Mine is made by Olivier Cottet from ebony and rosewood.  Click here if you would like to here an extract of this instrument being played by my teacher, Elsa Frank.

4. and 5. The tools required to make an oboe reed.  One of the challenges of learning this instrument is having to make one's own reed as there are none available for purchase.  Tricky?  Oh, yes!  The reed on the left was my first attempt. (Don't be fooled; it looks alright but the quality of sound was just not good enough.)  An eighteenth-century oboe only has two keys so to reach the higher notes the reed, which is more supple than a modern oboe's, must be blown harder which makes for very achy cheek muscles! 

6. and 7.  An example of the exquisite music to be played on the Baroque oboe. Anne Danican Philidor (1681-1728), composed sublime music, heavily ornamented to show off the player's virtuosity. Do you see all those crosses on the score?  Each one represents a different ornament.  The bass clef is for the harpsichord accompaniment.  The numbers refer to the chords to be played.

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The idea, put into words by NIcholas Brady, of trees finding their voices is a charming one.  Instrument makers put so much love into the wood they chisel and carve so that musicians may cherish the instruments they play.  Some believe that trees speak to one another in the woodlands too.  I would very much like to know what they murmur to each other during autumn as their leaves turn into a symphony of colours and fall silently to the mossy ground.  Are they sad or joyful?  To celebrate this bitter sweet moment I have made Mademoiselle Autumn Serenade, possibly my last autumn hare this year.

This little lady is a lucky hare for she has been stitched from hand-dyed linen (R & R Reproductions for those who like to embroider with soft, natural coloured linens), hand-dyed felted wool, purchased from this lady, and embroidered with silk thread in glorious, hand-dyed autumnal colours.  Her crowning glory is the handmade lace which has been lovingly prepared by a friend of mine for her.  Somehow that creamy lace on the dark tweed trousers reminds me of the ivory and ebony wood on my oboe; do you agree?  Mademoiselle Autumn Serenade, with her embroidered leaves gracing both ankle and ear, is a quiet soul who loves to wander through the countryside and forests gazing up at the trees and the autumn leaves drifting silently to the ground. If the wind is blowing too hard she likes to retreat indoors to sit by the fire, sipping spicy tea and listening to classical music. She is not much of a chatterer but she does like singing quietly to herself, perhaps a little Henry Purcell?  If she were your hare which music would she be singing, I wonder?  If one of you might like to give a home to her you will find her here.

And now I must prepare the decorations for my father's birthday celebration to be held in Tunbridge Wells the first weekend of November.  November?  Where did this year go?

I wish you all a tranquil and happy week.  I will be back very soon as I have some pictures of Héloïse I cannot resist showing you!

Stephanie

Edited Tuesday morning: Mademoiselle Autumn Serenade is off to start a new chapter in her long-eared life. Farewell!


Baroque Autumn: Autumnal Hare

 

"Man was caught between truth and illusion; life, perhaps, was merely a dream and the world was like a theatre which would split itself into many parts and the mask would become a face; a double-sided face which revealed the existence of opposites and man's constantly changing nature."

 

translated from Philippe Beaussant, Versailles, Opéra (p. 12)

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Now that autumn is well and truly here I find myself retreating back into my imagination more and more.  Ideas are dancing around my head and strange characters inhabit my sleep.  It's all good although a balance needs to be struck as ever with real life. For a few years now I have been quite fascinated by seventeenth-century performing arts and the term Baroque.  It's a difficult concept to pin down but that, I believe, is part of its charms. Elaborate, excessive, inconstancy, and make-believe are but a few defintions all sharply contrasted to sober rationality.  To understand the Baroque world is to enter a place where appearances are deceptive and the trompe-l'oeil becomes reality.  I love it but only as long as it remains distinct from my real world, you see. 

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When living in Normandy I had the good fortune to learn how to play the Baroque oboe with Jérémie Papasergio and his wife Elsa Frank (seen here in central place brandishing a baroque oboe).  Through these years of aching face muscles and dizzy spells (it is a very, very hard instrument to play: more on that at a later date, Sue and Annie) I struck up a friendship with this remarkable couple who, in turn, introduced me to a fascinating world of Baroque specialists.  The two pictures above are taken from the Baroque company Le Poème harmonique directed by the extremely dishy talented Vincent Dumestre.  Jémémie and Elsa regularly performed in Vincent's Baroque operas (as seen in the two pictures below) and, well, Héloïse and I had the good fortune to attend a few dress rehearsals at the Opéra Comique in Paris.

Whilst researching Baroque costumes this week I was particularly interested in a 1977 costume created for Jean-Philippe Rameau's opera Platée which was designed by Beni Montrésor (1926 - 2001).  Unfortunately I cannot reveal this costume to you today but, in true Baroque style, I fell into the enchanting , multifaceted world of Montrésor's children's book illustrations.

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There are many of Beni Montrésor's books available secondhand.  I urge you to take a look here; you will be both charmed and inspired by his artwork, I believe.

Finally, as we stepped out this morning, my husband and I, to take a few pictures of my first autumnal hare, I could not help but notice as the sky turned from lead to blue and the surrounding vegetation had turned from green to jewel-like colours, that autumn too, perhaps, could be accused of being Baroque.



It will come as little surprise to you all to learn that

 Mademoiselle Mellow Autumn

 the first of three autumnal hares to make an appearance here, was inspired by my passion for Baroque opera and also John Keats's poem "To Autumn".

Here she is:

Mademoiselle Mellow Autumn is warmly dressed and cheery-natured.  She revels in wandering through orchards, woodland, and gathering fruit and berries. She is also partial to sitting by the fire and sipping tea or hot chocolate which she ALWAYS drinks with tiny melted marshmallows.  If you would like to see more details about her pop over here although I should whisper in your ear now that she has already GONE!

I have knitted garments for her two friends from yarn called 'Homemade Jam', 'Embers', and 'Long Johns' for her friends.  Aren't those splendid names for autumnal colours? They will be introducted to you shortly.

Until then I really hope you haven't been too bored. 

I wish you ALL a beautfiul, tranquil weekend.

A bientôt,

Stephanie


Higgledy-Piggledy

Dear readers,

 

Goodness me, I have had a spring in my step this week. Good news does that to you, I'm sure you will agree, together with the warmth of human kindness.  Your generous, supportive comments have touched me more than I can say. Writing 'thank you' to each and every one of you seems a little inadequate, I'm afraid, but these two words are truly heartfelt.

 

With the glorious sunny weather we have had during the latter part of this week you would have spotted me out and about our hilly village prancing around like a not so

young colt and dancing on my tiptoes.  Excuse me if I raise my voice here but just look at my NEW SHOES!

 Every autumn I relish the ritual of purchasing a pair of Fairysteps handmade shoes.  Oh, the joy of choosing which whimsical shoes will become my favourite walking companions each year!  There is something so intrinsically "Elves and the Shoemaker" about Ren and her artistic talent; even her blog has a fairytale aura about it.  She is a hard-working lady too.  I have sometimes wondered if the little folk have gifted her with the ability to thrive on no sleep for she is always busy stitching her beautiful leather in those jewel-like colours, sitting cross-legged on her workbench, perhaps, and when the last stitch is in place she adorns some with a beautiful organza or silk ribbon.  Perfection.  Not only are they exquisitely made but they are blissful to wear. As light as a feather and as soft as kid gloves. Now I am saving up my coins to buy some boots for this coming winter.

 Sticking to my heels most glorious days is Angélique my other faithful walking companion.  Actually like most two year olds she prefers to hop, skip, and jump instead of walking.  She has taken to wearing this beaded beret I recently knitted for her all the time.  I made it pale blue with ice-coloured glass beads to remind me that she is my winter daughter.  I love this feisty child so very much who now claims she is no longer a baby but a little girl.  Sigh.

 

I am all higgledy-piggledy this week and a little bit excited about the new hare orders I am receiving.  I, like Angélique, am hopping and skipping between the seasons as I stitch (and prepare to stitch) a spring Hare with a touch of Easter, my third Mademoiselle Bloom (with a fourth in the pipeline), a small family of autumnal hares, and, dare I whisper, some Christmas creatures with silvery stars and snowflakes.  My imagination is having a ball.

 

A few weeks ago I finally got organised enough to set up a facebook page for my teeny tiny business Madame Millefeuilles. So if you are on facebook it would make me so happy if you headed over there and 'liked' me.  If you come and join me I will be sharing regular snippets of inspiration with you. Thank you so much!

 

Edit: would any of you be interested in a special edition autumnal hare giveaway, I wonder?

 

A shorter than usual post this time. A relief for some perhaps? ;-)

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie



Sweet Relief

Dear Autumn,

I think this year you must have sensed my reluctance to let go of summer. I needed to continue to feel the sun on my skin and to play my favourite game of Wishful Thinking.  The thought of facing up to reality was a little hard to bear, you see.

 

You are also called "fall", from the Old English faellan, to fall down, which leads back through time to the Indo-European phol, to fall.  Fall is the time of course when leaves drop from the trees. But there is that other fall, the one in the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve hid their nakedness with a fig leaf, remember?  Flurrying leaves and the Harlequin beauty of your trees help us forget about passing time and the temporary death which winter brings.  With the arrival of each autumn I feel we slip and slide as though on wet leaves down a steep hill towards the winter solstice.  Time seems to accelerate.  Breathing becomes shorter and sharper. Winter, however, brings its fair share of beauty and enchantment.  Thankfully.

 

Now, I am at peace with you.  I have gorged myself on late summer's brilliant blue skies, bleached cornfields and blazing, glossy rose-hips. I have smiled like a lighthearted child at september's generous warmth and confetti-coloured wildflowers.  I have marvelled at the seedpods which decorate our countryside and the Clematis vitalba - or Old Man's Beard - with its trailing silver seed-heads draping our surrounding hedges.  I am no longer afraid to welcome you.

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Today is autumn.  Today my husband received the good news we were almost too afraid to hope for. Some of you may remember how I shared the frustration of our two-and-a-half year wait here; a lingering legal case of unfair dismissal which threatened to linger a lot longer than we could bear after his ex-boss decided to appeal the court's original verdict in favour of Mickaël.  I am so relieved to share with you the fact that he has won for the second time and, dare I whisper, has been awarded twice as much financial compensation this time round.  Such sweet relief as you can all imagine. So now we may face autumn with lighter hearts.

 

To celebrate I leave you with these images of Mademoiselle September Meadow created for a truly lovely lady who lives in an old steading deep in the Aberdeenshire countryside. She won me over with her descriptions of surrounding meadows filled with ox-eye daisies in summer and blushing rose-hips now. 

This little creature wears the same garb as my summer hares but with distinct autumn colours.  She marks the transition towards the different styled autumn hares I am currently working on.  Some will be adorned with these beautiful hand dyed silk ribbons.  By the way, if you're reading Madelief, Susan, and Jeanne; you will be receiving your long-eared orders soon;  I promise!

A final picture taken by Tristan of my husband MIckaël photographing Héloïse at the Chaumont Garden Festival in August. He may be a stubborn, overly dynamic Breton but my goodness he is wonderful.

Please cross your fingers if you have the time on Sunday.  Héloïse will be auditioning at the regional academy of music and theatre where she hopes to study acting outside school hours. 

I wish each and every one of you a wonderful autumn.

 

Stephanie

 

 

A New Leaf

Hello there!

I don't know if I'll be keeping this new Millefeuilles banner for long. I know this little rosehip bearing rabbit wove some potent magic upon me as I found myself, as if bewitched, stitching a combination of colours which do not usually find favour with me.  But on reflection these are the colours of early autumn, surely; butter-yellow, vivid scarlet and plum jostling for attention against the still predominant green pigment of chorophyll.  What do you think?

Mother Nature has been drawing us out each and every day.  That special september sunlight is too precious to ignore.  We cycle along the Loire river banks - the only level ground around our hilly parts - we tread familiar bridle paths through the vineyards and embrace new secret trails, picking blackberries and trailing our hands through brittle long grasses.  The leaves on the vines are beginning to turn but the green grapes have a few sun-drenched weeks of respite before hoards of grape gatherers descend upon the regular rows sending pheasants and roe deer scuttling away.

Our glorious countryside, more bleached than green now after weeks of heat, inspired me to knit the leafy shawl you can see above.  Cedar Leaf Shawlette is the work of Alana Dakos. The Madelinetosh DK yarn in the Filigree colourway lends itself beautifully to the drape of this crescent-shaped shawl worked in short rows with the leaf border added sideways once the main body is finished.  It is a pleasure to observe the leaves unfold gently as you knit; the repetitive pattern is never tedious.  Simply perfect to welcome in early autumn, don't you think?  For those who are interested my Ravelry notes are to be found here.

On a sultry day two weeks ago we headed off to the Chaumont-sur-Loire Garden Festival.  This year the theme - "Gardens Of Delight, Gardens Of Delirium" - promised to be both enticing and intriguing.

As we eagerly traipsed around the twenty-six show gardens we were gently pulled into an enchanted world where fairy tales and culinary delights reigned supreme.  One garden set the stage for Antonin Carême's elaborate marzipan cakes displayed in his eighteenth-century Parisian pâtisserie window and modelled on the ideas he would take from his passion for architectural history books.  Another, poetically named after the legend of Sleeping Beauty, was composed of thorny white Climbing Iceberg rose bushes and giant purple thistles to symbolize the hedge of thorns which surrounded the princess's slumbering castle. In another garden a fairy, wearing a brightly-patterned pinny, ruled over her magical vegetable patch in which dozens of mouth-watering recipes dangled from tree branches above magic pumpkins and giant artichokes. The Garden Of Sensual Delights was an orchard of closely planted fruit trees with a four-poster bed set on a base of red roses.  Most enchanting. I would be tempted to confess that sometimes the written descriptions, displayed at the entrance of each garden, were much more evocative and exciting than the gardens themselves.  I thought at the time this might have something to do with the fact that I chiefly garden with words and that I enjoy reading about gardens in particular.  My husband and Héloïse, however, agreed that they too had been more seduced by the words.  If any of you have also visited Chaumont this year I would love to read your impressions.

 Before I leave you for now I would like to tell you that I am busy making up, alongside some lovely custom orders, a family of autumnal hares dressed in jewel colours gleefully ready to face the turn of the season.  I have also put up a couple of limited edition hares on my Gallery of Hares page (you will find it just under my Millefeuilles banner) which were made for two lovely ladies a little while back.  I also intend to post here a little more frequently.  I am looking forward to that enormously. 

A bientôt, lovely readers,

Stephanie