'Tis The Season To Be Springlike

 Dear readers,

 

Few things give me as much pleasure as the simple flowers of early spring: white blossom (cherry plum (Prunus cerasifera) in this case - am I right? - which is easily confused with sloe (Prunus spinosa) but generally flowers a month earlier than the latter) bursting forth on bare wood against a grey sky which holds the promise of blue. March has arrived with its temperamental weather and one gust of cruel wind will send these dainty petals into the air like a whirl of snowflakes. For the time being, however, these ephemeral flowers will remain clenched on twigs clothed with the rich bloom of age-old lichen overlooking the slow-moving waters of the river Loire.



 This year I wanted to capture those shining white flowers with their golden stamens and keep them close for a long while.  Nothing soothes my winter-weary heart as much as a piece of beautiful frivolity or whimsy and so I purchased this head wreath for Angélique...just for fun!  It's girly, holds the promise of spring, and sits so prettily on her head of loose curls.

If you too are easily seduced by aesthetic frivolity take a peek at the sweet shop Sparkle & Posy.  I think there may be the very same wreath gracing those alluring shop shelves!

 After the Mad March Hare and Easter Rabbit flurry I am planning to start a new series of creations in April. Of course I am keeping it secret for now but the work above by the artist Maurice Prendergast of The Tuileries Gardens, painted in 1895, will give you some sort of clue! 



 My sweet son Tristan has been learning the art of patience.  Finally for his ninth birthday in February I promised to make him his first pullover and asked him to choose both the pattern and the colourway.  He was so thrilled that he performed a happy dance on the spot!  Dear child.



He opted for a simple knit called Tea With Jam And Bread which I had first caught sight of on Itty Bitty's inspirational knitting blog back in October and which lends itself to playing with colours a little.  Tristan's choice of Duck Egg blue, yellow, and cream sing out Tristan to me and, dare I say, spring too.  Tempted though I was for a short while to name this pullover 'Lego' - don't those stripes remind you of Lego blocks piled up high? - my son has never liked Lego.  I could have called it 'Cars With Music And Art' - his three favourite things but he urged me instead to find a spring name for his first pullover.  We came up with 'Blue Sky, Clouds, and Daffodils'.  My Ravelry notes can be found here.

 

Like most knitters I have a list as long as my arm of patterns I would dearly like to try my hand at.  As a contrast to Tristan's straightforward sweater my roving knitter's eye caught sight of the delightful picture below of a slightly more complex knit - 'Lobelia'.  Generally speaking I rarely buy magazines.  I do, however, think Pom Pom Quarterly, a small-scale, homegrown publication launched in autumn last year, deserves a shout.  It is fairly pricey - you can see how much it costs on the front cover pictured below - but it boasts a handful of very lovely knitting and crochet patterns enhanced by a modern aesthetic and appealing writing.  The fourth edition, entitled Verdant Stitcher, celebrates spring both in colour and subject matter.  If you too have leafed through or bought Pom Pom I would be curious to read about your impression.

 Inspiration has also been found in Ashley English's recipe book: A Year Of Pies.  Héloïse said to me today how each seasonal recipe looks more delectable than the last.  She's absolutely right and however much I have been seduced by winter's feasts my fingers are itching to turn the page and move on to spring's recipes.

 The sweet tart pictured above has been inspired by Ashley English's Maple Orange Walnut Pie but I played around with the ingredients today and turned it into a Maple Syrup, Lemon Almond Tart instead. It reminds me of the delicious treacle tarts I used to eat as a child on sundays both in taste and texture with a slightly crunchy almond topping.

 

Heaven on a plate.

 

Thank you so much for stopping by!  I wish you all a beautiful and inspiring week.  Spring is on its way!

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie

 

 

 

 

Lemon Curd And Cherry Blossom

Hello lovely readers!

Although you are all far too polite and sweet-natured to write this I am aware that I have a tendency to rabbit on in my posts.  Today a nasty sore throat is making me less talkative than usual so, with a little luck, there will be more pictures and less words.  Hurrah!

 

We are halfway through our school holidays and may I just say how much I LOVE the February holidays?  It's the last chance we have to snuggle inside and craft, read, and bake before the glorious spring weather pulls us outside.  This week the skies have been a brilliant blue and the grass sparkling with frost.  The sun did coax us out on a few occasions for a brisk walk along the Loire.  Our dog, Gaspard, made us chortle with his undiscerning overtures to each and every dog and owner who would cross his path.  He is a little embarrassing at times but very adorable too, thankfully.  Today there have been a few flurries of snow and Mickaël and Tristan have headed off to Le Mans to change the tyres and give a little attention and love to our 1992 Jaguar Sovereign with the help of a vintage car specialist friend.  A few days ago Tristan and I went to Tours to have a drink together, buy macarons, watch the ongoing work on the new tramway, and most importantly to purchase a few classical music recordings with his birthday money because my son simply adores being lulled to sleep with guitar or harp music.  Right now I am listening to one of the three cds we chose together: Le Salon de Musique de Marie-Antoinette.  I strongly recommend it.  It is beautiful and calming; just right for Tristan.

 

There has been a little quick and delightful knitting, a repeat performance of this pattern. which I have named this time:

 

 Lemon Curd

I love this little sweetheart of mine for being courageous in sub-zero temperatures and showing off that smile (we call it The Boudazin Smile) uncannily similar to her father's and grand-father's!

 

The pattern is Karen Borrel's scrumptious Bulle, the yarn, found in my stash, is Quince & Co.'s Lark (so easily purchased and reasonably priced) in the Carrie's Yellow colourway.  The model is my very own :-)

 

My Ravelry notes are here.

There has been a batch of Lemon Curd whisked up this week too. I love French Tarte au Citron but Lemon Curd is so quintessentially British to me and conjures happy childhood memories.  I have given up butter and chocolate for Lent - goodness knows how long that will last - but I have found this amazing French Lemon Curd recipe which has no butter in it.  It is made in minutes, tastes sublimely tart and, quite honestly, I don't think it will last for long in this household!

 

Crème de Citron

You will need:

 

4 lemons

150g sugar

3 eggs

1 dessert spoonful of cornstarch

 

Wash and zest the lemons (the recipe suggests 2 lemons but I recklessly zested all 4 with wonderful results) and place the zest and juice from all 4 lemons in a saucepan with the sugar and cornstarch.  Stir whilst heating gently.  Wisk the eggs and add to the warmed ingredients in the pan and, over high heat, stir continuously until the lemon curd thickens.  It took me about 5 minutes. Pour into a sterilized glass jar.

 

It tastes sublime!

 

May I introduce you to a little spring bunny?

 

Mademoiselle Blossom

Along the banks of the river Loire I have caught glimpses of delicate pink blossom bursting timidly forth on windswept trees which have inspired me to create Mademoiselle Blossom, a breath of spring air! Pink blossom like frosting on a girl's birthday cake; a celebration of sorts. She is a gentle and refined little lady, both delicate and pale, who relishes French patisserie such as macarons. The ones in the picture are rose and chocolate, vanilla, and honey with lemon.

 

I was fully intending to put her up here shortly after placing her on my shop shelves but I'm afraid to say she has just been purchased as I was writing the opening paragraphs to this post; I'm so sorry!  Perhaps it might be a good idea, if you are interested, to pop over to Madame Millefeuilles, my shop, or again, Madame Millefeuilles, my facebook page to stay informed of newly created hares?  (I am starting up on some new designs for the shop which I am most excited about).  I prefer keeping this space of mine relatively shop talk free!

 

I hope you are all having a wonderful weekend dear friends.  It is always a pleasure to read your comments and your thoughtful emails.  Thank you so much!

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie

 

ps Just as talkative as ever, right? :-)

 

 

 

 



Drifting Towards Spring

Dear readers,

(Should you be in need of a splash of colour there are two cheery hares waiting for you at the end of this post!)

Misty, overcast, gloomy, and grey.  Oh, and did I mention the rain we've been having?  Walking along the slippery banks of the Loire this afternoon we observed a swiftly flowing river with high water levels.  It's hard to believe in such moments that the Loire Valley is considered to be the Garden of France.  And yet, there have been signs of Spring this week!  On Wednesday, the day in France when primary schools are closed, on returning home from Tristan's morning at music school I felt the urge to fling the windows and doors open and ... clean!  There was some undefinable magic at work which filled the children and I with gladness and caused quite a stir with the birds in and around our garden.  The air resounded with the sound of woodpeckers tap, tap, tapping on bark.  It was chilly still - the doors and windows were firmly shut again two hours later - but there was a special kind of sunlight this Wednesday noon which suggested hope and looked down kindly at the crocus heads pushing through the soil ready to join the crowds of nodding snowdrops.

 

I have been delving into some treasured books: The Virago Book Of Women Gardeners and Notes From The Garden: A Collection Of The Best Garden Writing From The Guardian famous in my household for its article about a gnome abducted from a women's garden and returned to her doorstep seven months later along with a photo album picturing him in the twelves countries he visited with his abductor!   (You can find both books here and here.) A few pages prior to the Garden Gnome with "itchy feet" there is a different but just as thought-provoking article entitled: "The Female Garden" dating back to May 26 1982. The journalist, Felicity Byran, explained that the three modern gardens she loved most - that of Rosemary Verey near Cirencester, of Eve Molesworth at Iver, and Joyce Robinson at Arundel -  were "all creations of women who are gifted and knowledgeable amateurs.  It is not just that they enjoy them visually.  It is the surprise element, the eccentricity and daring, you might say - odd plants and colours juxtaposed and intertwined regardless of rules - that make them thrilling.  They are also happy gardens with nothing rigid about them."

via

Having pored over French plans and gardening treatises dating back to the sixteenth- and seventeenth centuries, such as André Le Nôtre's Versailles Gardens shown above, I have had more than my fair share of "rigid" garden design.  I was intrigued, therefore, further into the same article to read Penelope Hobhouse's thoughts on female gardening: " 'I'm sure,' says Penelope Hobhouse, 'that men feel much more strongly about straight lines.  With women it's much more like embroidery - interweaving colours and textures.' "

Of course many prominent women gardeners have also been painters or much involved with applied arts.  Gertrude Jekyll is the classic example.  Marvellous examples of her handiwork, particularly needlework, still exist, and it was only when she was fifty and suffering from failing eyesight that she turned exclusively to the art of gardening in her home at Munstead Wood in Surrey.  Thus began a stream of wonderful books and her famous partnership with architect Edwin Lutyens which created so many enchanted gardens.  Hobhouse, an authority on Gertrude Jekyll, feels that she needed Lutyens as much as he needed her.  Felicity Bryan goes on to write in her article: 'for only an architect (and only a man?) could make that bold framework - the incredible stone-work, the pergolas, vistas, inverted steps etc - and only she could soften it with the brilliant use of billowing plants and shrubs'.

via

But is it that simple?  After all, André Le Nôtre and his band of contemporary garden designers were capable of thinking beyond the straight line and embracing the curve as the parterre in the gardens of Vaux-le-Vicomte above testifies!  So what do you think?  Are men more at ease with rigid design and women instinctive design softeners?

 

I myself am fascinated by both straight lines and curves.

This is a detail of my recently completed Driftwood by the talented designer Veera Välimäki.  This pattern has a clever twist which incorporates extra lines a third of the way through the design causing the wrap to widen gently.  Simple lacework creating curves and straight lines which have soothed me in the evenings and brought me back regularly to the rows of vines being pruned ready for spring.

Driftwood knitted with Madelinetosh Pashmina in Sugar Plum which makes this wrap drape spectacularly! 

 

My Ravelry notes are to be found here.

 

Finally I am sharing a couple of my latest hares inspired by spring and headed for warm Australia:

 

Mademoiselle Valentine

and

 

Mademoiselle Spring Dreams

Isn't that piece of 1900's tulle with hand embroidered raised dots beautiful?

 

I have the joy of working on a few customer orders (always a pleasure) but I promise to post a few pictures of my next hare to pop into my shop.  Spring is approaching fast and I feel particularly inspired to create so should you have a burning desire for an Easter hare, I would be happy to oblige.

 

That's enough shop talk I think.  I leave you with a picture of Tristan who has just celebrated his ninth birthday!

Happy birthday Tristan!  Poetic, musical, considerate, truly sweet-natured, and a prankster!  We could not wish for a more inspiring son.

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie

 



Winter Gardening With Threads

Dear readers,

Whilst gazing with pleasure the other day at Annie's February Floral Mood Board over at Knitsofacto I suddenly recalled with a whoop of joy that I have in my possession a painting my mother made of her garden flowers gathered in February a few years ago.  For those of you, like Green Rabbit Design's lady, Vivienne, who are impatiently awaiting the arrival of Lady Spring, my mother's work may gladden your weary hearts.  These flowers were flourishing in her garden in the last two weeks of February.  Surprising, don't you think?  Thankfully my mother painted similar mood boards for the ensuing months.  She has always been very good about bringing her garden into our childhood home; small posies often ornamented our meal times and there was a lot of artwork which expressed her passion for gardening and carried us through the winter months whilst the garden was slumbering.

Gardening inspires so many art forms.  In Cesare Ripa's Iconologia, a frequently reprinted and translated emblem book first published in 1531 - intended to assist the inspiration of poets, painters, and orators - there is an intriguing  portrayal of Art.

via

She is portrayed as a woman in a flowing green robe (according to the written description).  In her right hand she holds a hammer, a pencil, and a burin, three tools needed for the artist's imitation of nature. In her left hand she holds a stake supporting a climbing palnt.  The commentary explains that "the Stake supplies Nature's Defects, in holding up the tender plant".  The emblem expresses, therefore, a commonly held idea that art does not just copy nature but improves her.  A 'garden' (a plant guided and supported by a stake) symbolises this relationship.

I am no painter but, in a similar manner to my mother, perhaps, I do like to express my passion for horticulture but with threads and fabric.

A detail of this needlework bag.

Another trait I share with my mother is a love for detail.  Clearly I am not alone!  Renaissance gardeners and needleworkers liked nothing better than to cover the surface of their respective grounds with intricate patterns.  The ideal garden, like the ideal embroidery, wa a place where, as Thomas Campion put it in 1601, all was work and nowhere space:

And would you see my mistress' face
It is a flowery garden place
Where knots of beauties have such grace
That all is work and nowhere space

In gardening, as in decoration, the Renaissance objective was to improve nature or correct it: "t'excell the natural with made delights," as Edmund Spenser put it in 1579.  Embroiderers exaggerated the decorative qualities of plants by using gold or silver threads and even pearls and precious stones.  Elaborately embroidered costumes and decorative gardens were perfect complements for each other.  During open-air entertainments, silk, satin, and velvet costumes embroidered with a dazzling array of small flowers, leaves, birds, and insects must have shone as alluringly as the garden flowers themselves.

These cards, taken from a box set from the famous Parisian embroidery school Ecole Lesage, have detailed instructions on the back for each design.

Of course gardens have been brought into the home since Roman times - as wall paintings in Pompeii villas testify - until our present day.  Think eighteenth-century floral wallpaper or nineteenth-century William Moris textiles. It is a fascinating and extensive subject which I would be delighted to converse with you about for many hours!

I feel a little foolish to end this post with doll pictures but Angélique's third birthday (on Saint Angèle's Day, January 27th) brought a new friend to our home.  With the arrival of Violette (one of the famous French Corolle dolls) I found another of my childhood memories resurfacing alongside my mother's garden: a passion for making doll's clothes.  You may chuckle but this little lady, measuring 13" (33 cm), took France by storm when she became the famous Marie Claire Idées bimonthly magazine emblematic doll a few years ago.  She is the perfect model for doll's clothes!    

This little dress - a little garden inspired - was made with a French fabric which smacks of eighteenth-century textiles.  That little cap is so very Holly Hobbie, don't you think?

Of course this spring dress was made as part of Angélique's birthday present (she had a lovely birthday, thank you!) but, honestly speaking, it was just as much a gift for the child in me.  There will be more doll stitching too.  This outfit is only the beginning but I have visions of old-fashioned rather than modern clothes.

Now what about you?  How do you bring nature and gardens into your homes?  Do you prefer detail or simplicity? Both have their places, of course. And finally, please tell me, are there any more doll's clothes stitchers out there?

A bientôt,

Stephanie

ps I really must update my Gallery of Hares with, for example, my Mademoiselle Valentine, and I think it only fair that the next Mademoiselle available for purchase be shown on this blog at the same time as on Madame Millefeuilles!

pps If you are interested in reading matter and references in relation to the connection  made between gardening and art I would be more than happy to supply you with a few book titles.

ppps  Hello Gail! If you are reading this have you noticed that Violette is sitting on the fabric for Lili's hare's dress?

pppps All this talk of flowers and gardens makes me think I must change my header for something more springlike!

The Icicle Flower

The Snowdrop

Already now the snowdrop dares appear,

The first pale blossom of th'unripen'd year;

As Flora's breath, by some transforming power,

Had chang'd an icicle into a flower,

It's name and hue the scentless plant retains,

And winter lingers in its icy veins.

Anna Laetitia Barbauld

(c. 1766)

Each morning as we drive along the plateau where the Vouvray vineyards stretch out as far as the eye can see, Angélique chimes out: 'but Mummy why do the vineyards not have leaves?' (Please insert here a charming but somewhat affected-sounding French intonation.)  My immediate response is always: 'because it's winter and the vines are sleeping'.  This morning after dropping her off at the childminder's and popping back to check on Héloïse, freshly out of hospital after a wisdom teeth extraction, I returned to the vines to ponder over a worthy answer to my youngest daughter's question.

As I bent over those gnarled, twisted, slumbering stumps, coated in lichen and frost,  I thought how the next time Angélique would pop that recurrent question I would start off by telling her how funny it is that trees get naked in winter whilst we pile on extra clothes.  I might then go on to explain (in simpler terms) that in the depths of winter water turns into snow and ice so the vines cannot drink and so they pare down to a minimum.  Growth requires food and water, so they stop growing, and since the most growth happens in the leaves, the leaves fall.  I often marvel how in winter the vines look as though they might be perishing.  They are, of course, very much alive, their attention simply turning inward as they become a stark silhouette of inscrutable branches.  Come March they will begin to sprout tiny green shoots.  In May they will abound with vivid green foliage.  And the miracle starts all over again.

Should my answer discourage Angélique from posing this question again, I remain confident that she will find dozens more to ask before our short car journey is done.

Our long, wooden table is graced with an exuberant display of pink hyacinths which spill their scent and blooms over us.  I think of the gardens of Versailles and how the Sun King would order his gardeners to dig out and replant thousands and thousands of hyacinth bulbs, white, blue, and reddy-pink, overnight so that his courtiers and guests would marvel at the magical transformation which had taken place in the flowerbeds whilst they slept.  I also smile at how both courtiers and guests would be driven away from the gardens by the overwhelming scent of hyacinths.  We only have seven bulbs, thankfully.

There has been a lot of dreaming and creating this past fortnight.  I intend to continue dreaming and creating for the whole of this year (and beyond).  I have plans but I must work hard (around my children) to bring these plans to fruition.  I'm thrilled and candid all at the same time.  I generally consider myself to be a plodder who likes to run.  Small, constant steps forward work best for me.  Meanwhile I have been graced with hare orders and deeply, deeply touched by the kindness of others who communicate with me, by email mostly, their sweet, generous words of encouragement.  How may I express my gratitude to these wonderful souls?  Perhaps by endeavouring to create better.

I am caught between loving winter and feeling excited about the creative possibilities spring will bring: think of all those spring and Easter hares!  Angélique's third birthday is fast approaching with Tristan's hot on its tracks.  I love this time of year.  It's all about expectation and hope (as long as you can dodge the seasonal flu and cold viruses).

I made Mademoiselle Snowdrop because there is something magical about midwinter flowers.  They grow in shady places, their feet firmly planted in icy winter but are also the heralds of the glorious pageant of spring flowers. I think snowdrops are sweet-natured, timid, generous flowers (in Why Is The Snow White?  Snowdrop is the only flower to give her colour to Father Snow) and I am pretty certain they chime when they sing although, perhaps, their voices are mostly muffled by snowfall and howling winds.

I am fortunate to have a friend who specialises in French lace and fabrics who has recently supplied me with all manner of early twentieth-century lace and fabrics.  Mademoiselle Snowdrop's dress is fashioned from a piece of delicate French lawn and her body is made from hand-dyed linen.  I think of her more as a family keepsake than a toy.  She's off on her travels now and I shall miss her.  I love snowdrops (enough to have commissioned a pretty snowdrop necklace from Emma at Silverpebble last year).  After making Mademoiselle Snowdrop I re-read Monty Don's words as he describes the long parade of white flowers in his garden in The Ivington Diaries:

all [...] white flowers hint at other colours, and all need green to seem as white as possible. Green is the context that makes white look simultaneously rich and etheral.  White flowers tend to have less form and bulk than darker colours - this is because white bleaches out into the space around the plant. [...] White looks better within defined green shapes and contained areas.  At Sissinghurst this is done by edging the smaller beds with box hedges that are higher than the paths that divide them.  This creates an effect of boxes out of which the white planting erupts and doubles the amount of green in the garden.  It is a detail but one of real genius.

And finally, do the followers of Vanessa'a muched loved blog, Do You Mind If I Knit?  remember these pictures of a Snowdrop Theatre?  I love it and I miss Vanessa sorely.  Don't you?

I hope your weekend is peaceful and inspiring.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

ps Thank you to all of you who have visited Madame Millefeuilles recently where I am now at over 500 likers.

Confetti





 

 The Old and the New sharing a similar colour theme: 

 

1. A hand-stitched instrument case hastily put together when I received my Baroque oboe in 2008 wrapped up in newspaper!  For the smattering of readers who have been following me since I started Millefeuilles in June 2011 you will perhaps recall that I used a detail of the embroidered flowers for my first header.

 

2, 3, and 4. My twelfth and last pullover for the 12 Sweaters in 2012 over on Ravlery which has now become 13 Sweaters in 2013.  I remain undecided about whether to participate this year for the simple reason that I have set myself some other challenges which I am so very excited about.  Very excited indeed!  I cannot wait to share them with you.

 

The pattern for this little knit is Bella by Dani Sunshine which, should you wish to purchase it, comes together with Beck in an ebook called Small Streams.  The yarn is from The Uncommon Thread in the Confetti colourway: flashes of bright colours on a muted celadon.  A match made in Heaven which made for an amazing knitting experience.  As I type these words little Angélique, who is running around on her tiptoes (why isn't she wearing her slippers?), is wearing her new cardigan and it fits her beautifully.   It is also the softest knitted garment in her wardrobe to date. I am so happy with it as she is too.  Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of her completed Winter Confetti.  What a perfect image to celebrate the New Year with.  A multitude of coloured pieces of paper dotting the sky and ground at celebrations and at carnival.  (The origins are from the Latin confetti the plural of confetto, a small sweet. Interestingly, the Italian word for paper confetti is coriandoli which refers to the coriander seeds originally contained within the sweet.)  Confetti captures perfectly the way I perceive life: small, perfect, magical moments gently falling upon our everyday existence in plentiful quantities.  May each day of your new year have a generous dusting of confetti moments.  Which would you prefer?  Bright or muted colours?

 

The Uncommon Thread is filling her shop with a generous supply of new yarns tomorrow January 4th!  Be warned: this BFL wool is dangerously addictive.

 

Happy 2013 to you all!

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie