Brocanting

This morning we departed early in the direction of Arles for their brocante which happens once a month.

Blue blue skies, look up and everywhere, beauty abounds!

This fellow stole my heart and yet I resisted…. part of the wares of one of my favourite sellers, I imagined this hanging in my childrens bedroom.

Gorgeous plates stacked in a row.

How clever was this antique clothing dealer who hung vintage hats and handbags on the railings which frame Boulevard des Lices.

I saw so many incredible ribbons, this is Arles, the home of the Arlesienne ribbon – painted and printed velvet, and exquisite cut velvet ribbons for traditional Arlesienne costume.

Twinking cut crystal, calling to the magpie in me.

Tiny steel and glass beaded bags – miam miam

Incredible reliquaires in Arles – spot the gold fringing

This is only day 2 and I’ve lost my heart to France all over again.

Despite the grey heavy malcontent Provencal sky, my heart was light as a feather – it was brocante day.

The one day of the week where I am happy to rag myself from my comfortable, warm bed and sneak around the house before the sun has even come out to play.

Every Sunday morning feels a little like the Christmas mornings of my childhood. You know it is an ungodly hour to be awake and yet there is a tangible pulse of excitement in the air. Fast forward thirty years and I wake to the tantalising promise of a good days rummaging in dusty boxes and battered suitcases.

Last Sunday, it seems the weather forecast put off a lot of potential buyers, evidently only the absolutely insane junk lovers like myself ventured out. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but overheard sellers complaining on how the bad weather had driven away their clients and they would have to give their stuff away.

Give stuff away? can you imagine how wide my grin was at the promise of a bargain?

I lost my heart a little to this chair but couldn’t quite get my early morning brain to find a spot for it in my home….and it wasn’t small enough that I could sneak it home, hide it away and not have the French husband notice… believe me.

There is something just so beautiful with how deconstructed and lived in it is, who needs perfection?

This little scene made me smile. I imagined the old antiquaire setting up these toy soldiers, oblivious to the goings on around him, swept back to his childhood.

I noticed a lot of sellers didn’t take the time to unload their trucks properly or left their items in their boxes in case the threatened downpour came but this man had taken the time and care to create a miniature world in his 6m² demesne.

Another very funny moment that still makes me smile thinking back. I spotted these two grands dames out of the corner of my eye. Mother and daughter, early 1800s, in okay condition considering. But I couldn’t quite keep a straight face when the vendor tried to sell them to me. The lady hidden behind her mother actually had a moustache painted in the original painting, did the painter not think to do a little oil-based photoshop? I giggled.

Part of me thought of buying them and putting them somewhere where they would appropriately terrorise the family with their stern looks.

The toilet? Above the kids desk (“Do your homework or else”)?

Less amusing, much more serious things also called such as silverware. I didn’t go for the polished, neatly arranged sets (as per the above photograph) … no I pulled up my sleeves and dug into dirty deep wicker baskets to rummage amidst a hodge podge of tableware and chipped plates to find some gems.

If the hunting is too easy it isn’t any fun right?

These two suitcases came home with me. For some reason the colour ‘vielle rose’ or antique pink called to me throughout the morning. In the back of an unpacked truck overflowing with goodies yet to be put on display was a glimpse of dusty pink and leather. It turns out underneath the other furniture were exactly 10 drawers from an old sewing shop display cabinet (see the first photo above). I didn’t even give the seller time to unload his truck before I told him they were mine.

It was 9.05am and I’d only just started but already my arms were full. I must have been a funny sight, tottering down the platane lined avenue dwarfed by a towering stack of falling apart drawers – I just about made it to the car without my arms falling off.

Before living in France I had no idea that such things as crystal bottle stoppers existed. Now I marvel as they twinkle at me catching the little light there is, a trap for magpies such as I.

Tiny beads and pearls adorn tulle, oh la la, my heart beats faster. Turns out it is a tiny bridal jacket made for a doll. Do I need it – no, I buy it? Mais bien sûr I do!

Another of my kryptonites, Le Petit Echo de la Mode. Inside are diys, housework tips (these are sometimes very helpful or very funny), embroidery patterns and updates on the latest fashions in Paris of the epoque and how best to recreate these for yourself at home.  It is the 1900s paper version of Sweet Paul magazine and just as delicious.

Until next Sunday…. I am going to the land of silk and ribbon for two antique textile fairs….I’ll take lots of pics to share with you

My alarm was set for 6.30am – on a Sunday. Only one thing will make me drag myself out of bed on a weekend and that is the promise of a brocanting adventure.

I snuck around the house on my tip toes, anxious not to wake the children. Threw back a quick cup of coffee and crept out the back door. The sun was rising and it seemed that not a single soul was awake as I drove through Lacoste, Bonnieux and then down into the gorge that runs between Buoux and Lourmarin.

Giddy with happiness, my own personal soundtrack (created by my friend Claire) playing on the stereo … the thrill of the promise of treasure is a heady drug.

I drove through villages I had only ever seen on maps, small towns and villages with colourful shutters and majestic platane trees lining their Roman roads.

When I arrived at the textile and craft flea market, the car park was deserted and I had a horrible feeling that maybe it had been cancelled. I ventured inside the ‘salle de fete’ with every finger and toe crossed that I was wrong and – relief – there was a quiet, intimate gathering of makers, their unwanted linens, scraps and crafting tools laid out before them.

One of my favourite elements is meeting new faces, hearing stories of how they came to own their wares, or why they are selling their beloved collections. Most of the ladies this particular weekend were retired seamstresses, they regaled me with stories of their passion for sewing, educating me on the different types of lace stitching and French names for specific fabrics (do you know what a ‘Brise-bise’ is for example?) . Despite their desire to keep making, many found their eyesight was simply not good enough any more and they were clearing out their boxes and supplies.

This is a close up of the most incredible lace bridal headpiece – so beautiful!

Tables overflowing with crafting materials for scrapbooking and decoupage, the prices were really good but I maintained a steely focus (for once) and only sought out textiles.

A wonderful fountain or lavoir in Bonnieux, at 8am the sun was just rising and hitting the village walls.

My favourite table of the day! This particular seller had received a gift of antique linens from her best friend who had inherited her parents home over Christmas and was throwing out all of the linens as she had too many…. I don’t think I will ever be able to complain of owning too many hand-embroidered monogrammed linen sheets and tablecloths.

If you would like to join us brocanting, we are offering the Mini Muse Experience day out, we can organise anything from a French flea market morning to a full day outing (including trips to our preferred “by appointment only” dealers). Find out more here.

Now with the website for The French Muse finished and live, I’ve dared to step inside my neglected atelier to give it a spring clean and a bit of TLC.

I hung these incredible 1800s lace and tulle curtains, which are pretty much ‘dans leur jus’ after 120 years of use but the way the light shines through them is just beyond pretty. I found them at the brocante and might have muffled a teeny squeal of joy when the dealer sold them for a euro.

One of my favourite finds of recent weeks was a series of rusty tins all with funny titles on them, the real treasure lay inside. Skeins of the tiniest jewel toned steel beads.

Another Sunday not so long ago, I wandered around the stands with my friend Corey Amaro, just watching her brocante is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, she has such an expert eye that she quickly snaps up the good stuff before you even have the time to scan the table and utter ‘bonjour’. I did happen to pick up some charming trinkets and at home when I put them all together I allowed myself to imagine all these items in the handbag of beautiful women from the 20s. Her lipstick case still smudged with red inside, a photograph of her lover and love tokens.

My favourite finds go into this shelf on my desk so I can look and admire them as I work. To the left are some of my all time favourite ribbons made in late 1800s and to the right are rolls of beautiful hand printed wallpaper that I hope to use one day in our new home.

Something about the texture and pattern that the real gold thread makes against the french typeface makes my heart beat that much faster.

Inside another of my magical tins, real metal sequins, blown glass bugle beads and tiny stainless steel beads, just beautiful

I’ve cleared a space on a shelf for my antique textiles, some vintage Souleaido prints, an 1800s boutis, art deco velvet, gold trimmed vestment robes and lace. Delicious to see be able to see them and not have them hidden away in a drawer.

A bientot!

This weekend past I made a futile attempt at treasure hunting.

A slow Sunday morning was forgotten for an early morning start, my alarm rang out shrilly at the crack of dawn and bleary eyed I drove 55 mins to find the marché aux puces had been cancelled at the last minute, no reason was given. I stood alone in a desserted town square feeling very silly, little forlorn and cold with the Mistral howling around me. I thought of my warm bed and childrens morning cuddles that I could have been having right then.

Determined to make the best of it , I took the time to stroll (not run), to take photographs and soak in the architecture of the oldest streets of Avignon.

Old meets new and somehow it works.

I looked up and caught a glimpse of this joyful window dressing and smiled.

I would love to meet the person who lives in this tiny top floor apartment. Most of us dress the interiors of our home for our own pleasure and it made me wonder about the person who lives here, and I imagine them dressing their windowsill to spread happiness to passerbys.

After the last few fervorous months of launching Exquisite Threads, taking out ribbons, choosing which to part with (and which to keep) and photographing the final choices, I realised I hadn’t made anything in way too long. So I took out my beads and my boxes of forgotten notions which had been secreted away for a necklace or bracelet project since September. It has felt so good to be creating again, bringing treasures together to make something new and altogether different.  I discovered some antique lace appliques (still sewn onto the original netting) which I’ve been transforming into earrings combined with antique mother of pearl buttons – I’ll share the photographs with you later this week.

In making, I get to rediscover all of my hoarded treasures anew and in the process of taking everything out I felt a montage coming together which I wanted to share with you.

I didn’t have a colour scheme in mind but just some of my favourite antique finds, some I’ve had forever and some new additions.

Without realising it, the blues and metallics came together, echoing the winter landscape of the Luberon. Misty mornings, sun breaking through rain clouds and golden leaves on cherry trees in the valley between Bonnieux and Lacoste.

Real gold and silver woven ribbon fabric, morsels of beautiful scalloped gold metal trim, and my grandfathers handwritten script notes on the weight of the gold, the reference number and dates.

The wonderful antique gold star was lovingly wrapped and sent off to a kindred spirit, ribbon fiend in Derry in Northern Ireland.

This metal plate is an embroidery plate which I found in a textile flea market in Puyvert, I love the script and the name ‘Fannelly’ had an Irish lilt to it so of course it came home with me.

I know many of my Instagram friends love these metal bullion stars, I have a few which I’m going to be using in my jewellery work for the 2015 collection

I had shared glimpses of this beautiful bundle of 1800s silk samples on my instagram which I happened upon at the recent textile flea market in Lyon. I nearly didn’t see them, they were wrapped in string, all twisted and dusty hiding underneath a stack of broderie papers. But I glimpsed a slice of pattern and dug them out. It wasn’t until I got home, hours later, that I dared untie and discover the different morsels.

I thought you might like to see the different textile designs that lay within so hope you enjoy.

So I wanted to share these earlier but between a sick little boy who is off school and photographing some of the treasures I found at the weekend – I have delayed posting about my treasure truffling excursion at the weekend – so without further ado.

I do apologise in advance for the not so spectacular photographs, there was the most hideous spot lighting that turned everything a weird shade of green that combined with me having my hands full of ribbon and silk bobbins!

I’m often asked where I source my antique textiles and the answer is pretty straightforward. Firstly I am incredibly fortunate to be married to a famous silk family, the Faure family of St. Etienne and over the years I’ve managed to source within the family several echantillon books. Some of my finds were forgotten in beautiful wooden boxes in nooks under stairs, others stashed away in nondescript dusty old cardboard boxes, I even discovered some 1860s silk samples in a rusty military box under a childrens bed in a cabin in the woods of the family home. A lot of my favourite gems were found scrunched up in bin bags with only the vague glint of fil d’or giving away their potential for greatness.

As my collecting turned to hoarding turned to obsessive desire for everything antique and textile I extended my search to include local vide greniers, the summer brocante fairs and most recently textile flea markets.

At the weekend I drove 3 hours from Lacoste into the heart of the Rhone region, silk and passementerie country in search of ribbons and silks. My logic being, this is silk territory therefore I will find LOTS of silk and trims. I was not at all disappointed but really surprised that only one or two stands had passementerie and a lot of others were focussed on crafts, buttons (non antique), knitting and fabrics (new not old). I was delighted to talk to these women (and a few husbands brought along for the heavy lifting / toilet breaks), fellow textile addicts and makers.

My favourite moment was when I connected with a lovely older lady, and through my not perfect french we laughed over how we both loved the smell of old fabrics as we ironed them out after salvaging them from dirty bin bags. Forty or so years seperated us but we both shared that love for silk and old treasures.

Wonderful handmade lace

This lady was my favourite seller – she had an amazing eye – that or we both have really similiar tastes. Once she sensed my keen interest (putting it midly) for everything she had chosen that day – she started taking things out from boxes hidden under the stand. She would unfold linens and explain to me their specific use, an incredible square of embroidered and monogrammed linen which was used for covering the pillows (not a pillow case but one to hide your other pillows), or a beautiful embroidered sheet that would be put on the bed of a new mother for when visitors would come to the home to see the new baby. She was so giving of her knowledge – I spent about an hour just admiring everything she had in her stand.

Beautiful boy

I loved the little presentation touches on this particular stand

How incredible is the contrast between the purple velvet and the jet passementerie trim – it was far too expensive for me to buy

I fell in love with these beautiful little handmade dolls with 30s costumes.

Some mothers braved the flea market with their children, I caught this little boy pulling on his mothers trousers wanting to go home… not at all interested in the piles of fabric.

I passed a sign for a ‘Depot Vente’, the French version of a consignment store. I’ve passed this store more than a thousand times on my way to leave Charlotte to creche but never had the time to stop and have a look.

On a whim, I pulled off the main road and into the car park. Wandering past aisles of incredible old furniture, I wondered how anyone can ever furnish their homes with Ikea furniture.

I found the aisle with old books and out of the corner of my eye I spotted a crate with what looked like junk, crumbling book backs and a mouldy photograph album, it begged a closer look. My friend Corey always urges me to look under and inside dusty boxes, that’s where the good stuff always lies waiting.

I discovered a crumbling paper book and looked inside. It was someones creative sketchpad. Whoever had owned this book had filled it with handwriting and then layered over the top with found postcards, paper and trims. Each page is a wonder.

At the bottom of the dusty box, there was an old brown paper envelope, stained and nondescript. I tempted a peek…. I was afraid it was dead insects…so I carefully emptied them out on to the back of a book. Incredibly the envelope held tiny velvet millinery flowers dating from the 20s.  A very happy days hunting!