Life in France

We left early, and missed the correct exit on the autoroute finally arriving three hours deep into the belly of a beautiful gorge  in the Cevennes. A few weeks prior I had been invited to come to the home and warehouse of one of my favourite brocante dealers. The chance to step inside the real world of an antique textile collector was much too tempting to turn up and so we set a date and brought our French muse invitees on an adventure.

Our host houses her vast 30 years in the making collection of antique & vintage textiles collection – appropriately you might say –  in an old factory that once made silk stockings in the early 1900s. 

You couldn’t get more off the beaten track and we were all giddy with anticipation at the heavy promise of textile gold.

I stepped through the door of her atelier and literally felt my head spin. Boxes upon boxes overflowed with pattern; 8ft high folded piles of antique piqué reminded of the most sumptuous millefeuille pastry, one blanket more beautiful than the next.

Everyone’s head was spinning.

When there is no apparent order to the glorious contents of hundreds of boxes it is overwhelming to know where to start.

I couldn’t talk, I had to just focus on one box at a time.

Pattern but also silver and gold, and buttons, and lace, and millinery flowers, and thread….hold on I can’t concentrate.

So much beauty, slices of happiness in each handful.

An assortment of Autumn inspired patterned antique textiles that have been pulled out for a more seasonal stock at the flea market.

…but of course I forgot I also found some steel beads and jet embellishments

…and an incredible Aubusson tapestry belt that alas was too expensive for me to take home

…I did take these beauties home though, silk embroidered panels and 1920s art deco lamp beading fringe

…and this deliciously moth eaten 1800s indigo piquée – pretty much devoured but achingly beautiful – Sold!

It was exhausting, happy work and we were glad when a plate of fresh French pastries was presented – and swiftly demolished – especially those crispy caramelised almond bits – they didn’t stand a chance!

Sacristains and Palmier – trop bon!

Tiny cardboard boxes filled with dress remnants, tulle and glass beads.

Sold!

Altar silk and bobbin lace – oh yes – we’ll take that – MERCI!

Patterns from the 1800s right up until the 1990s

Our friend who has touched & traded the most incredible textiles over the last 30 years shared her private collection with us. What makes her heart sing and which items will she never part with? Anciens ‘Blouses’ – workers clothes such as these trousers… Turn them inside out and behold a tapestry of mending stitches, layers of history and a tangible link to the human story behind a garment

The initalled monogram surrounding the ‘coeur de la Vendee’ which has been hand stitched into the back of an indigo wool cape from 1790’s, worn by a Vendean Rebel, The War in the Vendée (1793 to 1796; Guerre de Vendée) was an uprising in the Vendée region of France during the French Revolution. Our host found this in an abandoned caravan and had to soak and soak and soak it until it came clean.

She also shared photographs of her all time favourite items – such as these darned pairs of knee socks.

Unforgettable, emotional and something for every textile taste, a happy day of discovery indeed!

Spurred on by the opportunity to learn indigo with Maura Grace Ambrose of Folk Fibers at an indigo dying atelier with the wonderful SCAD alumni Fiber artists a few weeks ago – I knew I had to offer our French Muse guests the opportunity to get the indigo bug. If they were anything like me they would become instant indigo addicts.

It seemed only natural to me to bring our ladies to the ancient village lavoir in Lacoste. Once a meeting point for villagers to do their laundry – it has been restored but is rarely used nowadays for laundry.

I noticed an elderly villager drive past us four or five times taking in our activity, as we dipped our white linens in and submerged them in the indigo then hung them to dry on the lines.

My imagination went into overdrive, would we be reported to the Mairie? it was hard to read his expression.

On the fifth turn, he slowed and pulled in. He stepped out of his car smiling. His eyes took in our indigo-tinged hands & feet and the lines of drying linen. He half whispered to us, voice choking with emotion, saying it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in many years.

As he motioned to the drying linens, he did his best to hold back tears as he described how our activity was transporting him back 60 years to when he was first married. He spoke of how his wife would come to do her laundry at the lavoir, expressing both sadness (at the memory) but also happiness in seeing this corner of Lacoste be brought to life once again.

I couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction from my neighbours and am so thankful to have been able to participate in this special moment.

“The use of the lavoir was prohibited on certain days, such as the week between Christmas and New Years day, the Holy week, and the ‘octave of the dead’ on November 2, because of the believed presence of souls on Earth on those days. Souls were thought to purify themselves on open bodies of water functioning as purgatories.”*

A Lavandiere – the village laundress:

“Lavandieres were said to “read” clothes, underwear, and sheets, compiling information as their main fortune. Known for their uncensored gossip and feared for their knowledge of the townspeoples intimate lives, these women held considerable power among the local populace. Even though they did not have the respect of the bourgeoisie, the lavandieres enjoyed a deep sense of community. When needed, they would hasten to one another’s side, and they knew when discretion was necessary. For a young woman in trouble, the lavoir was the first place to go in quest of solidarity, advice, and moral support since laundresses knew social marginality.”*

“Life at the lavoir was bustling with activity and noise. The loudness of the often-vaulted space, saturated in the white noise of flowing water and punctuated by the beating of laundry, led to high volume conversations. The space of the lavoir has been compared to a womans version of the cafe, where men engaged in animated discussions on local politics and village life.”*

“The lavoir represented a uniquely feminine space of relative emancipation. “*

“Fortune tellers interrupted laundry days, reading the oracle in the flotation patterns of linens.”*

“Such a unified community of women was often alarming to the men of the town. It was suspected that decisions were first envisioned at the lavoir, then brought to the privacy of each household where they were infiltrated into the collection consciousness of the voting gender.”*

The adjoining fountain provides ‘eau potable’ – fresh drinking water for the village. In summer I often see cars stopping here and families file out to fill their empty galon water bottles.

**Note – wonderful quotations from the book ‘Lavoirs: Washhouses of Rural France’ By Mireille Roddier

We dyed on a grassy hill just beside the lavoir – so as not to permanently dye the 500 year old cobble stones blue. I didnt get a chance to take photographs as I was elbow deep in a bucket of indigo but if you are tempted to see photos of the dying-rinsing-dying-rinsing process then go on over to Coreys blog Tongue In Cheek for a behind the scenes look at todays indigo fun!

…and so our September adventure begins. Our five somewhat jetlagged but super excited guests have arrived safely, hitting the brocante ground running with a trip to one of our favourite secret treasure truffling spots.

As our guests unpack their bags upstairs in the bastide – I wanted to quickly share some photographs of our special table settings for tonights cocktail dinatoire.

The colours of France:

Red … berries bouquets foraged from a Provencal garden (I’ve got the thorn pricks to prove it), the deep red of the creme de cassis in our Kir cocktails and of course the very drinkable Chateau Eydins organic red to accompany the dinner…

Blue … rare antique siphons, hand dyed indigo monogrammed linens, antique printware porcelain de Gien service, faded blue shutters and of course the big blue clear Provencal sky

White …platters of goats cheese made by friends in Saignon and the homemade ice-cream from the Tinel in Bonnieux.

Corey wouldn’t let me take a photograph of her working her magic in the kitchen – but believe me it all looks too good to eat

I can’t wait to sit and break baguette and get to know these wonderful women who have trusted us to make an unforgettable week for them…

Bon appetit and join us on our adventures tomorrow

x

Excitement is mounting as tomorrow morning we welcome our September French Muse experience guests to Lacoste.

It is magical to be back at this beautiful bastide as the final days of summer are ushered in. Leaves are turning golden and the hedgerows are coloured red and blue with Autumn berries.

Here is a sneak peak of the presents we pulled together for our five guests; hand dyed indigo antique lace; velvet milliners flowers sourced from a Paris puce; a 1930s notebook, MT tape to catch and keep memories, a spool of 1800 silk and a handsome French retreat companion.

The sky is so blue and the forecast for our week ahead is perfect adventure weather

Our home for the week is a 150 year old bastide, family portraits hang on the walls and armoires are filled with monogrammed family linens – it is a real, French home, filled with love, memories and quirks.

I can’t help but get giddy when I think of the week ahead…

the homes we will visit;

the collections that will be revealed;

getting our hands dirty and loving it – during our indigo and shibori workshop;

stories shared over Coreys wonderful home cooking;

treasures that we’ll share over ‘show and tell’ aperitif;

passion and love for all that is time-worn, handmade, dusty and darned…

If you had only seen me diving into the hedge to forage some berries for dressing the table for our welcome cocktail dinatoire..

For those not able to be here with us in Provence you can follow us on our adventures – we’ll be posting on both our blogs

Tongue in Cheek

and Instagram:    Famille Ribeaucourt      and     Corey Amaro

Our friends Josef & Willemijn, aka ‘Our Dutch family’ as we call them, come to Lacoste every summer and ever since they installed their own pizza oven in their outdoor kitchen we relish an invite to come make pizza.

We arrive as the sun is sinking, transforming their forest garden into a mystical place bathed in warm golden rays of evening sunshine.

Life is good when we are surrounded by our favourite people and the smells of baking dough!

 Little hands are taught how to roll dough

Toppings are added, mozzarella and tomato sauce of course but also aubergine, red onions, parma ham, emmenthal cheese, endives and mushrooms

What is not to love about pizza parties?

Their home is tucked away from everyone, in the wild, ‘real’ Provence of Lacoste. Nothing here is pruned or geometrical, rather nature takes over and every inch smells delicious, thyme, immortelle, rosemary and pine warmed by the sun.

Louis’s best friend of summer 2015, artist Michael Birch Pierce. The inseperable duo – even their pizza making is a beautiful choreographed ballet.

And out of the oven they come – sliced up and devoured by hungry, happy people.

Of course it always helps digestion to partake in a little trampoling straight away after

I’ve been very quiet here, I know those that follow me on instagram are in on our exciting news but I forgot to write about it here.

We bought our first home!

Antique fil de fer baskets and bauhmann stools

Buying a home in France is a tense, overdrawn, paperwork-heavy process which calls on every pinch of patience you have stored up. Thank god I have a French husband as I think I would have packed the whole thing in five months ago…but the bank said yes, our house owners agreed to a price and after the obigatory three month wait period (during which the Towns ‘mairie’ can swoop in and buy the property from under you if you are unlucky)  – we got our keys Monday!!!

Thonet chair and one of my favourite paintings

It finally feels real.

The last few weeks have been a dizzying race to take measurements, get estimates, design a kitchen (change the room and redesign the kitchen all over again), fill boxes and being utterly ruthless when deciding what stays and what goes to our new home.

My arms are aching, muscles I forgot existed are crying out with exhaustion after two long days of painting and hauling boxes and furniture….but it is a blissful, joyful thrill of an ache…to finally be laying down some roots.

1920 Antique rotin chaise longue which we inherited from one of the oldest homes in Lacoste

We have been renting for so long that it is taking quite some adjustment to know we can create exactly the home we want. Paint the walls whatever colour suits us, hang curtains and paintings and antique light fittings… I really can’t wait to share the plans as they progress.

A bientot!

Michel Biehn artwork

Imagine one day you strike up conversation with a stranger and happily discover you share an addiction to collecting antique textiles – kinship over old threads – love it!.

This new friend, Anna, confides that she is in the process of downsizing and is building her very first ‘new-build’ home.  It turns out she just so happens to have boxes upon boxes of antique textiles; ticking; linens; tapestries; 1800s fabric, antique Provencal piqué and boutis in storage and would love to find a way to sell them without having to drag them around from one antique fair to another.

I mention I have a group of kindred spirits coming to Provence for the French Muse experience and the idea for a private textile brocante sale is hatched.

I went to visit her a few weeks before our retreat and as I stepped over scaffolding and into her beautiful home it became very obvious that Anna has an incredible eye, even in its unfinished state, there was a delicious marriage of pattern, texture and light, I was ready to move in if she invited me to!

….Somehow she had forgotten to mention she has been featured in many quintessential books about Provence and interior design…. I remember the heat of a blush forming when I realised my new friend was a pretty big deal…. and I was literally stepping inside the pages of one of my favourite interior design books – ‘Textile Style’.

Anna brought me to a little sideroom and started to open up random cardboard boxes to show me what she had put aside for sale for our private French Muse brocante…. my textile taste buds salivated and I lost a good part of my heart in that little room pouring over the contents of these boxes.  For nights afterwards, I dreamed of the patterns, of the little rips in the timeworn fabrics lovingly repaired with delicate tiny handstitching, the tattered silks, even the smallest most throwaway cuttings whispered to me to make, to create, to take them home.

I would wake in the morning and write to Anna to tell her so – I’m sure she thought I was a crackpot…

One of Annas creations, a miniature iron day bed with antique textile upholstery

We saved our visit to chez Anna to our last full day of the French Muse experience. The morning of our visit, I rose earlier than planned, too excited to sleep with all that we had planned and I couldn’t wait to share Annas vision and creativity with our guests.

An incredible textile artwork caught my eye, a one of a kind creation made by my hero, the inimitable Michel Biehn – whose book, La Conversation des Objets, is my go-to book for inspiration.

Just off the living room, Anna brought us into a beautiful guest bedroom with William Morris wallpaper and a family heirloom portrait.

Annas home has textiles and art from all over the world, an ancient African tribal ceremonial skirt hangs opposite an antique Swedish gold leaf mirror. A side table covered with a patterned Provençal antique piqué sits beneath a very contemporary sculptural artwork. It is beautiful, understated and intuitive.

An 1800s portrait of Annas mother as a child, the background is gold leaf and absolutely mesmerising.

Antique tapestry with original tag handsewn…be still my heart!

Morning light streamed in through the living room illuminating one of the stacks of antique French ticking that Anna had chosen to part with.

Michel Biehn detail

A once in a lifetime experience that I am so grateful for.

Thank god for the Irish gift of the gab!

Now to start planning our September French Muse experience!

I just realised I had never shared this wonderful short film that was made in 2013 by two filmmaking students, Kendall Kiesewetter & Jen Hancock during their term in Lacoste. It features Louis in his first film role and (I know I’m his mother so potentially bias) but I do think he plays a blinder.

Enjoy!

Une Petite Façon de Faire from EndAll Productions on Vimeo.

It has been a tough week, emotionally and physically. We helped a friend box up 60 years of memories, a home where he has spent every summer since he was ten years old.

In between filling boxes and sorting furniture we heard stories of Henris first kiss, an unrequited teenage love affair, memories of his father throwing moonlit ceremonies to cast away succubus, afternoons spent sculpting with stone from the Lacoste quarries, and summers as an adult watching his children play on the same terrace of his childhood.

He was on his own to decide what was to be discarded and what to keep.

His daughter asked if she could have the tiny ancient bell that sounded everytime the front door opened. His son wanted to keep one of his grandfathers straw hats.

Henri took a beautiful sculpture his father had carved. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sculpture and how it was such a tangible connection to his father, stone that had turned under his hands, a transfer of energy that had created something beautiful, more than a piece of clothing or photograph. Stone that had absorbed the rays of Provencal sun over the years.

I lay in bed last night and felt that sculptures presence. The female  stone goddess guarding over Lacoste from her high perch just inside Le Portail de Chevres. One of Henris fathers sucubes.

His mothers sewing machine lay gathering dust in the corner.

Little caves untouched in the last 60 years, I discovered a cache of oak barrels and dusty bonbonnes, a set of iron letters that spelt ‘Pharmacie’ and an 1800s altar chair buried under broken tiles.

Raphael invited a SCAD photography student, Patrick Bepko to document the process, his images capture perfectly the beating heart of this home and the immense sense of sadness in having no choice but to leave it behind.

One of Henris fathers hats on its perch.

 Harvest – souvenirs of summers past

Mismatching cups and pottery that didn’t find a new home.

After a morning spent moving boxes and furniture, we sat and broke bread, a heavy unspoken sadness weighed on every ones mind.

Friendship, it doesn’t matter the years that seperate you in age.

It is to reach out and let someone know they are not alone.

To view more of Patricks beautiful images visit his instagram gallery