Wednesday, January 27, 2010

esprit collectif

It was time.
Time to visit the French Antiquariess again.

As I navigated my way through the
chaos of the city streets,
my thoughts were constantly interrupted by the
empty sounds of daily life.
Flashing lights, blaring horns, revving engines
and bypassers conversations
of last nights, prime time shows. All like notes on
a sheet of music that had no melody, no meaning.
My soul needed a sanctuary.

I found my stride gaining pace.
Was it spontaneous order OR my wanting to escape it?

Breathing out of sync, I finally arrive at
her doorstep puffing.

A welcome site. The hand that always calls
for me to reach out and grasp it.
The hand that appears so delicate and fragile,
yet endures time.
A fitting introduction to Madame Antiquariess,
I think to myself.

I don't know that I have ever been so aware
of the "moment of relief".
There was no need for immediate conversation.
Madame Antiquariess was quite familiar
with the routine.
Glancing at the clock, I noticed my time of arrival, 10:55.

As I browsed the shop, my wine in hand, the only
sound was that of the clock, softly ticking.
So quiet, why so quiet?
Random moments, when I was aware of
Madame, she would acknowledge me with an approving smile.

As my eyes marveled at Madame's communication
skills, I heard her whisper in my mind,
"the eyes see only what the mind is prepared
to comprehend".
Still, it was so very quiet.

Eyes shut, by the light of a candle,
I succomb to the stories
my fingertips reveal to me.

As my fingers follow the lines of the Louis XVI table,
I loose my sense of self. 
The French Spirit starts to envelop me.
Like the antique pieces
before me,
my soul becomes a part of the vignette.
Each one enhancing the beauty of the collective.

Picking up each intaglio, and then the next,
I notice I make no sound.

Like the artist's hand that chisled the intaglio's,
I want to consciously create that which is me,
and like the signatured boxes that hold them,
 I need a safe haven at times, from the journey.

Madame, is it coincidence that the Eiffel Tower
points to the heavens?
Are there such things as coincidence?

Madame, is it frivolous of me to think that
such things would have meaning?
Are they merely the result of mortals attempting
to achieve immortality?

Madame Antiquariess was silent.
Her silence only magnified the stillness.

A wonderful place to capture the French Spirit.

Spinning around in a frantic, I realized
that time had escaped me. I was sure at least
an hour had passed.
Bises for Madame while hurriedly fetching my coat,
I turned to check the time.
The hands of the clock had not moved, 10:55.

As I left my santuary and closed the door
behind me, I was greeted by the sounds and
distractions of everyday life.
It was so quiet there, I recalled, but
I do remember reading somewhere,
there is no sound in space.

Melanie of Le Petit Cabinet de Curiosites, asked how I would
define the French Spirit.
I have attempted to do that with this post.
For me, when I am in France or around
French antiques, I always feel as if I am a
part of something larger than myself.

Merci beaucoup to James XVI of Garvinweasel
for passing the Kreative Blogger award my way.
That post will come later, perhaps.

Bisou for now
photos via Rocaille Gallerie

Saturday, January 09, 2010


Ro-kay, I know I'm not what you expected, but I guilted
Mommy into letting me guest bow-wow blog today,
since she has been really busy.
Je m'appelle Zoe.

I am three now and have been working,
napping at the shop since I was a pup.
I also sit in Mommy's lap whenever she reads
her favorite French magazines.
Those rumors about all of us pups being color blind,
not true. At least I'm not anyway.
I think I also have a bit of decorating scents.
I'll just show you some of my favorite things,
promise I won't take you under any tables.

I love France, even though I've never been,
Mommy tells me stories of how doggie-friendly
they are. Someday, maybe we will catch up.
Our shop is doggie-friendly though!
I helped Mommy with this vignette.
Us little folks like French antiques too,
so I suggested the mirror and demi-johns
on the floor.

I like the cream and natural color scheme too,
cuz... well cuz...

I thought I would look good with those colors.
Don't you think?
That is a drop cloth on the chair, so no need for
panic from you, well you know.

I like little decorator touches like pillows,
especially when they have King Charles on them.
He is the old style King Charles breed, one of my
ancestors. I'm a Cavalier King Charles.

I had to show you one of my favorites.
Chez Chien
I just can't bring myself to say the D-word.
French is much more romantic.

I sold that for Mommy to one of my friends,
Bark about a pampered pouch.
She cried for water in a campagne bucket!
I still prefer my cafe-au-lait bowl,
I hate to get my ears wet.

I had Mommy put this moss tree on top of
the French antique boulangerie table.
No, it's not what you think.
I'm a girl.
I also like the potpourri's up high.
Too strong near the nose, plus when I was
younger, I chewed some up.
I've outgrown that now.

I like benches too.
Mommy won't let me on this Louis XVI style walnut bench,
because of the caned seat.
I think it would be cute with a nice
down cushion on it.
Don't you?

J'adore chicken!
This is a terra cotta folkart piece.
Mommy thinks it was some type of ruff roof decoration
long ago.
I'm more fond of plate decoration.

I think these type chickens would be an
authentic French touch.
Still trying to convince her on that one.
Sometimes it is difficult to overcome
my animal instinct,
even though I have been peopleized.

This is one of our little people.
I love little people too!
A Stockman mannequin from the 1800's.
He has wooden boots that detach.
No, I did not chew on his leg.
I only lick legs!
Mommy bought him that way.

These are the only type of chien bones
I chew on.
My French chef friend made these for me and my friends.

Tomorrow we need to do a vignette
with this French antique sign.
It says candles & crowns.

We should tie it in with our candlesticks and crowns.

This blogging is hard work.
Also, I'm sensitive about my feets,
so no comments from Seussville please.

I have enjoyed bow-wow blogging for you today,
but time to go.
A girl needs her beauty rest.
Au-ruffvoir !!

please support your local humane society