Thursday, February 10, 2011

Intimités du Coeur

Cher Madame Antiquariess,
Oh Madame, please forgive me as I have not put pen to paper for awhile, but know that you are always radiant in my thoughts.
I have some exciting things to share with you.
Do you know the place Verona, Italy? More specifically,
the casa of Julliet Capulet at 23 Via Capello?
Oh, the story so intriques me Madame, as I know it will you too.
Romantics from all over the world go there to leave letters to Julliet. The walls near her balcony are covered with scraps of paper bearing intimacies of the heart.

This is a place where the line is blurred Madame. The line between reality and imagination, and yes, the letters are answered. What a magical place Madame! A place where believing with such conviction makes it real. A place where, when the heart speaks...someone listens.

It reminds me of all the letters I've written to you Madame and have plastered on my wall. Why some, would probably scoff at the notion. Have they never been to such magical places Madame?

Why when in my friend, Elise’s garden, in the South of France, I am unsure of who to converse with first. The pixies, nixies, nymphs or Pigwidgeons. They all compete for my attention.

Oh Madame, there is simply nothing better than walking into a Fairytale. A place where the walls become the pages of the book and the characters begin to cross the line.

This is the Kingdom of Monique. A small barn in a village outside Paris, where Monique writes her story. A place where the walls are also covered with intimacies of the heart.

A place where pieces of the past, become au courant and the "Marchand de Vin" rules.

A place where eighteenth century antiques reside in harmony with the present. A terra cotta bust, an oil portrait, and a mirror of mercury, all once chattels of aristocracy, find themselves holding court amongst the more modest.  

It is here, in this place that Monique creates a flirtatious atmosphere with display cabinets, lamps and sconces, all created by her company, Pigwidgeon.

 As I turn the pages, something new takes the limelight. An ephemeral wall reminiscent of a childhood memory.
A peek behind a curtain hung from a surviving bonnet, gives me glimpses of a soul who changes from ballerina to poet with the wave of a wand.

Oh Madame Antiquariess, the traces of paint on the antique library shelves whisper a story to me. Such a beautiful place, to leave the remains of the day.

Why is this room not called a living room Madame? I find it has breath! 

Sometimes I find American ways so lacking. I read just the other day, that prior to being called the Living Room, our front rooms were called parlors. Before the  the creation of Funeral homes, (parlors) often wakes were held at the home of the deceased. I guess the trendsetters of the day felt it necessary to change the name to Living room when that tradition ended. Sort of implies that the rest of the home is... dead??? Then the kitchen is called the heart of the home. Sort of implies the rest of the home is void of heart. I much prefer a Salon, Madame. A room for gathering, a place to entertain, a place to display art for all to enjoy and discuss the topics of the day.  I want a French home Madame. The French just get it!

Such a beautiful place Madame. A tapestry of Monique’s life.
It is a magical place don’t you think Madame? A story told through the heart.
Isn’t that what a home should be? A place where the walls are the pages upon which to write your own story and all those characters deep within your soul have a voice?
Just like Julliet's wall Madame. Monique's home is covered with scraps of her life. Her intimacies of the heart. Written  not just for Julliet, but anyone, who cares to listen.

Wonderful and just in time for Valentines Day!

Hearts to you Madame, and all my wonderful readers!

Photography credits 5-13,  Gilles Trillard
Campagne Decoration