Remi wrapped his arm around my shoulder, we picked up the pace and shuddered in unison. That Mistral wind! Always arriving precisely when it is most unwelcome. So it was on a Sunday morning in December. But the sun was gorgeous as it always is on such windswept days and for once, I had prepared, wrapping myself in layers of cashmere with gloves and a bonnet in my pocket plus fly-sized glasses to keep my eyes from tearing. I had to keep my focus. For yet again, we were on the hunt.
Of course, we didn’t actually need a thing from the brocante or flea-market at St. Etienne du Grès. But it has always been about the Art of Looking for us. The prick of possibility. From those very first weeks together in Vanves on the outskirts of Paris, we would walk the puces every weekend, sometimes on both Saturday and Sunday. It was our antiques education, not to mention free entertainment. We didn’t yet have a spare dime between us, so despite our empty apartment (I had only brought an Icart print and many pairs of heels with me from NYC), we simply asked questions of the dealers and compared likes and dislikes over a scrambled brunch upon returning home.
The Mistral whipped Remi and I off into our own individual orbits. Which was just fine as we were both too busy storing up little bits of lost history and found inspiration to be good company. Pushed forward by the wind, I rolled through aisle after aisle, past the sellers lunching on saucisson and warming wine, while mentally sifting the junk from the jewels at each stand. And somehow, just that walking while looking outwards with a soft gaze, always tends to do the same for me mentally. Stuck staring, I wondered with my head tilted just so and responded to each dealer’s enquiring eyes with a nod that was curt but kind. “No, sorry but no.” As always, I was searching without really knowing what I was looking for and perhaps that is another reason why such flea market strolls are so comforting. Anonymous, right in the thick of the crowds, we all are.
I finished first as I often do, impatient red-head that I am. But then again, it just might be that I like that moment of turning back to search for Remi’s face, that familiar face, to catch him unaware with weighty eyes. Slowly, I reeled myself in towards him until that arm was replaced wordlessly, shoulder-round. We didn’t end up buying anything as we knew we probably wouldn’t and turned to leave as the dealers started to close up shop – repacking their wares carefully and with a hint of accustomed disappointment – all of us waiting for a “Yes, thank you, I’ll take it,” possibly at the next brocante.
A boutis or typically Provençal antique quilt. They are getting harder to find…
Rusty ponies, anyone?
Vintage santons and saints for a Provençal crèche…
What do we think? An olive or grape press?
And for my friend La Contessa of Hen House…
Did you see anything that tempted you?
Sending my very Best from a tiny village in the South of France,
Heather
Done!
Mending a rusty pony is tempting… for space sake though an old photograph might be the temptation given in to. Every object has such a story 🙂
Its all tempting! Biggest eyes on the globe in the background.
For me it's the thrill of the hunt! I love good flea markets and brocantes. The ones here are getting less and less interesting. I would have snapped up those linens. I adore the monograms, the weight and quality of the weaving. Much like the way you weave a story:)
You are killing me as well. Oh to have such a market near us in Greece! The closest seems to be in Athens, too far for a Sunday morning outing. . .but then there were rumors of a place in Tripoli. . .one of these days I hope to have a similar post from down south of you. I did laugh at your Mistral wind. . .we experienced it for the first time this last month and have a whole new understanding of dressing in layers from head to toe. And this die-hard contact lens wearer finally gave up and put on the glasses . . .which also helped block the wind from searing through my eyeballs!
I love linen…and I would adore a vintage French cutting board…one that has age and patina.
We have nothing like this where I live…so I am going to live vicariously through your images and posts!
I'll take that chair in the last photo, please. I'm a sucker for the stray chair… And the frame leaning against it. I would hang it on the bare wall I'm staring at right now, either empty – a work of art on its own – or with a quickly created watercolor abstract.
Heather, I love the rhythm of your words – they evoke the walk, look, pause of a happy, leisurely morning at les Puces. You know I would have loved to wander with you! XOXO
Good afternoon!
What Wonderful and suggestive objects!
They make me feel better! I would like to have such a stroll here! Lucky woman !
Here is my List: all the linens, all the glasses, the iron tables, the books and the chair, the clock and finally "les paniers en fer".
When I visit puces I don't know what I am looking for just like you but you are right when you say that such flea market strolls are so comforting. It is a sort of full immersion into the past and beauty!
Ciao bella!
Bisous
Oh, I would have definitely gone for the wine glasses. So many of the same type.
In fact I am waiting now for quite a while to buy new glasses since I really want to buy them when we are in I-S-L-S end of April.
And I really hope they have some for me, because I smashed mine all to pieces over the years, one after another. And now there are only 2 left. Of different types. ( I know, this is quite unbelievable to only have 2 wineglasses but I want them to be special and beautiful)
By the way I ordered a box of " LaVallongue"-Garrigues. Any recommendation de ta part for a nice round, heavy redwine from your region? (Assemblage de cépage préfèré)
(Though this is probably advertisement…)
Beautiful sunshine on your photos. (:
Bisous, Silke
I really love those three paintings!! I hope you have a super duper Wednesday, Heather!