Doulton Burslem Vases and Vessels

Offering this large & fabulous Roseville, American art pottery vase in the blue "Sunflower" pattern from 1930. This genuine Roseville art pottery vase is hand-painted with a gorgeous...

Antique Art Nouveau/Arts & Crafts Doulton Lambeth stoneware pottery jardiniere, circa 1890. The jardiniere is decorated in archtypical style with tubelined trailing sage green leaves and flowers on a deep burgundy colored background. The jardiniere is stamped to the base with the Doulton Lambeth mark, this jardiniere is probably decorated by Mark Marshall...

Royal blue hand painted vase urn. Fine porcelain by Nantucket Home. Suitable for flowers or ice bucket. Two handy handles. Measures 7.5" in diameter and 6.5" tall. Excellent condition.

Royal Doulton vase with hunting scene is a beautiful glass vase realized by the English firm Royal Doulton, (London since 1815) Our specimen is a flambe wood cut vase decorated wi...

Pair of antique Royal Doulton vases having a shaped slender neck and a round foot, the bodies with white gold and blue enamel petals over t...

MOORCROFT - 'Clematis' - Vintage Arts & Crafts ceramic vase - hand painted with a blue background - impressed stamps to the base - U.K. - circa 1950-86. Excellent condition - no lo...

Since ancient times, people have created and passed down necessary tools from familiar materials to survive in the severe struggle against nature, and have nurtured a lifestyle culture. By using these objects over a long period of time, they accumulate their flavor and reflect the way of life. The more severe the natural environment and the weaker we are, the stronger their power becomes. In today's world, where cheap and disposable products are encouraged, the act of repeatedly re-creating the things around us by modifying them opens up a new world. With this philosophy in mind, we collect beautiful, powerful, unique, and carefully selected antique objects from Japan. This is an old small Pottery vase...

Porcelain vase by Wallendorf, Germany. Very good condition. Dimensions: height 26.5 cm / diameter 16 cm.

Porcelain vase by Wallendorf, Germany. Very good condition. dimensions height 17 cm diameter 9 cm.

Set of three Nippon porcelain pieces. Hand-painted in Japan.

A giving joy beautiful French Fayence Floor Vase fantastic Art Nouveau pattern - Impressing Colours Manufacturer unknown - marked Design Period 1915 - 1925 Country of Manufacture : France H / height: 46 cm ~ Gew. / weight: 4550 grs DM / diameter max: 28 cm ~ DM oben / diameter inner rim: 19.8 cm .... an ode to Southern France A Legend of Provence by Adelaide Anne Procter (30 October 1825 – 2 February 1864) The lights extinguished, by the hearth I leant, Half weary with a listless discontent. The flickering giant-shadows, gathering near, Closed round me with a dim and silent fear. All dull, all dark; save when the leaping flame, Glancing, lit up a Picture's ancient frame. Above the hearth it hung. Perhaps the night, My foolish tremors, or the gleaming light, Lent power to that Portrait dark and quaint, — A Portrait such as Rembrandt loved to paint, — The likeness of a Nun. I seemed to trace A world of sorrow in the patient face, In the thin hands folded across her breast: — Its own and the room's shadow hid the rest. I gazed and dreamed, and the dull embers stirred, Till an old legend that I once had heard Came back to me; linked to the mystic gloom Of that dark Picture in the ghostly room. In the far south, where clustering vines are hung; Where first the old chivalric lays were sung; Where earliest smiled that gracious child of France, Angel and knight and fairy, called Romance, I stood one day. The warm blue June was spread Upon the earth; blue summer overhead, Without a cloud to fleck its radiant glare, Without a breath to stir its sultry air. All still, all silent, save the sobbing rush Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush Upon the beach; where, glittering towards the strand The purple Mediterranean kissed the land. All still, all peaceful; when a convent chime Broke on the mid-day silence for a time, Then trembling into quiet, seemed to cease, In deeper silence and more utter peace. So as I turned to gaze, where gleaming white, Half hid by shadowy trees from passers' sight, The Convent lay, one who had dwelt for long In that fair home of ancient tale and song, Who knew the story of each cave and hill, And every haunting fancy lingering still Within the land, spake thus to me, and told The Convent's treasured Legend, quaint and old: — Long years ago, a dense and flowering wood, Still more concealed where the white convent stood, Borne on its perfumed wings the title came: " Our Lady of the Hawthorns " is its name. Then did that bell, which still rings out to-day, Bid all the country rise, or eat, or pray. Before that convent shrine, the haughty knight Passed the lone vigil of his perilous fight; For humbler cottage strife or village brawl, The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all. Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong, Left her kind presence comforted and strong. Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar's right Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night. But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart The deepest mysteries of the healing art; Their store of herbs and simples was renowned, And held in wondering faith for miles around. Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate, Found help and blessing at the convent gate. Of all the nuns, no heart was half so light, No eyelids veiling glances half as bright, No step that glided with such noiseless feet, No face that looked so tender or so sweet, No voice that rose in choir so pure, so clear, No heart to all the others half so dear, So surely touched by others' pain or woe, (Guessing the grief her young life could not know,) No soul in childlike faith so undefiled, As Sister Angela's, the " Convent Child. " For thus they loved to call her. She had known No home, no love, no kindred, save their own. An orphan, to their tender nursing given, Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven And she it was who trimmed the lamp's red light That swung before the altar, day and night; Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace; But most of all, her first and dearest care, The office she would never miss or share, Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet, To place before the shrine at Mary's feet. Nature is bounteous in that region fair, For even winter has her blossoms there. Thus Angela loved to count each feast the best, By telling with what flowers the shrine was dressed. In pomp supreme the countless Roses passed, Battalion on battalion thronging fast, Each with a different banner, flaming bright, Damask, or striped, or crimson, pink, or white, Until they bowed before a newborn queen, And the pure virgin Lily rose serene. Though Angela always thought the Mother blest Must love the time of her own hawthorn best, Each evening through the years, with equal care, She placed her flowers; then kneeling down in prayer, As their faint perfume rose before the shrine, So rose her thoughts, as pure and as divine. She knelt until the shades grew dim without, Till one by one the altar lights...

PIERRE-ADRIEN DALPAYRAT (1844-1910) After working nearly half his life as an itinerant faience painter and directing production for commercial porcelain manufacturers, Dalpayrat’s ey...