19th Century Liberty Gibus & Redon Polychrome Vase

Elegant pair of large polychrome porcelain vases, adorned with decorations and golden finishes. The vases depict scenes of everyday life on the four sides of the neck, body and foot....

Beautiful pair of wooden vases lacquered in an elegant shade of blue, and decorated with light wood inlays and golden finishes. The inlays depict delicate floral and bird motifs, cre...

Beautiful pair of polychrome porcelain flower holders, quadrangular in shape with wavy feet and edges. The accurate and detailed decoration, with golden motifs and linear and vegetal...

Elegant pair of single-light candlesticks in polychrome porcelain, perfect for illuminating any environment with style and refinement. The decoration of vine shoots and plant racemes...

A French Desvres faience vase with hand-painted floral decoration in the traditional colors of yellow, orange and green on blue ground. Exceptional handles with detailed figures and ...

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...

Poppies, golden-accented in analagous colors of blue and orange, creep up their leafy green stalks which sag from the heavy weight of the flowers. Like tired heavy-lidded eyes, the poppies symbolize hypnos’ sleep-inducing effects. Dammouse’s somnific symbolism evokes an other-worldly dream-like state and acts as a vehicle to tap into the imagination. Much more than a pretty face, or a pretty vase, this is a sublime piece of art, and Dammouse makes clear the influence of Braquemond and others by employing this Symbolist style. Beaudelaire’s credo that “Beauty must contain the absolute and the particular, the eternal and the transitory” aptly applies. Created while both Chaplet and Edouard Dammouse were employed by Haviland & Co. at its Paris location, this vase is a prime example of Chaplet’s early creative output of matte brown stoneware. Both artists demonstrate a strong link and affinity for Japonisme in the vase’s traditional form and in the painterly approach Dammouse brings to the enamel glaze. His treatment of enhancing the floral decoration with gold detailing calls to mind Kintsugi aesthetic principles. Affixed to the vase’s underside is its original label indicating it was sold at the chic A la Paix, a Parisian gallery located on the prestigious Avenue de l’Opera which opened in 1891, specializing in glass and ceramic objects of art. Ernest Chaplet (1835-1907) Not only was Chaplet France’s premier studio ceramist, the example he set of personally creating a ceramic object from the conceptual phase through modeling, firing and glazing - constantly reaching for new and innovative modes of expression and technique - elevated the notion of a ceramist from artisan to Artist. While Director of Production for Haviland & Co., Chaplet expanded their focus from porcelain into stoneware production and developed the barbotine method of painting earthenware with liquid clay as well as conducted extensive research in glaze techniques. He was awarded a Gold Medal in 1889 at Paris’ l’Exposition Universelle for his revolutionary sang de boeuf glaze. That same year, Chaplet opened his own atelier in Choisy-le-Roi where he continued to produce avant-garde stoneware and support younger talent. Edouard Dammouse (1850-1903) Trained as a painter, Paris born Edouard Dammouse studied under Felix Bracquemond, Ernest Chaplet’s predecessor at Haviland & Co.‘s Auteuil studio. Edouard followed his brother, Albert, and Chaplet to Haviland’s Paris...

Exquisite quality Alhambra style vase in turquoise, yellow, green and blue with engraving and calligraphy all around the vase.