A couple years ago, my mother introduced me to an artist (who shall remain anonymous for now) from whom she had purchased several pieces and who over the course of time, has become a very close family friend. On many occasions, I’ve been invited over to her atelier d’artiste/home, a magical world, a journey into an enchanted paradise, where art, history, culture and fashion unite.
Stepping off the streets in the somewhat grungy neighborhood she lives in, I’m instantly transported into another universe. On every occasion, I discover something new I hadn’t noticed on a previous visit, whether it be a painting or drawing of hers, a little sculpture or lantern nestled in one of the numerous nooks, a new addition to her amazing collection of antique brooches and venetian mirrors. No visit is ever quite the same.
What I love about it is that every item has a story to tell. The velvet couch, I discovered on my last trip to her place, was in fact a prop for a theatre production that dates back to Napoleon III but was made in Louis XV style.
The focus of this 1st visit was mostly on the environment she lives/paints/draws in so you will only see a couple of her paintings that are part of her personal collection but I wanted to know what inspires her when faced with a blank canvas: “Quand je pains, je m’oublie.” which translated to: “When I paint, I forget myself.”
And that’s pretty much the way I feel when entering this Selby-worthy abode.