Made in Belgium

During the Belgian revolution of 1830 and the period of mutiny afterwards (1830-1839) the family BOCH had already acquired a long tradition in the field of faience and a lot of strategic experience in anticipating politic and economic developments.

Around 1874, due to the passionate interest of collectors of old faience pieces, Victor BOCH hires Dutchman from Maastricht, some already experienced after years of work in Delft. These Dutch faience painters brought their knowledge, experience and skills.

Thanks to their collaboration the old working methods were applied on different clay than the potters in Delft.

A period of reproduction of decors is followed by a period of innovation, among others with the polychrome decors on white background, or bleu, green or black, and afterwards new decors.

Luxury faience is decorated with Delft decors, and becomes a speciality of the “Manufacture” in a division named “la Chambre des peintres hollandais” (the Holland painter’s chamber).

These pieced each with a hand painted signature of the interlaced letters “B, F, K“ (Boch frères Keramis) on the bottom of the pieces.

These artistic products in Delft style are hand painted, instead of being decorated with a usual printed decor.

 

More at: visit my ebay store:

https://m.ebay.co.uk/itm/Antique-Celadon-Boch-Freres-Keramis-Bowl-Ceramic-Lustre-ware-3-Available-/263252912835?_mwBanner=1

Art Carved

What is the condition that distinguishes us from animal, plant and from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.

Every human story is a life written and represented; and from there we exist. There are the experiences where we feel real emotion; just as I know emotion is not a fictional pseudonym.

We seek to dream and dream about the things we seek; of a spiritual reality and a destiny greater than the merely mortal.

What are those things that are more than merely mortal? The author with a prose; the lecturer with an intended set of temporal actions to achieve an objective, the painter with oil and canvas; to that, it is their life, of their work and to its end is their purpose.

Reflecting about what we see and what it

creates within us is what gives us self worth; an appreciation for the things that surround us.

Maybe it allows us to inspired, to be motivated. Could it be that dependence on the sense of this desire of fulfilment is what gives us this sense of value to our life?

Is it this philosophy or is the aesthetics that answers the questions to these principles that gives beauty to these arts; to writing, to critical thinking, to language, thought, the appreciation of an old Dutch painting; and perhaps even to an angel face carved in wood from the 18th Century.

Me and Jim found him in a market together near the Louvre.

I don’t maybe, but I think things like this old Wood face is the aesthetics; in the beautiful philosophy when I look into the face of an art carved angel.

Le Voyage

Bonjour!

I have always loved to travel. Sometimes it’s risky leaving home, going on an adventure to another country, then going through customs and then border patrols.

Those are times when we share new loves and new conversations talking about settling somewhere new. What if”s are fun… refreshing. Perhaps looking for a job or even a new house anyone knows that it is risky. But, I think sometimes the heart overtakes reason and you just want to hit the road.

We are on our way to Paris, just for a few days. Taking the ferry from Dover to Calais. We’re diving with doggies and it’s only for a few days. They even have their own passports.

Maybe we don’t get paid when to travel, but the return is priceless; it’s healing for the soul; it’s a breath of life, energy and refreshing to the mind and body.

And nevertheless; Luckily, when I return home I will be starting a new job soon. I’ll be ready to come back to work. I don’t mind because I love to experience new places and people.

Anyway, travelling is a high for me. I think to some it can be so overwhelming when it’s on demand rather than inspired.  Like when it’s for work rather than pleasure.

Taking a spontaneous journey requires passion, believing in yourself and your partner. A journey is about creating a believable story, despite timing setbacks, and enduring to understand a different language. I’m attempting to learn French. The doggies understand it better than I do!

Travel takes fortitude. Then you have to write about it and photograph it and publish your experience.

So we share the joy of the road; Jim and I, we travel with our chihuahua’s; Boubou and Daisy. They are lovely companions; against all odds and despite all; I love this view from the road with them.

Although, I don’t think I go alone or even complete a thought on paper without them.

Travel requires learning the craft of road and the motion of thought and all that goes with the journey. But then, I always look forward going back home and to work so we can hit the road again next summer.

Au revoir…until we meet again.

Writing About Ideals


“A battle is to be conducted on behalf of liberty and freedom and against tyranny and oppression.”
-Simon Bainbridge – Napoleon and English Romanticism 
Actually, when writing, there might be purpose;

Is is not the attention of the writer to the reader to engage them into a sense of excitement…

Can one be  induced by tremendous courage when staring into the face of the enemy?

During the time of the Napoleonic Wars; Spain was fighting against Napoleon. 

France; had the most powerful army in the world, Sadly, not anymore. 

Was Napoleon really that harsh? It’s not easy keeping your country from invaders. 

Maybe it’s why we continue to write about history, I think. 

I love history; to learn from it and write to convey these same ideals of freedom from tyranny. 

Writing is about conveying a reason to a purpose where there is an action that is be inspired by the reader taken on to a just cause. 

Could it be seen as a journey from radicalism to conservatism. 

Perhaps I write with a radical stance on a Revolution to a passionate fervour; the battle of good against evil. 

Write to stand up for the safety and surety of its people and it’s nation against oppression. 

Write regardless to the disappointment of others. 

Write for a cause by what a country could be; like in France, what it should do; yet turning out not to be; not ensuing, not defending against the enemy. 

How can I shape my views…

Do I write it down; do I sharing my thoughts?

And although it may not be read by many, just maybe I did my part. 

And where are the The Order of Légion d’Honneur medals hidden?

Where are the French Médaille Militaire and Victorian Crosses yet to be given? 

Where is the resilience of France today and it’s people in the face of the enemy? 

Where is Napoleon today? 

Come on François Hollande! 

I hope you read this. 

I am angry. 

I write to reflect both upon the suffering and the bravery of people. 

But in the end, 

I am just a poet who longs to see her poetry as an expression of liberty and a hope for freedom against tyranny. 

Until we meet again…

American Girl in Wales

*****

Courtesy of the Daul family World War II veteran Ed Daul received the medal in 2004. (Pictured Above)

More about Ed Daul French Medal of Honor: http://www.greenbaypressgazette.com/story/news/local/2015/10/14/world-war-ii-vet-receives-french-honor-medal/73673166/

Poet Heart

Oh my poet-heart, is there still time for Paris
Where the sweet wind wandering goes?

Round each corner; the trees in airy flight
Nights bathed in amber light.

Low at my feet the winding sidewalks behold
Valley and town drenched, entranced in deep repose.

Has there ever existed such a more beautiful place…
None with more appeal; even when it rains.

But I know how softly on the music plays
Where mosses creep; where our love is not far.

A place where we are free
Flinging forth our memories with ease

Traveling to Paris in the car…
With my poet heart in the breeze.

Still Paris


Why is it France that sometimes beckons me

Paris whispers, I  wave, and she cries,

Listening to sounds of her calling us back

Waves of leaving never needing to say goodbye

A last smile before into the oceans crept,

Like waters blanketing tears that she wept

Rushing forth but not without a trace,

With you there, I first saw your beautiful face,

Keeping in mind that when I forget 

That I, long ago, Paris is where

I first fell in love with you there.

Paris still whispers, for we were there. 

Spain

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We drove through the Pyrenees and across France to Spain following the mountain bends; the roads curving in alternate succession forming our path along the way and it almost seemed if the mountains alternated rather that the road ascending to the rise and fall of the pitch.  And it was there I witnessed for the first time near Valencia these majestic mosaic fields of white rock and limestone where orange trees seem to grow in groves for miles and miles from right out of the white sands.

There were the olive trees too that covered every surface area defending the glistening inlets from the Mediterranean Sea with villages nestling in valleys pointing the way to the to Tarragona; one of the most ancient parts of southern Spain. We were heading to Barcelona, Cartagena then Madrid. Each a Roman City with visual evidence of remains even older than before recorded time and places that have been inhabited by humans for more two millennia.

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The land is massive and diverse with incredible biodiversity and where everything survives from these limestone mountains. They hills are dotted with cave homes and castles forts every ten miles just to give you an idea of the scale of the countryside.

Driving beneath these ridges we had made our from Tarragona to Barcelona by sunset. Just an hour from Cartagena we could have been in Portugal or Morocco depending on our direction of our destination.

Destiny is the universal principle and the ultimate by which the order of things is presumably prescribed; the decreed cause of events and time. These are the Argons and maybe if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find us standing in admiration of them. I can feel them and it is as if they could breathe life into me like the wind upon the earth’s shore. These Argon Mountains have seen untold sunrises with the many who have longed to conquer; not to forget the Crusaders who passed through here when they came only to thunder praise standing reverent and so silent.

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We were in these mountains in January near Valencia. We had just left Barcelona and on our way to Catalonia. It is close to Morocco was just thinking of the Moors and who fought and failed to take possession of this lands. When I look at them the land seems almost impenetrable for those who might have attempted to enter with the idea of conquering. There are just too many hilltop castles and  fortresses along the way to the East, North, and South and beyond.

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They left traces of history and probably built for protection from the Moors. It’s there in these mountains where I can almost feel the traces of destiny that they left behind. And it was here where I see proof that destiny is part of the life’s journey; and I know it does not come about without some tension and maybe we’re are not always supposed to know how things will be or turn out, but perhaps we were just lead hear by Faith. I don’t know for sure, but I think the mountain is in us; and maybe its just a part of the daily climb; where it continues to kindle my every enthusiasm, making my every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of me.

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