It's been a strange year. Give them something textural, beautiful, and made by somebody who really cares.
Something solid, sturdy and natural.
These things have been made very slowly, from natural materials, and should last a lifetime.
It's a conclusion to the year, the ending before the beginning. We need cycles, seasons, full stops. We have to stop in order to go again. And this is what Christmas is: the door to the one time in the year that we really, truly switch off.
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This time ten years ago, I was painting my stand at the Spirit of Christmas fair, my friends Harry and Anty, my sister Liv and brother-in-law Tom all rolling away with grey paint. Cod and Spendy and Will were nobly piling up boxes in the stock hall, desperately trying to make head or tail of the contents, which had arrived hot off the container ship just hours before. It was such happy chaos, bound together with blind confidence and an unfounded conviction that this was going to work.
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The inspiration for this vase came from two places: Dutch Old Masters and the streets of Burma. A curious combination.But isn't that life? Random threads often combining in delightful ways.
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