Une ange a vingt-cinq ans

Someone, someday is going to account for the persistent derivation of some of our sublimest sights and readings, from the southernmost parts of France. 

Such delicacy of concen-tration, acuity of dis-cretion. Limpid, lambent, eloquent. Some modern-day Henry Miller, navigating his way down the Dordogne to embark for an appoint-ment with a colossus, will weigh up, delivered from his hurry by descent of silence. 

Last week we learned that Fanny Cavin was celebrat-ing her 25th birthday with the online opening of her atelier of hand-wrought porcelains.

Good news for the spirit was good news for the table. Especially sweet for apples. Why would it not be called, Halo?

Logotypes & table©
Les contours du silence