This piece is a little bit of an anomaly among my ceramic collection, as it's not any kind of animal or supernatural creature. I like it though because it reminds me of my Gramma. She was the queen of kitschy stuff, and you know I don't consider being kitschy a criticism; one's degree of enthusiasm for it is pretty much my measure of a person.
Gramma favoured porcelain dancing lady statuettes from Royal Doulton, ceramic flower arrangements, gilded lamps with crystal inserts and kissing-pleated silk shades, reproduction French furniture and anything with a frill, flounce, or curlicue. She had dozens of oilpaintings on her walls -mostly depictions of flower arrangements or repros of French aristocrats enjoying pastoral landcapes- in elaborate gold frames. If she felt the flowers in the paintings weren't bright enough, or that the ceramics needed a little more colour somewhere, she'd get out her paintbox and touch them up to her satisfaction. Landscape too overcast with clouds? There ya are, dab dab dab with the blue, that was easy. Don't like the look of the swain gazing at his maiden as they lounge together under a sapling? Dab dab dab with two shades of green on the brush and he's shrubbery. And this plaster courtesan, reclining against a bookend, could actually do with more rouge...
Gramma had lots of old-lady gal-pals she'd play (and drink) gin with using gilt-edged playingcards that had more oilpaintings of pretty, old-timey ladies printed on the back. She always had beautiful fingernails, jewellery and lipstick, perfectly-set blue curls and a sweater with some kind of sequinning or paillettes. Or she might go sophisto in glowy silk and lots of pearls. But whatever the outfit the most sparkles were thrown off from the claw-set, walnut-sized rocks on her three-part engagement ring.
Gramma had lots of old-lady gal-pals she'd play (and drink) gin with using gilt-edged playingcards that had more oilpaintings of pretty, old-timey ladies printed on the back. She always had beautiful fingernails, jewellery and lipstick, perfectly-set blue curls and a sweater with some kind of sequinning or paillettes. Or she might go sophisto in glowy silk and lots of pearls. But whatever the outfit the most sparkles were thrown off from the claw-set, walnut-sized rocks on her three-part engagement ring.
My mum's home decorating aesthetic takes a line on Henry Ford- any colour as long as it's beige- so when I visited Gramma's apartment it was a kaleidoscopic rush of sugary-pastel-shiny-sparkly-glittery-lacy-girlie excess. It was cooler than Barbie's place- in fact she would have thought it was too much. The candy Gramma fed me from a bottomless jar and the fact that she supplied her grape Kool-Aid from the cannister, with sugar included may also have contributed to the psychedelia; the only Kool-Aid I could ever get at home was always cut. We spent hours lining up all the porcelain ladies, and dancing them across the top of a faux Louis XV sideboard, pretending they were at a midnight ball- also cooler than Barbie. I can't believe I never broke one of them- I'm reasonably clumsy, and certainly would have been even more so as a child- but I was so careful of Gramma's beautiful things. She often told me, "One day, you'll have them for your house, Emily Kate!" That was sort of a nice thought but also not, because even though I wanted to have a place just like hers when I was big, I knew Gramma meant one day when she wasn't around anymore, and I didn't want to think about that. But it seemed far away so I wasn't too troubled; and the state of being 5, 6-years-old on a sucrose bender is entirely incompatible with melancholia. Always, at Gramma's, my purple maw was curled into a smile of perfect contentment.
When Gramma died, we lived a whole hemisphere away from her. Her rings all made it over to us but the dancing ladies disappeared from her apartment- there was some sort of mix-up and they were donated someplace with all of her other furniture and decorations. My mum was really sad about it, because she remembered how I used to love them and how Gramma had wanted me to have them, but I was okay with it. I loved the ladies but I had never ever wanted the day to come when they weren't hers anymore. And my memories of how much I loved being with Gramma are never going to be lost anyplace.
So I saw this vase in an opshop about a year ago, and delighted in the god-awfulness of its ceramic flowers and faux-frenchy shape, and of course it reminded me of her. Gramma's rings are stored in a safety-deposit box because my sister and I are pretty expressive gals, prone to wild gesticulations, and even if we each wore just one part of the three, we'd be in danger of giving any bystanders a pretty serious graze, and I guess they are also valuables. This thing cost about $3; noone would steal it, if it smashes or gets lost in a move, so what. It's just here to remind me of the things Gramma liked, and does that beautifully.
Although she would definitely have wanted to touch up those flowers.
