She lives in an old grange that once was used for making wine. The house has been converted but in the center of the living room is the old wine press, a square stone that if you put a mattress on it would make a good double bed (you have to ignore the equipment suspended above).
She has used the stone for her Christmas decorations combining real holly, evergreens, giant pine cones with the figures of the traditional crèche. She told me that she had bought the figures from a convent where nuns used moulds that were at least 500 years old.
To one side she had a wicker basket filled with four dividers. Each was filled with a different type of seed, not tiny like apple, but some as bigger than 50 cent pieces. These were dark brown, often heart shaped. Their silkiness in my hand was sensual and I knew that inside they contained new life if I were to plant them, rebirth.
One corner of the stone had a brown pod, beautifully in its mixtures of browns and beiges with indentations.
I was struck by the textures, colours and the beauty of nature.
She hadn’t planned to have a tree, but there was no need. Having decorated with real greens she captured what I need for the sense of spirituality at the end of the year, a reminder of life continuing that has nothing to do with the hysteria of presents and my soul felt good.
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