Candles, Santons and Trompe l'oeil all in one day

One of the great joys of my relationship with Rick is showing him things I love. Thus, today we set out for the annual Salon de Bougies et Santon Exhibition.

It is held before Christmas every year before Christmas in the Ferme Sarasin, an 18th century farm house that has been modernized and is now used for community events in the Commune of Grand Saconnex where I lived for 11 very happy years.

The Santons are small terracotta figures and dressed in clothing.

The making of santons is a family tradition from Province going back to the French Revolution. The figurines are moulded in two halves, pressed together, fired in a kiln before clothing and accessories are applied with a glue. Faces are painted.

There are so many characters: a knitting woman, a fisherman, a scissors maker, a baker, a painter, a school teacher, a man reading a miniature edition of Le Monde, etc.  We didn't count them all, but there are alleged to be at least 55 people and/or trades.

The Salon de Bougies is a hall filled with candles all made by craftsmen and craftswomen. Some are beautiful, some are novelties. If my mother were still alive, I'd have bought her an owl candle for her owl collection. One year at the Salon I bought my daughter a coffee cup, tea pot, sugar and creamer candles. One candle holder held a huge candle that stood almost to my shoulders. If we could practically take it back to Argelès, I'd have bought it. Instead, it will go in my imaginary farmhouse.

I'd forgotten my favourite Trompe l'oeil painted on the side of a house until we passed it. Another thing to show Rick.

It represents time past, present and future. Einstein, who lived in Grand Saconnex, peeks out of a window and his famous formula is a graffiti on the entrance to the courtyard. An horologue workshop has early watchmakers in discussion. A pigeon flies by leaving a shadow on the wall. The more we looked at it the more we saw. It is worth it to double click on the photo to enlarge it. Even the news box is painted. Only the hands of the clock are real.

More work by the artist can be found here www.a-fresco.com/

We wandered into the park where I used to run mornings and walk my dogs afternoons, caught the bus downtown, before heading home via a lakeside drive. 

The whitecaps and the waves on the lake were the last beautiful thing in a lovely day.