Okay. Every Sunday, Steven & I go to what I believe to be one of the great undiscovered flea markets in America. It's tiny and very hit or miss, but I consistently find wonderful things that I sell through my Etsy shop, and things that I keep for myself. This morning my run of luck continued at the market, but I made a stunning, unaccountable error -- I failed to buy these:
What was I thinking? Or not thinking? When I first saw them, jumbled in a box on the ground, I assumed they must be old Spode or Wedgwood, the precision and complexity of the decals used was so high. But no, Villeroy & Boch (the Anjou pattern); perhaps it was bourgeois snobbery, in discovering that they were what I consider a lesser maker than I assumed, that led to my stupidity.
The coffee cups:
I know hunting isn't everyone's cup of tea, and I certainly wouldn't partake in the activity. Though the idea of accounting personally for one's source of food is appealing -- and I like that this set points out where the meat being served came from! At least if you're having squirrel, fox, venison, hare, etc. At last, dishes that acknowledge the chase that feeds us.
It probably bothers me less than most. I spent a lot of time in Wisconsin growing up, where a deer strapped to the top of a car or hung from the basketball hoop on a family garage is a common autumnal sight. Moose antlers, collected from the source by my grandfather in Jackson Hole, adorn the top of a hutch at the Red House. Anyway, off topic: dishes.
Luckily, I pointed the set out to Steven's mother (who likely would have found them herself anyway), who was also out this morning, and she immediately fell for them, and wisely claimed the lot, for less than the price of the cheapest set of dishes at Wal-mart. I'm happy they're in the family, and look forward to seeing them at Thanksgiving. The enormous tureen (curiously identified as a vegetable dish):
But really, this has led to a crisis of conscience: do names carry such weight in my appraisal of objects? Gross.
The seller told Ellen (Steven's mother) that she bought them directly from the factory during a trip to Munich with her mother in 1972 (just before the massacre at the Olympics). Portentious pottery?