Recently, I had the honour of being commissioned to design the window displays for the Harry Winston store in Manhattan as well as for their stores, in Asia, Europe, Russia and the US.

The floral artwork that I designed is an ode to Spring and to the sparkle of sunshine that strikes a chord in everyone’s heart as the season announces a new beginning.  Leaving behind my traditional white trademark, I wholeheartedly embraced the warm and joyous colors inspired by the Harry Winston Sunflower Collection, and glazed each flower with yellows, oranges, reds and antique roses.

I am grateful for having such a great team here in my studio and to be able to transmit my knowledge and craftsmanship to both the up-and-coming and the accomplished ceramicists who work with me on my projects. 

During the weeks spent at developing a technique to produce these flowers, I discovered that no matter how I was to explain the hand building method, each one would eventually develop their own twist to these delicately handcrafted petals and hearts.  Rather than insisting on having everyone make the flowers identical, I embraced the uniqueness that ensued, resulting in a naturalistic composition of over 300 intricate ceramic flowers.

My studio is like an orchestra or a dance company, and my work is similar to that of a choreographer; encouraging some towards greater expression while I steer others to contain their wonderful exuberance.  The complexity of this orchestration inevitably results in the creation of compositions that are both vibrant and rich and consequently reflect the singularity and diversity of my lively troupe.

This being said, I would like to thank each and everyone who has worked on this amazing project : Agathe Palavioux, Maud Beauchamp, Christian David, Florent Lubienicki, Annie-Cécile Tremblay, Wolfe Girardin, Cynthia David, Christiane Paquin, Miho Inaba and Maude Langevin. 

Yesterday I found myself rummaging through a box of notebooks dating back to the 80’s. They looked worn and tattered and felt as though they no longer belonged to me. Time had passed upon them, and in their quiet stillness, these books had become old. Childhood memories of exploring my mother’s office drawers unexpectedly came forth.  Dried erasers and fountain pens, dusty stamps and letter openers, I remember picking up these objects and feeling as though I could hold time. Now I too, had become old.

Today I’m feeling a little elton johnish… Maybe it’s the blustery snow sweeping my footprints away that make “Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” feel like a perfect way to start the day…

Kyoto is quiet just before the new year.  Museums and galleries are closed. A perfect place to be for one who wants to wander aimlessly.

The city is rich with temples. Standing in front of an open door, I take my shoes off. I feel the coolness of the planks through my socks as I walk lightly up the wooden stairs.   I enter my first temple with a sense of being simultaneously grounded and elevated.  It is the way of the Buddha.

Snowflakes are fluffing about Nijo Dori. I’m reminded of home and the first few signs of Montreal’s autumn farewell.

Nishiki Market is lined with fish stalls, wooden barrels filled with tsukemono (pickled vegetables), mochi cake stands and pastry boutiques on display.

Vendors cry out to customers as the crowd snakes up and down the covered street.

In the eve’s frenzy, there is no way out but through. I exit towards Nijo-Ochi and spot a welcoming place to rest my tired feet. Café Bibliotic Hello! (I know, cute name…) is just a few streets away from the bustling crowd and locals are hanging out for an afternoon tea and cake. 

The place feels a little like a Mile-End café minus the thick-bearded fellows. Books and magazines are stacked high against a wall. 60’s furniture meshes with traditional architecture.

I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth but I’m feeling adventurous and order my first Mont Blanc, not knowing what to expect. It tastes like a bite of heaven.

Japan makes me want to fold my clothes in the morning, clean my room and reorganize my suitcase.  Slowly… as an act of celebration for the life that is given to me.

There is a place and a time for paying attention: here and now.

Walking through the quiet lanes of the Tokoname Ceramic Village, one feels the presence of generations of potters in the cobble stones and walls made of stacked soya jars.  

Most studios were closed last week as people were busy cleaning their doorways and narrow sidewalks in front of their homes.  This ritual, I was soon to find out, is practiced everywhere in the week previous to the New Year as each family wishes to start with a clean slate thus making room for new and positive experiences to emerge in the coming year.  

Having arrived in Japan with the hopes of witnessing ceramic activities, I had the good fortune of visiting one such studio just hours before closing for the holidays. Famous craft master Gyokko-san and his wife, greeted my friend Nami and I with a warm heart, a cup of tea and home made fruit cake.  His small studio is raised about 45 cm above ground level as the space beneath accommodates the motors and conveyor belts which activate each potters wheels.

Prior to stepping in, we must remove our boots so as not to bring the street dust in.  The place is warm and cozy and three men are either trimming or throwing the famous red earthenware Tokoname teapots.  They were working on a yohen design which I found out was Gyokko-san’s trademark teapot.

I am struck by the simple quietness and comfort of the surroundings. We are each offered a cushion to sit and watch the potters.  The small gas heater is repositioned so as not to overheat us.  

The most experienced Gyokko-san takes the time to explain to us what he is making.  I notice the steam rising from his water pot.  Having just left Jingdezhen where studio conditions in the wintertime are voluntarily hardy, I am a little taken aback by the simple act of giving oneself the necessary comfort to work at ease, with a calm mind.

Pots, once trimmed are placed in lidded metal boxes which help them dry slowly and prevent them from cracking.  They also take less space as they are stackable.  Once they have reached leather hard texture, the handles and spouts are assembled to the body of the pots and the lot will be fired for the coming years’s new production.  

The small garden in the back yard lets the sun in as we leave them to work in the quiet afternoon.

My hosts, artists  Nami and Sawada have generously offered me a place to stay in their home while visiting Nagoya and its surroundings.  I am blessed by a warm welcome into their house, where the sun’s beams sweep through morning to evening.

Never having visited Japan, I am learning the basics: removing shoes and putting slippers on; discovering the sweet aroma of a tatami room; sleeping in the most comfortable futon ever and catching a few minutes of zany Japanese television shows at night.

So far, I still love Japan.

Following a long and fruitful experience working with high-fire porcelain in China, it was time for me to stop over in Japan for the Holidays.  After my first week here, I am gently landing on my feet in what I can only describe has been a most pleasant accommodation period.  

My first impression upon arriving at Narita Airport came as I watched two maintenance women cleaning a clean airport floor, insisting on what I believed were imaginary stains to my untrained eye.  

Japan is a land of contrasts: from shopping malls to centuries old kimono shops; electronic toilets to Buddhist temples.  Trying to put words to these first experiences, I am discovering, is worthy of taking one’s proper time.

At the airport, the sun beamed through a glass door onto the face of a kind and obliging airport attendant as I tried not to bombard her with questions.  Conversing with kindness I believe, only makes you kinder.