In which oversized Chinese pottery travels to France all in the name of fear reduction.

Remember the advice of dressing for the job you want, not the one you have? In a similar vein I collect furniture for houses I may never live in. On our way to the signing of the Lescure contract (far from a sure thing at the time), we therefore dragged an overloaded trailer bought specially for the occasion behind the car. Thomas had been a beacon of steely determination throughout the negotiation process, I had turned into a nervous wreck. The new adventure energised him, the fear of change paralysed me. The trailer contained everything I believed I needed to get a grip on the looming castle situation and create a safe nest: duvets, flower vases, a sofa, countless candles, and a pot, which I fell in love with during a stop in Belgium and insisted we bring along too because ‘it held good energy’. Thomas agreed to it all lest I would start crying uncontrollably. Again.

Predictably, once Lescure was ours and we started the renovations, the pot became a backbreakingly heavy obstacle. It got damaged more than once and it’s a miracle it survived at all. Just weeks ago, Thomas restored it and we put it in the place I had always intended for it. Inspired by  ’emptiness as the essence of things’ (think artist Jef Verheyen and interior designer Axel Vervoordt), we played around with space, light and shade.

Lescure’s hallway has finally been cleared out and in this emptiness the pot, which still emanates beautiful energy, takes on a meaning that goes beyond decoration. Its shape and appearance are more pronounced, its texture accentuated. It is still, solid and dense, like the cracked stone floor it rests on. At the same time it reaches up to the sunlight that cascades down from above, its round gap wide open to the skylight of the house – a dialogue, eye to eye.

The old Chinese pot is all this and more. A daily reminder of how deeply Thomas cares about having me on this journey, irrational, teary eyed and all.