Where Practicality Meets Provençal Soul

From the lake, we continued our drive to the village of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, our real destination for the day. This medieval village clings to its clifftop perch where a star steeped in legend floats above, connecting the past to the present. The famous gold-painted star hangs on a 225-meter chain suspended between two cliffs. According to legend, during the Crusades, the knight Bozon de Blacas was held prisoner by the Saracens and vowed to hang a star over his village if he was able to return. While this romantic tale remains the most popular explanation, the true origin is one of Provence’s enduring mysteries—much like my journey from NYC practicality to understanding the Provençal way of honoring tradition.

We came for the faïence shops. Not porcelain, as I learned—faïence, the fine tin-glazed earthenware that Moustiers has been crafting since 1679. The pieces are characterized by their milky-white background and decorations in blue faintly tinged with lavender, featuring pastoral scenes of birds and flowers. Later artisans introduced polychrome designs and whimsical “grotesques”—those fantasy figures that became signature elements.

Today, we were visiting Lucy’s favorite atelier. I’ll confess that as a #I initially found many of the pieces impractical. A toilet paper shell? A sponge holder shaped like a seashell for the kitchen sink? My Manhattan sensibilities balked. But I’ve learned to recognize Eric’s Provençal nostalgia for what it is—a connection to his mother, to his childhood, to a way of life that values beauty in the everyday. Eric had an extraordinary relationship with Lucy, and he inherited her love of cooking and creating a welcoming home. These pieces aren’t just décor; they’re mementos, touchstones of memory.

The atelier sits inside a vaulted grotto, shelves piled high with various patterns I immediately recognized from Lucy’s collection. A petite woman with thick dark brown hair sat quietly at the mouth of an open kiln, hand-painting pieces one by one. Blanc faïence was stacked around her, waiting to be anointed with color and meaning before being sold. After ten minutes, she rose from her stool to stretch, turning to face us.

“Bonjour,” I offered, introducing myself and my husband in my best French.

Eric shared how much her creations had meant to his mother. Her expression softened as she explained she was hoping to retire soon. I glanced around at the countless pieces—table lamps, toilet paper covers, even a porcelain violin that seemed better suited for an art gallery than the livingroom. Each one hand-crafted, each one impractical by Manhattan standards, yet distinguished.

As newlyweds creating our own traditions, I searched for something that could bridge both worlds. We settled on a ladybug for the exterior of the house—whimsical yet purposeful, decorative yet durable, a small piece of Provençal artistry to guard our home.

It’s not about practicality versus tradition, I’m learning. It’s about finding space for both, about understanding that a hand-painted seashell holding a sponge isn’t frivolous—it’s a daily reminder to slow down, to notice beauty, to honor the hands that made it and the hands that used it before. 

Until next time,
The road keeps calling.

Moustiers-Sainte-Marie Visit

Sunday drives in Provence hit different when you’re learning to balance NYC practicality with Provençal soul ✨

Quick stop at Lac de Sainte-Croix du Verdon—that impossible turquoise never gets old, even when you visited just last week. Perfect autumn weather: sunshine and brisk shadows reminding us winter’s waiting in the wings.

But the real magic? Moustiers-Sainte-Marie. That medieval village clinging to the cliffs with its legendary star suspended above (shoutout to the Crusader knight who supposedly hung it there—or maybe not, the mystery endures 🌟).

We came for the faïence ateliers—Eric’s mom Lucy’s favorite spot. Full transparency: as a #nycgurlxpat, I initially side-eyed the “impractical” pieces. Toilet paper shells? Sponge holders shaped like seashells? My Manhattan brain was confused.

But here’s what I’m learning as a newlywed: these aren’t just objects. They’re memories. They’re Eric’s connection to his mom, to his childhood, to a culture that puts beauty in the everyday.

Met the artisan in her vaulted grotto atelier, hand-painting each piece by the kiln. She clocked my NYC accent through my French 😅 Told us she’s retiring soon. We left with a faïence ladybug for our house—a little piece of Provençal artistry guarding our new home.

It’s not practicality vs. tradition. It’s both. It’s honoring where we came from while creating something new together. 💙

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