Let me tell you a little more about them. To do that I need to take you to a little plein-air antiques market on the Cours Saleya in Nice, France, circa 2009. (A quick google search led me to this charming painting of said market.) This is where my obsession with aprons was born. One Monday I took home a well-loved (read: tattered), blue and white striped, handmade half-apron. Later that year this apron served as inspiration for one of my senior projects. It seems to me that the textiles we use in our homes carry our stories around even after we’re gone. I imagine that this old French apron is the voice for a woman who faithfully tied it on night-after-night, year-after-year to serve her family. The stains, worn holes, and fraying ties are evidence enough.
Likewise, the aprons I made in France have their own stories to tell. Searching and haggling for an affordable French-linen at an outdoor market in the pouring rain, visiting the Les Olivades factory with best friends (the last local company to continue the tradition of printing on fabric begun in Provence at Marseille in 1648), traipsing through Paris, and so much more.