There lives an artist who elaborates the buttons,
piece by piece.

Each one is hand-stamped.
Hands orchestrate the pigments, enamels, lusters, and crystals.

It is the hands that work.
There is no machine.

They are miniature pieces born
from a know-how in ceramics
that is also a sister to jewelry craft.

When made by hand,
each one is unique.
They retain their soul,
they transmit beauty,
they celebrate imperfection,
and they have a story to tell.

“Porcelain is a clay with memory.
Even a little shock, even if our naked eyes do not see it, she remembers.
At the moment of firing, we see the result of her memory.”

Speaking of porcelain’s memory,
she remembers her birth in France.

A long, long time ago,
in the Limousin region in France, kaolin was discovered.
Along came elaborations of porcelain,
a luxurious ceramic befitting royalties such as Napoleon.

Over time,
master artisans crafted buttons that were miniature masterpieces with fantastical scenes, magical shapes, opulent materials–
transforming the small and precious objects into storytellers.

In our day,
to have buttons of porcelain adorning one’s costume is a sure sign of luxury.

In our day,
this artist is the last in France
to preserve and transmit this
rare and precious savoir-faire
in buttons born from porcelain.

Each piece is a sculpture.
Each piece awakens imagination.
Each piece makes us dream.

Here is a story of how a man stumbled upon a very peculiar trade unbeknownst to many.

Life wanted The Artist to bring extraordinary beauty to something so extraordinarily small.

Life wanted The Artist to stay simple-hearted, yet master the intricate handcrafting of magnificent ceramic miniatures named “buttons.”

And it was all just happenstance.

“I did not have any training –
just a young man living in Paris.
No plans, no particular ambition.”

One day, The Artist met an older couple.
Both potters from Cher,
he made large pottery pieces,
she sold them in the market.

They said to The Artist,
“Come and work with us.”

One day in the market,
a woman asked the potter,
“Could you make me some buttons?”

What a peculiar request to a potter who made
large pottery pieces!

So onward they went,
The Artist and the older couple,
with just rolling pin for dough in hand, porcelain, oven, fire,
and their willing hearts.

With these simple ingredients,
they shaped and baked their very first buttons.

“There was no mold.
We just sculpted the buttons by our own hands.
There were no fancy tools.
With just rolling pin and cookie-cutters on hand,
we made buttons, as one makes pasta!”

Over time,
their technique evolved,
their savoir-faire ripened,
their range blossomed.

“We presented at Paris salons.
We tasted our success.”

Their atelier grew, then it folded.
The Artist resurrected it again,
then it folded again.
Such is life.

And life sometimes takes us far,
far away from who we are.

The Artist went from working
with hands, to working with numbers, math and sales.

“I was so far from who I am.
Realizing I was not made for this,
I took the leap, quit everything,
and ended up with nothing,
with family to feed.”

It was a difficult period.

Yet, those moments in life
are moments of enlightenment.
They redirect our inner compass
and help us see our heart.

Then one day,
A much-needed miracle happened.
A long-lost Friend from Paris,
a parurier who created accessories and jewelry
for The Houses, called for The Artist.

“Your work interests me.
Make a collection for me.
Bring a breath of fresh air.
Bring your creativity.
And let’s push the limits.”

Even without an atelier,
and years without practice,
The Artist’s heart knew immediately,
that this was it.

Thus,
began the Artist’s entry into the world of couture,
and the genesis of working with The Houses.

Every day was alive with experiments.
Every day was colors, ideas and innovation.

“Couture always looked for novelty.
So we seized the chance to do things we had never done before!
The sky was the limit.”

Over time, the Artist’s signature style and language blossomed and flourished.

The Artist’s work also caught
the eyes of The Couturier.
And The Couturier loved The Artist’s work.
Thus, began another fruitful path in the journey.

Life gave The Artist
another chance. 
And he seized it wholeheartedly.

Eventually, his Friend from Paris closed his atelier.
Finally, even The Couturier closed his House.
Such is the ebb and flow of life.

Finding himself in difficulty again,
The Artist returned to the
middle of France where he made his very first buttons.