by Bonnie Pockley

Every Saturday I go to the local market. It is one of those simple things that brings me such easy-won pleasure. Strong coffee, berries in summer, the occasional bunch of home grown roses and, if I’m lucky, a few special finds. There’s always something satisfying about rummaging through racks of clothes or pots of bits and pieces in hope of finding some gems. The ultimate seems to always be a beautiful dress – something to invoke another self, like an actress does a character. A fine cotton floral ‘Spanish’ dress with an extraordinary yoke collar or a 1970’s ‘Sunday Picnic In The Park’ kind of a dress that demands a little romance or perhaps a shared glass of wine. For me these things have stories. Whether real or imagined, these dresses have won and broken hearts, turned heads and been tugged at by lovers hands. Eventually too, they have been forgotten or grown out of, ready to take on another wearer – ready to shine again. Ready, indeed, for you. And that is why these finds are special. Not all dresses fit. Not all jump out at you and demand your attention. Not all speak to you in that unheard way.

There is magic in this, I believe. Where imagination and reality collide in tactile fabric and rich textiles. We are children at play but also living out another aspect and another dimension of ourselves without any seeming change. Within this, is the gentle life, la dolce vita, the sweet moments not yet lived but considered, the picnic plans and Sunday lunches, the movie nights and the shared wine, late at night, in deep conversation.

Me and my son Pax