Dearest Gentle Readers,
You are invited to a ball! A ball of tastes, of steel’s commanding call, of porcelain grace in silvery sprawl. A meeting most creative, in experiences deep, full of uplift, in velveted sweep. In carnival dress, beneath salon glow, virtues are adorned and set out to show. Admired, displayed, revealed with care—the power of materials, creations laid bare. A night of objects, pure art in a hall, of chosen affinities binding all.
This is a gathering of those who sculpt steel with air, who honour kaolin with reverence and zeal. Those who deform in Wrocław with curious intent, and know Meissen’s secrets—where centuries went. In Albrechtsberg’s halls, the reception has begun: tables, chairs, vases—each singular, each one. All prepared, all authored, all ready to play. Now feast with the eyes, linger, and stay—whether decadently, or with pleasure complete, this is the hour to indulge and to meet.
Within Dresden’s walls, where the spirit of ages still lingers, two distinct charms entwine their fingers. Meissen and Zieta, side by side, present their treasures with no need to hide. A rare occasion, history deep—for steel and porcelain mankind still keeps. A ball for craft, for shine, for reflection’s task, a ball quite loud—yet it is form that calls, not brash. Tradition speaks clearly, its voice never slack, always faithful, always with a glint of polish back.
Steel in silvery tones invites guests to dine. Chippensteel appears, with a lineage fine. It whispers of Chippendale, long since renowned, his legacy echoed where elegance is found. Born of the eighteenth century, steady and true, today it seats film stars as gladly as you. Faithful to tradition, yet modern in guise—scan it and summon before your eyes.
Another guest arrives, from a different refrain: the Polish Folk Object Inflated with Air by name. First to steal hearts, especially those enticed by invention, by what newly grows. The very first FiDU, inflated and proud, winner of laurels, saw champagnes flowing loud.
By the fireplace waits the Morph table, poised, for talk both spirited and well-employed. An oak top softens the bionic steel below. Suddenly Bolid appears—hungry to go, ready for a mobile feast of sense and delight of porcelain.
The feast may begin—the holidays slipped past fast. Now comes Carnival, at last, at last! What splendid excess, what joyful decree!
What a night this shall be.
Photo: Clemens Porikys
Vases adorn both table and floor, steel hypnotic, demanding encore. Leyki rise tall, each telling its tale, for flowers or candles they never fail. And there stands Triglav, architectural and grand, a candelabrum of confident stand.
