Love of memory

The morning sun danced over Krakow's main square, kissing the historic buildings with its golden rays. The city breathed history, and I, a traveller hungry for authentic experiences, who was travelling in Poland in search of my roots, immersed myself in every detail Krakow had to offer. I crossed cobbled streets, lost myself in picturesque alleys and finally arrived in front of a shop that looked like a portal to a fascinating past: a traditional porcelain shop.

The shop door made a melodious sound as I opened it, announcing my entrance into a world of elegance and delicacy. The brass bell rang, and I was greeted by a symphony of colours and shapes adorning the shelves. Finely decorated porcelain, with floral motifs and intricate details, surrounded me like a visual tale of traditions passed down through generations.

I began to carefully scrutinise each piece on display, feeling the story behind each cup, plate and vase. Each object seemed to tell a part of Polish culture, with its sophisticated embroidery and stories woven into the decorations. The ceramics revealed the artistry and craftsmanship of skilled artisans, custodians of a tradition that has stood the test of time.

I met the shop owner, an elderly gentleman with eyes shining with passion as he told me about the history behind each piece on display. In a warm voice, he told me how the tradition of porcelain in Krakow had been passed down from generation to generation, each helping to preserve the art and culture of the region.

Emotions surfaced as I listened to the stories of the past, combining the history of the shop with the history of the city itself. Each object seemed to have a voice, telling of family holidays, weddings and special moments shared around a table laden with precious porcelain.

As I explored the shop, my excitement turned into admiration for the craftsmen's dedication to preserving their cultural heritage. The porcelains were not just objects of art; they were witnesses to a glorious past and custodians of a tradition destined to live on into the future.

I decided to take home a piece of this magic, choosing a finely decorated cup that embodied the beauty and history of Krakow. As I paid, the owner smiled at me, acknowledging my appreciation for his art. I left the shop with the cup in my hand, but I was carrying so much more: I was carrying a piece of Krakow, woven with emotions and ancient stories, which I would treasure in my heart.

It wasn't long before I realised that I was already immersed in the beautiful world of Wjulia, my ancestor, and the porcelain that had excited me was the love of my great-great-grandmother reaching out to me and involving me.

It was not long before I found myself taking up the profession, the passion, the commitment. And my shop was born. Or rather: Wjulia's shop.