Arcopal Lullaby

Slaapliedje

Arcopal Lullaby

Dedicated to Marieke

The story of … (Arcopal)

Arcopal dinnerware was first introduced in 1958. I began collecting Arcopal pieces in 2008, discovering them at brocantes in the Allier region of France.

This video showcases a slideshow of my collection of Arcopal bowls, accompanied by Bach’s Für Elise—a timeless piece of music paired with this timeless dinnerware.

A new slideshow of my Arcopal collection is currently in the works. I’d love to hear from anyone else who has a large collection of Arcopal! Feel free to reach out and share your story.

Duration: 3:32 min

Arcopal – Flutter from flower to flower

In the making of

connie dekker- arcopal
connie dekker- arcopal
connie dekker- arcopal

Related works – photo-still video

I make films that slow down seeing, where looking becomes a form of listening.

My process begins with curiosity about what persists at the edge of attention: a shoebox of ribbon cards from a brocante, each bearing a carefully inked date; an afternoon curtain responding to wind; ivy slowly overtaking trees along the Po River. I photograph these moments and objects, then arrange the images into sequences guided by duration rather than plot. Instead of telling stories, I am interested in how long it takes before recognition gives way to deeper attention.

Poetry enters as a parallel rhythm. Words appear gradually, incompletely at first, asking to be read at the pace of breathing rather than information-gathering.

In Towards the Voices, language becomes a bilingual dialogue that seems to emerge from the landscape itself. This creates a double attentiveness: to image and text, neither complete without the other, both requiring patience.

 What draws me to these presences – whether intimate objects or reshaped trees – is what they carry beyond their original use or form, a quality that remains transferable. Not nostalgia, but something that persists beyond context.

These films create space for a quiet encounter with time itself, where dated cards, moving fabric, or overgrown trunks become ways of listening – and of being present with what continues, wordlessly, beyond us.