Have you ever had a small moment stop you in your tracks, the kind where the world feels busy, but something simple pulls you gently back into the present? For me, that moment often arrives in the form of a winter camellia.

One of the small joys that always grounds me, both during my years in Japan and now here in California, is spotting the camellia, 椿 tsubaki, blooming in the coldest months. When most plants are taking a winter rest, the camellia chooses that moment to shine. Its glossy dark leaves and perfectly layered petals offer a kind of quiet presence, a reminder that beauty doesn’t need a season, it arrives when it’s ready, and often when we least expect it.

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Some objects seem to hold entire worlds within them, quietly waiting for us to notice. This plate has been part of my life for as long as I can remember, yet only recently did I decide to uncover its story. What I found surprised me: it was produced by the Victoria Czecho-Slovakia company sometime between 1890 and 1919, during the height of Art Nouveau.

That discovery felt like a personal connection to an era I’ve always admired, especially growing up in Belgium, where the flowing lines and organic forms of architects like Victor Horta are part of our cultural DNA. The plate’s scalloped edges and intricate design echo that same elegance, but with a twist: a fascination for Japanese aesthetics that swept through Europe at the time. It’s not valuable in money, but its worth to me is immeasurable. And it makes me wonder, why did my great-uncle and aunt choose this piece? Perhaps the answer lies in a movement called Japonisme.

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