There is, in La Corallina Firenze’s new collection Natale in Città, something that goes beyond the object itself,...
New collection Natale in Città
There is, in La Corallina Firenze’s new collection Natale in Città, something that goes beyond the object itself, beyond its functional purpose — as if the charger plate, that perfect circle, mirror of an ancient gesture, became a metaphor for light itself, for its dwelling within matter and transforming it into narrative. Six plates, six fragments of a landscape both urban and interior, in which winter is not merely a season but a state of the soul: a suspended time, gilded at the edges, suffused with that quiet melancholy that belongs to cities when they light up for the holidays, like in the paintings of De Nittis or the cityscapes of Boldini, where snow seems less to fall than to settle upon the instant.
Thus the table — the domestic place par excellence — becomes scene and ritual, a small architecture of memory where form becomes substance, as Valéry would have said, and the act of arranging objects takes on the dignity of a secret language, a way of saying that time itself can still be inhabited with grace.
Each charger plate, in its diameter, in the precision of its decoration uniting craftsmanship and vision, restores to conviviality its natural rhythm — the slow, deliberate cadence of sharing and living together.
It is a silent celebration of matter: color turning into story, line enclosing the world in a perfect circle, like a verse by Rilke. And within that circle, the city becomes a landscape of the mind — where illuminated windows are reflected on the tableware, and the distance between inside and outside dissolves into a single, tender luminosity.
It is no coincidence that Natale in Città was born in Florence, where the tradition of craftsmanship meets contemporary form, and where every object seems to guard an invisible memory: the memory of the hands that shaped it, of the time passing through it, of the beauty that endures even in the simplest of gestures — setting the table, lighting a candle, inviting someone to sit. Because, as Novalis wrote, “Every beloved object is the center of a paradise.” And perhaps this is the ultimate meaning of the collection: to return to the table, and to those who gather around it, the awareness that even in the city — among lights and imagined snow — a moment of peace can still be born, a fragment of beauty, an instant of silent eternity.
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