São Simão Arte

“It is the little inequalities between each tile… the way the light reflects on the glaze, never uniform, that makes them magical,” says Leonor. We are in Vila Fresca de Azeitão, a mere 40-minute drive south of Lisbon, a region famous for its creamy cheeses and sweet Moscatel wines. But we are not here to eat or drink (not yet, at least). We are here to travel back in time.

Leonor stands amidst a sea of blue and white. She is the matriarch of São Simão Arte, an “azulejo” – the renowned Portuguese tiles – factory that is less of a manufacturing plant and more of a resistance movement against the modern industrial machine.

“We are quite enthusiastic because, in fact, in a world where everything is massified, this place continues with the concern of being completely artisanal,” she explains, her eyes scanning the racks of drying clay.

The story of this place is, like the best Portuguese stories, born of romance and a touch of obsession. “We are both from Lisbon, but my husband was part of the José Maria da Fonseca Wineries,” Leonor recalls. “When we got married, we came here. And we always had a passion for antique tiles.”

That passion was not a mild hobby. It was a consuming fire. Leonor and her late husband, António, scoured scrap yards, antique shops, and demolition sites across Lisbon. They amassed an extraordinary collection ranging from Hispano-Arab styles to the 19th century.

“The collection grew… and grew. Eventually, it was everything,” she laughs. “We had a huge wine cellar with tunnels, and the walls were completely covered with azulejos.”

Although that original collection was eventually sold to the collector Joe Berardo (and can now be seen at the nearby Bacalhôa Palace), the knowledge remained. In 1982, António and two partners launched an adventure: a factory dedicated to “reproducing antique tiles faithfully”.

“The manufacturing process is exactly the same: the cutting of the clay, the glazing, the painting,” Leonor says. “The only difference is that the firing is done in an electric kiln. That is it.”

If you visit São Simão, forget the clinical precision of modern ceramics. Here, flaws are features.

The tiles are pressed manually with a ballast roller and left to dry naturally for two months. This slow process gives the surface a slight irregularity – a “warp” that catches the light in a way a flat factory tile never could.

Leonor points out the nuances: “The colors intend to be completely similar to the ancient ones… The trace is ruder, but it is much more genuine.”

It is this authenticity that has drawn commissions from the Casino of Macau to a bank in the United States, and even two massive panels for a church in Georgia depicting the martyrdom of a saint.

But the real magic of São Simão is not just in buying; it is in doing. The factory is open to the public (“We have tourists coming almost the whole year,” Leonor notes), and the workshops are the highlight.

“If you are interested, we explain the whole process,” Leonor says. “From the cutting to the biscuit firing, then the glazing, and finally the painting.”

Guests are invited to sit at an easel. If you are not confident in your freehand skills, do not worry. The factory uses the traditional 17th-century method of “spouncing.”

“We use sheets of vegetable paper that are pricked with holes,” she explains, mimicking the motion. “Then we pass a ‘boneca’ (a charcoal pouch) over it to leave the outline.”

From there, it is just you, the brush, and the silence of the workshop.

“Many children come too. They make whatever drawings they feel like, and when they see the result after firing, they are so happy.”

Before you leave, you must ask to see the faience. “My husband also had a mania for 18th-century faience, plates from Estremoz,” Leonor says with a fond smile. They decided to reproduce those too. The copies are so perfect that they used to play a game with friends at dinner parties.

“In the middle of all the antiques, we would put one plate made by us at the factory,” she says. “We asked our friends to guess which was the modern one. They could not find it.”

Today, the legacy is in safe hands. After her husband passed, and following a pause during the pandemic, Leonor and her daughters “took back the reins of the business.” They are energized, launching new projects and welcoming a new wave of travelers seeking something real.

“It is a subject that I like, that enthuses me,” Leonor concludes, looking around the workshop that smells of wet clay and history. “There is still so much to learn.”

Come to Azeitão. Paint a tile. And take home a piece of imperfect perfection.