Thursday, April 1, 2010
Maundy Thursday-No Foolin'
April Fool's Day is today and, just think of the irony. It falls on the very day I chose to begin my self-portraits of dinner...AND it's Maundy Thursday. This is the day when the body of Christendom eats the body of Christ, all together, in churches and cathedrals and assembly halls and humble little house churches. There is no other 'civilized' religion left that eats its deity that I know of. Of course, being Protestant, I accept consubstantiation as opposed to transubstantiation, the idea of Christ being with us in communion in spirit but not actual body. It was important to learn the difference as a young Presbyterian and as a confirmation teacher.
The part I find wryly humorous is that this is traditionally the evening of many, many, many church dinners held in the hour before the worship service itself. The meal honors the observance of Passover without becoming a cheap (read that, disrespectful) imitation of our Jewish sisters and brothers observance of the Seder dinner. The humor comes in when I realize that of all nights of the year, this should hardly be a night when dinner becomes an exercise in dietary constraint.
A last meal with a friend whom one has no hope of ever dining with again on this earth should be a celebration-a grand send-off, with many cups of wine and delicious courses as our faith ancestors included. I never gave much thought before to the notion that in Presbyterian churches of my past and the Methodist church of my present that the hot dish, salad potluck and lemon bars are our high-carb, zero alcohol idea of celebration.
Dinner tonight consisted of lasagne, pesto ravioli, fresh fruit and a green salad. Very tasty, very well prepared. There were even hot dogs baked in Pillsbury crescent rolls for the children, and chocolate milk, as well. Dan and I drank water.
The true meal of the evening, however, came after all of us had repaired to the sanctuary and witnessed a moving first-person meditation by one of the elders, a small black woman, on the life of Jesus. As I watched and listened, I wondered what it could have been like to have eaten his last dinner with his friends, knowing what he was facing. As we sang the communion hymn, I was humbled to think that a meal, any meal, could ever approach the importance and significance of a little piece of bread dipped into a cup of grape juice.
Back in my studio as I painted my little watercolor sketch of salad and pasta, I reflected on what it was this evening that gave me real nourishment. And I give thanks. If we are what we eat, I imagine I must be carrying around at least a little bit of the hope for the world inside me this night.
The part I find wryly humorous is that this is traditionally the evening of many, many, many church dinners held in the hour before the worship service itself. The meal honors the observance of Passover without becoming a cheap (read that, disrespectful) imitation of our Jewish sisters and brothers observance of the Seder dinner. The humor comes in when I realize that of all nights of the year, this should hardly be a night when dinner becomes an exercise in dietary constraint.
A last meal with a friend whom one has no hope of ever dining with again on this earth should be a celebration-a grand send-off, with many cups of wine and delicious courses as our faith ancestors included. I never gave much thought before to the notion that in Presbyterian churches of my past and the Methodist church of my present that the hot dish, salad potluck and lemon bars are our high-carb, zero alcohol idea of celebration.
Dinner tonight consisted of lasagne, pesto ravioli, fresh fruit and a green salad. Very tasty, very well prepared. There were even hot dogs baked in Pillsbury crescent rolls for the children, and chocolate milk, as well. Dan and I drank water.
The true meal of the evening, however, came after all of us had repaired to the sanctuary and witnessed a moving first-person meditation by one of the elders, a small black woman, on the life of Jesus. As I watched and listened, I wondered what it could have been like to have eaten his last dinner with his friends, knowing what he was facing. As we sang the communion hymn, I was humbled to think that a meal, any meal, could ever approach the importance and significance of a little piece of bread dipped into a cup of grape juice.
Back in my studio as I painted my little watercolor sketch of salad and pasta, I reflected on what it was this evening that gave me real nourishment. And I give thanks. If we are what we eat, I imagine I must be carrying around at least a little bit of the hope for the world inside me this night.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Self Portraits, Food, and Spirituality
I had an artist friend who, as she faced her death from cancer, vowed to document her journey toward her unknown destination armed with creativity. She resolved to create a self-portrait each day as her treatments began and the disease ground away at her life. To my amazement, she actually followed through on her resolve. We had a show when she'd finished 30 portraits, some done under the added burden of chemotherapy.
Most were little sketches or watercolors in which her likeness, despite hair loss, bloated face, and yellowed complexion, showed forth plainly. Those were on the good days. One day, it was so bad, the portrait consisted of just a few penstrokes. It was the most poignant of the whole collection, and truly reflected who she was and what her life was like at that particular moment in time.
There are two things for which I am most grateful as I remember this friend, now that she has been gone for some time. One was, of course, the self-portraits that had such an impact on me and the other artists in the show. The other was that, just a few weeks before her death, she attended a show of my work to offer her encouragement and support. Despite her journey she squeezed every moment of creativity out of her hours, days, and weeks.
Something I have realized, lately, is that I seem to be channeling my creativity into some rather bizarre channels as I have not made time to paint or draw over the past several weeks. Since I have lost my job, moved, started planning a wedding, and prepare to start a temporary job, I have not painted a stroke and have put pencil to paper but once. I have not even kept up my journal or my blog.
Instead, one of the really bizarre things I noticed is that the other day I was juicing oranges for breakfast and realized that I was stacking the empty half-shells in the compost pail in a beautiful spiral pattern of shiny orange half-domes. Now, all creativity is fleeting, and many artists intentionally make art that is meant to be transitory. But this was just silly.
Later I realized that my recent obsession with presenting food beautifully seems to be the default outlet for my own need to make art. Unfortunately, it has also gotten enmeshed with an untimely misguided preoccupation with creating luscious, calorie-laden (thanks a lot, 'Julie and Julia')dinners that we probably shouldn't be eating every night of the week. I shudder when I look at the scale.
I am going to try an experiment to change my habits. Since I need to make beautiful, appealing food that is also healthy and delicious, I am going to combine it with the exercise which I learned from my artist friend. I realized that creating the self-portraits was not only an outlet for her creativity, the work gave her some control over her cancer; maybe even over her death. At least it put it on her own terms.
I propose to create a portrait of my dinner every night during April and May, using various media, and making each portrait no larger than 4"x6".
By practicing this discipline, I hope to achieve three goals:
1.) I will force myself to critically examine my main meal for health and design, concentrating on colorful vegetables and fruits
2.) I will provide myself with a framework in which to make art daily
3.) I will discover more about the connection between food artistry, nutrition, self-care, and creativity
I promise myself I will post regularly and put my pictures up on the blog if for no other reason than to be accountable and to derive a sense of accomplishment during this desert time. Here's to creativity! Thanks, Artemis, for being such a courageous role-model! What an artist you were!
Most were little sketches or watercolors in which her likeness, despite hair loss, bloated face, and yellowed complexion, showed forth plainly. Those were on the good days. One day, it was so bad, the portrait consisted of just a few penstrokes. It was the most poignant of the whole collection, and truly reflected who she was and what her life was like at that particular moment in time.
There are two things for which I am most grateful as I remember this friend, now that she has been gone for some time. One was, of course, the self-portraits that had such an impact on me and the other artists in the show. The other was that, just a few weeks before her death, she attended a show of my work to offer her encouragement and support. Despite her journey she squeezed every moment of creativity out of her hours, days, and weeks.
Something I have realized, lately, is that I seem to be channeling my creativity into some rather bizarre channels as I have not made time to paint or draw over the past several weeks. Since I have lost my job, moved, started planning a wedding, and prepare to start a temporary job, I have not painted a stroke and have put pencil to paper but once. I have not even kept up my journal or my blog.
Instead, one of the really bizarre things I noticed is that the other day I was juicing oranges for breakfast and realized that I was stacking the empty half-shells in the compost pail in a beautiful spiral pattern of shiny orange half-domes. Now, all creativity is fleeting, and many artists intentionally make art that is meant to be transitory. But this was just silly.
Later I realized that my recent obsession with presenting food beautifully seems to be the default outlet for my own need to make art. Unfortunately, it has also gotten enmeshed with an untimely misguided preoccupation with creating luscious, calorie-laden (thanks a lot, 'Julie and Julia')dinners that we probably shouldn't be eating every night of the week. I shudder when I look at the scale.
I am going to try an experiment to change my habits. Since I need to make beautiful, appealing food that is also healthy and delicious, I am going to combine it with the exercise which I learned from my artist friend. I realized that creating the self-portraits was not only an outlet for her creativity, the work gave her some control over her cancer; maybe even over her death. At least it put it on her own terms.
I propose to create a portrait of my dinner every night during April and May, using various media, and making each portrait no larger than 4"x6".
By practicing this discipline, I hope to achieve three goals:
1.) I will force myself to critically examine my main meal for health and design, concentrating on colorful vegetables and fruits
2.) I will provide myself with a framework in which to make art daily
3.) I will discover more about the connection between food artistry, nutrition, self-care, and creativity
I promise myself I will post regularly and put my pictures up on the blog if for no other reason than to be accountable and to derive a sense of accomplishment during this desert time. Here's to creativity! Thanks, Artemis, for being such a courageous role-model! What an artist you were!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Yolo Artists Directory
http://www.yoloarts.org/artistdetails.asp?id=335
The reason I put this link up on this blog is that, for the first time, I have dared to list myself in public as an artist. It seems like a scary step at the moment because I am living in what feels like a highly risk-tolerant way. No salary. No official ministry. No office to report to every day. The simple life suddenly seems so much more attainable.
In this new simplicity, I am learning to notice the blessings of independence, no daily schedule except my own disciplines, and a boundless ministry which I am free to define as I understand it.
It will be interesting to take next steps with this and my work. I can only wonder at the moment how losing my job, intentionally giving up my own place, and embracing my art can be grasped, articulated, understood, and appreciated. Words come haltingly, so it may be that these things can become tangible only through art.
We shall see.
From Psalm 116:
[5] Gracious is the LORD, and righteous;
our God is merciful.
[6] The LORD protects the simple;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
The reason I put this link up on this blog is that, for the first time, I have dared to list myself in public as an artist. It seems like a scary step at the moment because I am living in what feels like a highly risk-tolerant way. No salary. No official ministry. No office to report to every day. The simple life suddenly seems so much more attainable.
In this new simplicity, I am learning to notice the blessings of independence, no daily schedule except my own disciplines, and a boundless ministry which I am free to define as I understand it.
It will be interesting to take next steps with this and my work. I can only wonder at the moment how losing my job, intentionally giving up my own place, and embracing my art can be grasped, articulated, understood, and appreciated. Words come haltingly, so it may be that these things can become tangible only through art.
We shall see.
From Psalm 116:
[5] Gracious is the LORD, and righteous;
our God is merciful.
[6] The LORD protects the simple;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Ratatouille
In the tradition of fine cooking "provencal" I pulled out my ratatouille recipe which if I were honest I did NOT follow, rather like a lot of American women who now channel Julia Child since the box-office success of Julie and Julia hit the movies last summer-Well, I hate to think I would offend too much but I didn't measure, weigh, or otherwise apportion any of the ingredients. The most I did really was to choose fresh and beautiful looking food.
An inspiration to push further the limits of luck and taste hit me when I realized I had a huge bag of fresh Fuji apples on the counter from yesterday's fruit-stand frenzy.
I cannot restrain myself whenever I go to Pedrick's Produce, a grown-up fruit stand in our neighboring town of Dixon that attracts foodies from Davis with their old-fashioned butcher paper and poster paint signs out along the highway for all the seasonal produce. I'd stopped for 49-cent yams and ended up with four bags of fruits and veggies for under $20...Not until I got home did I begin to consider where I would store them, how I would prepare them, or who would actually eat them besides myself.
It slowly dawned on me that maybe I was compensating for having the almost smallest Thanksgiving feast (just Dan, Sean, and I)exercising some wishful thinking. Oh, well. Life gives you apples, you make applesauce. Or baked apples, perhaps.
So I didn't measure, weigh, or otherwise apportion the following, perhaps out of rebelliousness toward my absent family, but more likely out of sheer cussedness that's evolved because my mother has always claimed I'm a terrible cook. Try the recipe and see if you agree.
3 large firm apples sliced lengthwise, cored with a melon baller
1/2 C maple-flavored granola cereal
a scant handful seedless raisins
1 T baking mix such as Bisquick
1 tsp, cinnammon
Maple syrup to taste
honey/lemon elixir (equal parts honey and juice of lemon, mixed together. I keep
this on hand during flu season to ease coughs and sore throats)
Butter
Preheat oven to 400. In an oblong baking pan. place apple halves on their backs, cored side up and evenly divide the supply of filling among all 4 apple halves.
That's all I can do for tonight! I look forwrd to working with you .Good NightSee you soon@
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Quote of the Day
"A true work of art is the creation of love, love for the subject first & for the medium second" ~nature photographer Eliot Porter
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Ballerina at Rest
It has been a riotous time on the emotional front. For the past two weeks my inner serenity has been pummeled by my baby's very dramatic high school graduation, the loss of my friend, boss, and pastor, and the announcement of our new boss and pastor to arrive within the next few weeks.
I am "holding down the fort" (thankfully with a lot of support) during the interim. Yesterday was the second of our rather high-anxiety staff meetings I moderated. The new pastor is not yet here and I can tell some of the congregation feels as if things are out of control.
Needless to say, for the past two weeks I have been unable to paint. Then, last night, when I seemed to need it the most, the stars shifted and planets moved to give me the gift of an entire evening at home alone. I had this 24"x30" canvas gessoed and ready to go, and I had originally thought about a rage-filled red and violet abstract but this is what wanted to happen instead.
Sabbath is a gift that we need more often than we are willing to receive it. The unwillingness can come from within or without, but we cannot forfeit our serenity without being complicit in that surrender. No one can take shabbat from us; it is God's gift.
I am resting this afternoon, reminding myself that things are not out of control. They are merely out of my control. Thank God they are in God's control.
I didn't know what to call this, incidentally. I labelled it Ballerina I in my files simply for lack of a name, and I think it's hilarious and marvelous that I have never taken ballet nor have I ever wanted to paint ballerinas. I hardly even imagine there would be a Ballerina II! I think this one should be titled "Ballerina at Rest".
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