Strangely Enough

Practice makes me better at what I do. Not perfect; not even superb. But better.

What it utterly fails to do is to make me a better person. Not meaning morally superior or that I believe it should make me a genius or give me magical powers. Not that any of that wouldn’t be dandy! But really.
Digital illo: But I Repeat Myself...

Thing is, new knowledge or skills gained through practice are not in and of themselves transformative. I still have the same silly obsessions, ideas and ideals, and flaws and fears. I’m still attracted to the same colors, patterns, textures, and shapes, not to mention that I have recognizable signature styles of line work and abstraction and the like. So I learn how to use new tools and materials, like my little iPad and its friends the art apps. And I still kind of draw the same thing over and over. Variations on a theme. That sort of thing.

And strangely enough, I don’t mind. It remains true, along with all of my other perpetual characteristics, that the end product of my art work is less important than the process. That’s the essential part. Does it make me boring and predictable? Very possibly. Does it mean I’m unteachable and irredeemable? Hope not. Does it matter in the grand scheme of existence? Not likely. The universe has more important things to do.

I do not.

Foodie Tuesday: Just Shoot Me (Said the Food)

No, my friends, I’m no longer feeling so terrible with the flu that the thought of even writing about food repels me; I am, I believe, fully recovered already. No need to bump me off. Whew! But my appetite is still slightly limited and my interest in slaving over a hot stove, nil.

Lest you be too confused by today’s post title, I am not making a personal request either to be executed or made into a photographer’s portrait subject. Not crazy about either idea. I’m also, for the record, not overly fond of getting shots (except for the knowledge that they usually are meant to help me be healthier), and I can’t recall ever drinking shots. All such nonsense aside, my teasing post title only means to tell you that I’m thinking about food photography and meal-time hunger and how incompatible they are.

Photo montage: First, Find Pretty Food

*SOOC*? Almost. Light-adjusted for clarity and slightly more accuracy, straightened if necessary, and cropped. But the foods were already pretty attractive. Hence, my firing off a shot or two, tossing the camera aside, and getting down to the real business at hand. Eating and drinking. Wouldn’t you do the same?

Left to right, above: Flavored honeys at the farmer’s market in Halifax; a cinnamon apple napoleon with vanilla custard and pomegranate glaze at an unknown restaurant in Seattle; a glass of Pilsner Urquell enjoyed near its ‘birthplace’ at a neighborhood eatery in Prague.

Pros don’t need tons of time or patience to suss out the situation, set their cameras on the ideal settings, frame the shot, take it, and abracadabra!, they’re done. Great art, now let’s get down to eating. So unfair. Of course, that’s arguable, because if I spent the time and effort to learn and train properly in how to use a camera of any sort, I might conceivably get decent enough skills to save myself a few frustrations, not to mention gut rumbles.

Fool that I am, I have always let my natural intimidation around all-things-technical (plus, admittedly, fear of a certain unpleasant would-be teacher in years past) scare me out of getting serious about cameras. I’m generally content to let the camera do all of the work for me, at least until I get photos onto my computer where I can play with them endlessly as artworks or, at the least, adjust them so they better fit my idea of what I saw or am trying to convey. Part of my artist persona has always been to edit, tweak, second-guess, and fiddle with images, so it’s not as onerous to me to figure out how to make a photo into what I want it to be—I’m far less interested in documentary accuracy and straight-out-of-camera [*SOOC*] “honesty” than in getting my story told. All photographs were, and are, still only images of what the photographer chose or was able to show us, despite the popular notion that they are “truthful” in ways that other visual forms of data are not. And while I like a Pretty Picture or a dramatic image, what I’m always in search of is illustration that enhances and furthers my storytelling, whether with words added or not.

As a cook, I am in the same category. I love to eat delicious and, sometimes, complicated foods. I enjoy goofing around in the kitchen and, occasionally, discovering something I can make that’s delicious or, rarely, complex. But the very idea of having good technical skills as a cook—never mind chef—is just as unattainable, between my aforementioned phobias and my laziness, as going pro with a camera.

The results of all of this? I blog about food; as an aficionado but never as an expert, I am limited in what I can tell you about food not only in technical terms but in how I show it to you. I shoot as well as I’m able, and if it’s really imperfect, touch up what I shoot until it’s at least marginally post-able. Then I use it. And I blather about what I do and don’t like, how I make dishes or fail in the attempts, stuff I like to eat when I’m out and about, new treats I’ve learned to adore, and other food-lust topics, just as though I had any business doing so. I happen to like documenting my foodly obsessions.

The other thing I do is try to learn along the way. Food tricks, perhaps. Learn from my mistakes. Photographic ones, mostly. Couple of things I’ve learned: find pretty foods to shoot (see above montage). Better chance of getting a good portrait, if you have a good-looking subject, whether conventionally beautiful or just wonderfully interesting. Use as much natural light as you can get. The food can be moved a little to catch the light better but the sun can’t be so easily moved to better suit the food. Don’t get fancy. The food’s already attractive—okay: or horrible, if that’s what I’m documenting, so it’s at least meant to be an interesting subject. No reason to do a lot of fussy setup and presentation extras, since I have limited supplies of tablewares and glamorous shoot venues, so I tend to pay more attention to details of the ingredients or go for a tight shot of the plate rather than overdo extraneous things.

That’s about it. Because, as I intimated in my opening salvo here, even the littlest bit of time spent on the photographic part of the posts is time taken away from my pursuit of eating. Digital cameras are a boon in this regard, of course. Fast, efficient, no waiting. My little old smartphone is helpful as well. As techno-dull as I am, I know very little indeed of what my phone can or can’t do, let alone how to make it do anything for me. But I know how to take the simplest of snapshots, and my phone camera knows how to send them to my waiting computer, and that speeds up the process just one helpful little bit more. So glad to get to the table faster.

Photo montage: Phone-to-Table Eating

The middle photo was taken with a regular point-and-shoot digital camera, and the flanking shots (a little later) with my cell phone camera. I think I’m getting incrementally better along the way. More importantly, faster to the table. Most importantly, the food tasted rather good. Mission accomplished, I guess.

Left to right, above: Zucchini frittata with salsa, olives, and crispy bacon; roasted chicken breast with guacamole and coleslaw; skillet-cooked steak and mushrooms with pan-fried  mashed potatoes, balsamic deglaze, tomatoes, and strawberries. All home cookery.

Foodie Tuesday: Dangerous Longings & Forbidden Fruit

Photo: Beaver TailsComeuppance. Karma. A need to get way, waaaaay better behaved and healthier after a number of weeks of recklessly overindulgent behavior in the dietary realm. Whatever you want to call it, this is the time when I’m thinking I need to scale back and revamp my approach. For a few days, having returned Monday from the last of the summer’s travels bigger and much less healthy and fit than when I left at the beginning of June, I have been in the mode of, well, repentance.

New plans, however, can be exciting and inviting, too. What I have to try to discover now is what the true sources of my joy are when it comes to eating and how to access those without being so overindulgent and foolish. I know. I’ve promised myself before that I’d behave better, and it’s never stuck all that well, has it. Still gotta try.Photo: Boston Cream Pie

Because there really is a lot of yummy stuff out there, and it’s not all bad for me. What I need to get smarter about is recognizing what leads to my downfall, what I crave and find most compelling, most especially when it seems inaccessible…and figure out all of the best possible ways to assuage my pangs instead of giving in to more self-destructive behavior. We’ll just see how I do.

There are a lot of delicious Beaver Tail fried dough treats out there, lathered up with maple icing or snow-dusted with cinnamon sugar just begging me to break my commitment to reducing my sugar intake and cutting out wheat as much as possible. Creamy desserts are flagrantly showing off their dangerously dairy-rich fabulousness at every turn, egging me on constantly to renew on my promises to myself that I will avoid more milk products that aren’t on the healthier end of the spectrum, say toward probiotic-loaded yogurt or a reasonably forgiving hunk of cheese. Pizza’s beauties are many, but one slice is seldom enough for me, even a slice as big as my head, and the one-two punch of wheat-rich crust and cheese’s oozing gooey goodness are too good at breaking my slim resolve. A magnificent slice of perfectly fresh fruit pie is pretty irresistible to a weak-willed piggy like me, but it’s loaded up with sugar most of the time and one slice—one bite—usually has the power to zap my strength. I just roll over and right off the wagon.Photo: Big-ass Pizza Slice

Now it’s time to embrace the new approach. Self-improvement in tiny, sustainable, and simple increments. Thinking hard for now. What makes me love wheat-based baked goods? Tender plus chewy texture. The scent of yeast. Crazy-good toppings and fillings. Thinking hard about what favorite other things can substitute for the wheat content. What makes me go crazy over creamy treats? Silky, fatty mouthfeel with a mellow sweetness that complements practically everything it touches. Thinking about substitutions. Things I already also love, but that aren’t quite so hard on the operation of my innards and the general shape of my outer shell, too. What is the real allure of sugary stuff? That little rush of energy, even though it is generally followed by a bigger fall-off; the bit of pleasurable serotonin buzzing up in me, and the flavor boost to other seasonings. Thinking, thinking…

Sure is easy to think about food. Now I hope I can think about it in smarter, healthier ways until I form a smarter, healthier relationship with it. But still while having as much fun as possible. Yep, not giving that up anytime soon.Photo: Pie, Baby!

Dis Guy’s Disguise

I love the way that superheroes remain unrecognized, even by their nearest and dearest, despite nearly always having camouflaged getups as thin as a politician’s commitment. Glasses on a person who doesn’t usually wear glasses: so much coverage! A little mask with big eyeholes in it…yeah, that’ll fool Mom when she looks me straight in the face! At least in more of the fairytales there’s a serious enough literal transformation that I can believe it would confound a reasonable amount of investigative zeal. I mean, I can imagine that Beauty’s pal the Beast could conceivably be tough for most people to spot as his former princely persona, at least more so than a cape and a staggeringly revealing, body-conforming spandex super-suit would tend to do.Digital illo: Beastly Problem, That!

When I become a superhero, and, of course, I will, eventually—it kind of seems like few people on earth don’t at some point fall into a vat of toxic waste and vow revenge on those who allowed it to happen, if you read at all these days—I plan to be so well hidden in my new identity that even you people who have been meeting me here in Bloglandia for four-plus years won’t flinch. Meanwhile, you’ll probably be too distracted by the latest zombie apocalypse or alien invasion (also well documented in current entertaining literature and film) to notice I’ve changed anyhow.

More likely, though, is that the whole hidden-in-plain-sight thing is much closer to reality than I like to think. It’s amazing to consider how many large-looming realities I am capable of missing or simply convincing myself don’t exist because I’m too small-thinking to accept them as present. I don’t like to believe I was wrong, so I convince myself the other person is the one at fault. I don’t want to believe that someone I’ve liked and admired is terribly flawed, so I keep up the idealized image in my mind, pretending that he doesn’t have a detectable alcohol problem or she hasn’t been the obvious only person with access to the accounts that have consistently failed to remain in balance. Might as well be wearing neon signs that say Hey! Lookee here!! Big PROBLEM!!!, and wearing clown costumes.

I still like superhero stories and fabulations and fairytales. I enjoy them immensely. But there is a little part of me that always gets as grouchy as the Beast that they’re so patently improbable, what with all of the costumes that couldn’t fool a baby seeming to deceive the world at large for great lengths of time. Mostly because I know I can’t count myself in the baby’s camp when it comes to such discernment. Fool me twice—a thousand times—shame on me. Grrr!

Trust & Trojan Horses

The problem of what and whom to trust or distrust is far older (though my niece and nephews might be shocked to hear it) than I am, but it remains a puzzle to me, too. In some ways, I suppose, the difficulty only increases with the passing of time, both personal and historical. As I get older and, theoretically at least, more mature and educated, I should have a greater base of knowledge and experience and sharpened observational powers and discernment. As history flows forward and the world grows smaller through the connections of increased mobility and communications, there are exponentially more points of view, levels of experience and learning, and sources of information to be sorted. Yet each generation, each individual, is generally born with no more innate wisdom and perception of fact-vs.-fiction than the ones who’ve gone before. We—individually and corporately—have had the opportunity to not only be taught by previous generations and their experience and learning, but also an unprecedented ability to go places, do things, and otherwise see with our own eyes what is possible on this earth. Yet there remains no shortage of people who mistake their opinions or values for facts, and demonstrable fact for somebody else’s ill-informed opinion if it doesn’t suit them.

When our classical predecessors told about the defeat of Troy by canny Greeks who tricked the Trojans into hauling a massive equine sculpture into the city as a victory trophy when it was actually full of Greek operatives who emerged by night, opened the city gates, and let their fellow soldiers in to attack [the standard modern interpretation of the tale], they tapped this universal theme. Whether it was clever subterfuge or a foreseeable pattern in war tactics didn’t matter so much, perhaps, to the ordinary Trojan citizen waking up to the sight of a Greek sword overhead, but any survivor of the battle must surely have considered whether he might have realized the ‘gift horse’ of left behind treasure was such an improbability as to be highly suspicious. A number of citizens did, apparently (as told in other parts of the Trojan Horse story) come to this conclusion, but such is our nature: there’s always someone making a counter-claim, asking the opposing question, and coming to an equally fervent yet incompatible Truth.

It’s on this ambiguity of our understanding and interpretation that American politicians and their supporters, no matter what the Issue or which side of it, thrive. That’s not merely an aside, but a fairly typical example of our quotidian practices. How easily we attach to our ideas, and how hard it is to persuade ourselves, let alone anyone else, that those ideas might merit frequent reexamination.

Digital illo: Truth or Consequences?

Truth or consequences? Can I trust that the drawbridge will stay up as I sail under it, down as I ride over it? Or will some villain throw the counterweight in gear against my safe passage? Do I rely on its long history as a sturdy and reliable bridge, or do I need to worry that all this rust means it hasn’t been properly inspected and maintained? Will it hold a horse? Will it hold a horse full of spies and soldiers?

Ultimately, I tend to think there are relatively few absolutes beyond being Alive or Dead in this realm of ours. The marvels of the world, as little as we know of it, are compelling and astonishing enough to seem beyond pat answers and fixed realities. But I also think that if our existence has any cosmic purpose, then chances are pretty decent that we’ve been set to a few basic tasks and given a few tools with which to attempt their accomplishment. Task: question; wonder. Tools: observation, cogitation, research, testing, conversation, reasoning, challenging, and returning repeatedly to the questions and wonderment. All of these, in endlessly rearranged repetitions, fill our tool and skill inventories.

What was considered self-evident Truth might prove to have some wiggle room for better understanding or a new reality in the long run: a human does not, as once believed, have to sprout feathers in order to achieve flight more extensive and less potentially final than that made by falling off a cliff. What was impossible may become possible. Complications remain. Humans disagree on what is or isn’t incontrovertible. No universally recognized and accepted magic surtitles appear, blazoned on the sky, that define fact, fiction, falsehood and firm truth for all people, for all time. We interpret and surmise. The very ability for the human brain to entertain two opposing potentials simultaneously enough to formulate and ask a question assures me that, answer or not, we will always find ample possibilities for disagreement. And also that we can keep moving forward. Even under or across a drawbridge. Even on—or in—a horse.

Things I’ve Learned

Most of the stuff I’ve been taught over the years hasn’t stuck especially well. Key among the useful and meaningful skills and knowledge that have been handed down to me are the remarkably applicable ones wherein I ought to spend most of my energy on keeping my mind open and my mouth shut. Many a disaster can be averted, I know, and many a mountain scaled, if one only practices this simple-sounding combination. But I also know from long experience that the person able to perform this remarkably magical duo of acts on a consistent basis is all too rare, and I am hardly the best practitioner of them.

Other people’s shortcomings, of course, are neither my excuse nor my problem: it’s I alone who need to iron out the kinks in this skill set. Along with these, there are a huge number of additional talents I ought to have cultivated better by now, knowing as I do through experience and example how significantly they can and should improve my life and the lives of those around me. For example, what if I stuck to the demonstrably excellent principle I’ve been taught, in which one stays focused and present in the now, the moment being lived, rather than entangled in mistakes past or muddled by the ever-impossible-to-read future? I can only imagine I’d waste a whole lot less time, energy, and worry, and spend it much more profitably and pleasurably.

I have learned a lot of things that, on their own and at face value, seem quite minute and insignificant but can actually be useful, if I pay attention to them. And if I bother to consider their inverses, their hidden sides, they may all the more inform and improve my existence. Life isn’t all clover and strawberries. Yet, as it happens, the occasional, if less-adorable, onions and garlic can season delicious dishes that even the most sensitive palates can love. A weedy dandelion brings provocative beauty, sometimes by its mere contrast, to the most refined and orderly of gardens. At times, the best company is oneself alone. Bigger, newer, louder, faster, stronger, and prettier are not always better. Cuddly looking creatures can bite. Long, heavy books can be well worth reading, but “Classics” aren’t always so.

Does hearing, knowing, practicing, or appreciating any of these tidbits really make me a better or more righteous person? Nope. But a longtime practice of attempting to find and test such little specks of potential goodness in the chaos of life might—could—help.
Digital illo: Things I've Learned

I’ve learned a lot of brilliant and useful things in my lifetime thus far. It’s too bad I’m not always good at putting them into practice. But I’m working on it, really I am.

Just Because…

Digital illo: Life PatternsJust because something is beyond my understanding doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Just because it defies convention doesn’t mean it Can’t Be Done.

Just because it surpasses my imagination doesn’t mean it’s unnatural and illogical.

Just because it seems superhuman doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Just because I’m small and insignificant and mortal doesn’t mean I shouldn’t seek deeper understanding, challenge my boundaries, learn from nature, investigate logic and the natural order of things, and

lean hard against the edges of

impossibility…

May You Live a Life that is Texturally Rich

Digital illo from photos: May You Live a Life that is Texturally RichMy fellow undergrads and I used to wink at each other in amusement over the repetition of this magical phrase, “texturally rich,” that occurred with such impressive frequency in the comments and instructions of our drawing and printmaking professor. Then I grew up (a little). And became an art teacher at the same undergraduate institution. And caught myself using that same well-polished phrase myself, with no doubt equal frequency, if not more. Because, as I learned, the influence of textural variety, depth, accuracy, placement, and inventiveness can be incredibly subtle and amazingly powerful at the same time. This, as it happens, was a hallmark of that professor’s ways of living and teaching as well.

The more I learn, the more I have come to value that aspect equally. Noticing, respecting, and imitating a wide range of life’s textures in my own not only is more fulfilling, exciting, interesting, and enriching than not for me, but I find that it helps me to better understand and admire others and their respective multitudes of characteristics and quirks. And, in turn, to attempt to incorporate those, literally and figuratively. If I see the world around me as one smooth, flat, undifferentiated expanse of sameness, I have no need to learn and grow, and no real opportunities to do so. If I take note of all of the colors and shapes, thoughts and beliefs and ideals, of those around me and the environs in which we spend our time, and make the careful effort to examine these with thoughtfulness and patience, who knows but what I might gain, along with the wrinkles of age that will improve my physical texture, some new wrinkles of wisdom on my brain and new folds of compassion to put others more deeply in my heart.

Not least of all, I am guaranteed to be safe from ennui and protected from inventing for myself an unnaturally uninteresting universe, if I manage to keep my eyes, heart, and mind open to the textural richness all around me.

While We were Drawing

While we were drawing in the studio where I taught—years ago—there were difficulties that came as much from my frustrated and inadequate attempts to teach as from the normal technical complexities of drawing well and the imperfect ability of any non-superhuman to master them instantly even if I had been a great teacher. But there were also moments of surprisingly peaceful, encouraging, engaging grace. A fair microcosm in this way, I suppose, of learning throughout life.Photos + text: Studio 126, part 1

Photo + text: Studio 126, part 2

Little Alvin Grows Up

Just having a little fun with digital drawing tools again. It’s nice to have art toys, isn’t it. I know that my latest little dragon friend wouldn’t have been hatched, let alone gone through his spotty youth and prime and grown into a fully fledged friendly monster, if I hadn’t had access to such enjoyable and versatile playthings. Little Alvin here is happy to meet all of you.Digital illo: Little Alvin 1 Digital illo: Little Alvin 2

Alvin the Artful

From the day that he was born, he has been drawn to things

That make him want to skip and jump and stretch his wavy wings;

His destiny is in the works and he’s a tool of fate

Designed to entertain, amuse, and if it’s not too late,

To educate his artist friend in how to make him change

From skinny little squiggle lines to something rich and strange,

And older dragon, more mature, more layered, nuanced, wild,

And her, the artist, to more skilled—but happy as a child.Digital illo: Little Alvin 3 Digital illo: Little Alvin 4