Oh gosh, it’s that time of year again. I don’t know what possesses me to believe year after year that December will be a quiet month. IT ISN’T. So once again, I find myself with too much to do and nothing accomplished as a painter.
For one thing, yet again I have ruined a bunch of brushes because I thought that they would be in use again the next day and I just plunked them into some baby oil. Not good enough when two weeks turn to three. It gets to a point that I am afraid to inspect them (like that geriatric lettuce melting down at the back of the fridge). But my teeny studio is single-use: if I’m not painting, I’m not there, so the faint distress cries of the brushes as they form a permanent solid curve go unheard.
On the plus side, I suppose, the kitchen is well lived-in, though not really in a good way. I hold Dr. Michael Greger responsible for this. While his meta-analysis of medical research is first-rate, his recipes lack a certain je ne sais quoi. Actually I do sais quoi: flavour, texture, and colour. I just got over the so-called “fritatta” which substituted ground flax and nutritional yeast for eggs, when the black-bean “burgers” checked in. Please.
His desserts are actually edible, on the other hand. The fake brownies were pretty good (more black beans) but chocolate can be counted on to save the day, and I like the “Ice cream” which substitutes bananas for cream. But still…better to keep my culinary guard up. I wince at the thought of what’s still to come. This might be a good month for you to refuse invitations to our house, though Christmas week should be safe.
It puts me in mind of poor Tiresias, who had the temerity to fall in love with Eos, the goddess of dawn. The Olympians punished him with eternal life and I'm pretty sure I can guess the diet. With any luck I won't live forever. Here and now is just fine -- if I am busy, it is with tasks worth doing in a home I love. So here are my modest goal for the next week: clean the brushes; reshape the brushes; use the brushes; clean and shape the brushes. Might even post my Monday blog next Monday.
For one thing, yet again I have ruined a bunch of brushes because I thought that they would be in use again the next day and I just plunked them into some baby oil. Not good enough when two weeks turn to three. It gets to a point that I am afraid to inspect them (like that geriatric lettuce melting down at the back of the fridge). But my teeny studio is single-use: if I’m not painting, I’m not there, so the faint distress cries of the brushes as they form a permanent solid curve go unheard.
On the plus side, I suppose, the kitchen is well lived-in, though not really in a good way. I hold Dr. Michael Greger responsible for this. While his meta-analysis of medical research is first-rate, his recipes lack a certain je ne sais quoi. Actually I do sais quoi: flavour, texture, and colour. I just got over the so-called “fritatta” which substituted ground flax and nutritional yeast for eggs, when the black-bean “burgers” checked in. Please.
His desserts are actually edible, on the other hand. The fake brownies were pretty good (more black beans) but chocolate can be counted on to save the day, and I like the “Ice cream” which substitutes bananas for cream. But still…better to keep my culinary guard up. I wince at the thought of what’s still to come. This might be a good month for you to refuse invitations to our house, though Christmas week should be safe.
It puts me in mind of poor Tiresias, who had the temerity to fall in love with Eos, the goddess of dawn. The Olympians punished him with eternal life and I'm pretty sure I can guess the diet. With any luck I won't live forever. Here and now is just fine -- if I am busy, it is with tasks worth doing in a home I love. So here are my modest goal for the next week: clean the brushes; reshape the brushes; use the brushes; clean and shape the brushes. Might even post my Monday blog next Monday.
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