A single flower illuminates a confit du canard, with a wine glass appropriately sized. Smells and touch; many textures. I miss speaking a language whose melody is sung in alley cafes.
Parts are home in memory. Parts are waiting for new eyes and newer touch.
Yesterday, I helped my best friend Kathy shop for dinner. She is probably the best chef I have ever experienced and, she makes it harmonious and fun.
While she was cooking and her husband puttering, I went after the asparagus with creative intentions. Later and at home, I added my own ingredients. Damn, fruit is fun and vegetables make for mean, sculpted line work.
Last, I have not touched anything but Dr. Ph. Martin watercolors. Once a troubled step-child in my arsenal, they are now my primary medium of choice.
Doing the dishes is my least favorite part about making dinner. As a matter of fact, I detest the hot water, random pieces of food in the drain and knowing I didn’t scrape perfectly.
However, the aftermath is something special. Because after the dishes and the silverware are cleaned, they can be illustrated using line and form.
What better way to enjoy dessert.