Into the arms of fall...

Hello again (after so long). As I returned to the draft for this blog entry, which has been awaiting attention for quite some time, I wondered if maybe I was procrastinating because I didn't want that last entry—about cherishing those last days of summer—to be replaced...

Yes, autumn has definitely reached Florence. We're living in that unpredictable balance of passing the day in a shroud of clouds & trying to take in as many hours of breathtaking golden light as possible. I think often of my early visits to Florence, which were at this time of year. Leaves are changing to yellow, beginning to fall, and the produce stands display a whole new palette: the deep purples, dusty greens, rich oranges & variegated reds of figs, grapes, plums, pears, persimmons, pomegranates & apples.

After a few months of inactivity, the oven is back in use again. We've made scones (recipe in this entry), fig tart (using the sweetened version of the crust in this entry) & (twice!) a lovely rustic plum cake from my friend Tessa Kiros' first cookbook, Twelve. Unfortunately it's now out of print, but she's had several others out over the last decade. I treasure my copy, as it has the black & white cover from her original self-published version.

On the subject of books, the one shown in the image at the top of this entry (along with the fig tart) is a lovely adaptation by Peter Sis of The Conference of the Birds. I first came across it in the US during the summer, and was compelled to order several of his beautifully illustrated books once I returned to Florence, including this one. I remember some of his children's books from when my daughter was younger, but The Conference of the Birds is his first adult book. I love the story itself—a metaphor for the journey that this life is & the many ways people choose, or are destined, to live it—and the illustrations eloquently complement the text. (Details on the original poem, written in Persia in 1177, can be found here.)

Returning to the fruit... Shown in the apothecary jars below are the small green 'Claudia' plums & uva fragola, 'strawberry grapes', which are deliciously sweet. Their brief season has already finished, but now is the time for the intense little grapes found in schiacciata all'uva...a sweet flatbread with a bit of crunch from the little seeds, which remain among the sticky, semi-caramelized grapes.

 

And it's already time for the olives to be picked, so we can expect new olive oil soon—the first pressing always produces the most fragrant & flavorful oil. And on that note...

Below are some more 'story strips' from last month, using fallen olives from my favorite olive tree up at the rose garden. I was attracted to the intense purplish-browns & rough texture of these random olives, which had shriveled on their stems and then dropped to the ground. The leaf at the top of the right-hand 'page' (second image) is unusual for an olive leaf, but somehow they occasionally end up with irregular edges. I can hardly wait to get back to the rose garden again one day soon...I'm sure that its palette has also undergone quite a transformation.

*

And here are a couple of shots of the Arno—the view looking east(ish) from Ponte Vecchio, and then a detail of the reflections. The colors seem to convey the feeling of autumn around here right now...

* 

One reason for my absence in Blogland lately is that I've been immersed in working on a new line of items for my online shop, PaperSynthesis. You may also have noticed a new addition in my sidebar—an 'Etsy mini'—as I'm in the process of moving items from my former shop to this new 'space'. I'll post more about the whole process once things are a bit more settled/organized. And one of these days I will reestablish the pleasant ritual of visiting all of the blogs I have been missing in the last couple of months...

So, to conclude this long-overdue entry, writing the words "deep purple" earlier in the post made me think of Deep Purple and, consequently, a song I re-discovered through my daughter earlier this year: 'Perfect Strangers'. I love the rhythm (and it's truly ingrained in me after hearing my daughter playing it on the drums for the last several months!). Enjoy...

As summer begins to fade...

You can already feel summer taking its leave—in the cooler air, in the scent of early morning fires in the fields, in the sun reaching further in the room. I've barely had a chance to look at the last several months' photos until now, as I design the 2014 calendars for PaperSynthesis... In a way, I have also been reliving the summer. I equate fall with nostalgia, something I always assumed was related to decades of back-to-school memories, but lately I've been wondering if maybe the nostalgia is for those hot, glorious days of summer. I know some are ready to embrace fall (and I can relate to this because it was my favorite season ever since I can remember), but as I get older I find I love summer even more. Before it slips away this time around, I thought I'd share a few moments of this summer.

The photo at the top of this entry shows a weaving I made with these strips of green 'ribbon' that came in with Venice's modest tide each day. They smell like seaweed, salty & pungent. Below is the weaving back in the studio, after being pressed/preserved in my journal for a few days. I was surprised to see that the green strips had retained their color, as the handful I brought back in my 'shell' tin had blackened as they dried. So now this 'weaving' joins those I have been working on in the studio over the last eighteen months, since my early forays into found poems (images to come, one day).

It can actually be quite discouraging to see how long it takes me to carry an idea to 'completion', especially since I usually seem to 'get' about ninety percent of the way upon the initial inception of a concept...it's that last ten percent that can take months, or even years. But I also find the 'magic' comes from those last ten percent, so I believe the wait is worth it.

*

I have been trying to make more time to read fiction, and what better time than summer? The vast majority of the books on my bookshelves are non-fiction, and I'd say I probably acquire seven or eight non-fiction works for every novel. I had been looking forward to reading Vanessa Diffenbaugh's The Language of Flowers since picking it up on my final bookstore browsing session in the US. It finally came along to the beach with me earlier this month; in the (occasional) periods when I could tear my attention from the water, I enjoyed losing myself in the story of the main character, Victoria—a young woman whose traumatic upbringing in the foster care system made it difficult to communicate with the world, but who managed to find her voice through the language of flowers.

A dictionary of flower meanings is included at the back of the book, as well as an interview in which the author comments that "some will never forgive me for attaching a negative definition to their favorite flower!" Indeed, I was a bit disillusioned when I learned the meanings of some of my favorite flowers. Hydrangeas signify 'dispassion', acanthus 'artifice', and peonies 'anger'. (But then there are dahlias—'dignity'—sweet peas—'delicate pleasures'—orange roses—'fascination'—and ranunculuses—'you are radiant with charms'.) I loved how Victoria was able to silently 'speak' her feelings with a well-chosen flower. At first it would be one that expressed sentiments like the anger, bitterness or mistrust she felt. But eventually, as chapters alternate between her past and the present as it unfolds, in the role of a florist she finds herself fashioning bouquets to convey the emotions her customers sought either for themselves or wished to elicit in the recipient. Ultimately, Victoria reaches a point where she can expresses positive feelings of her own: forgiveness, reconciliation, gratitude, hope.

I finally finished reading the book, a chapter at a time with morning coffee, after returning home. I liked that it wasn't a 'page turner' (a type of book which I tend to avoid). The first-time author describes some of the writing—and the inevitable rewriting—of the book as quite intense, but I came away feeling that her delicate crafting of the story paid off beautifully. And, with its salt-air & salt-water wrinkled pages, it will serve as another reminder of this sweet summer. (Not to mention as an inspiration when I participate in National Novel Writing Month again this November).

 

 *

 

The heat in Florence can be pretty energy-sapping & brain-numbing in July and August, and a/c is not a given. One way we stay cool is by making granite (plural of granita). Machines at the front of most bars (i.e. cafès) in Italy churn around colorful icy mixtures that are generally flavored with fruit-'inspired' syrups (though some of the better gelaterie make them from fresh fruit). At the sea, a granita generally means a cup of granulated ice squirted with what is probably the cheapest, highest fructose corn syrup-y liquid available (but my, do they taste good after a few hours on the beach!). Making them is so easy, though, and I've found you can use just about anything, from cranberry juice to limeade, orange soda and milky coffee. And no extra sugar needed. Simply pour the drink of your choice into a freezer-proof glass that can withstand prodding from a fork & freeze until it begins to harden. You can break up the semi-frozen liquid with a fork at intervals during the freezing process or leave a completely frozen glass of your chosen beverage at room temperature for ten to twenty minutes, then use the fork to break up the semi-melted mixture until it's uniform.

The granite shown below are, from left to right: cranberry juice; almond milk with cardamom & cinnamon; pineapple & watermelon blended into a juice; and tonic water + lime juice, garnished with mint (unfortunately this last one had melted considerably by the time I got the photo, but was still icy-cold & very refreshing).

*

 

Though the Red Hot Chili Pepper's Song in the video included below is not named for the Italian Venice, but rather Venice Beach in L.A, I can't help but think of 'la bella Venezia' whenever I hear it—the melody is haunting, soulful, multidimensional and beautiful, just like Venice. The lyrics are a tribute to the woman who counseled lead singer Anthony Kiedis to the other side of his drug addiction, and sadly died of cancer soon after he bought her a house in Venice Beach. Below I've included a live version played at Slane Castle. Around minute four, John Frusciante picks up his acoustic guitar, taking the song to a whole new level. The studio version can be found here.

 

Some of my favorite lines ~

...In the moment of the meantime...

...Do it all then it all again...

...Disbelief that I do suspend...

'Venice Queen' is from the 2002 album By the Way, which my daughter & I finally bought in the US this summer, and played over & over on a road trip to visit our friends in Chapel Hill. Besides 'Venice Queen', my favorites are 'Universally Speaking', 'Dosed', 'The Zephyr Song', 'Midnight', 'By the Way' and 'Can't Stop'. I only have to hear one of these songs—or, better yet, the whole album—to take me back to Highway 85: windows down, hair flying, singing at the tops of our voices. Even though we traveled in the slow lane (it had been seven years since I'd gotten behind the wheel), that trip embodied the sweet freedom of summer.

And on that note, my word for August is 'dream'. It seems to encompass my frame of mind at the moment, as I dream on these perfect summer days of dreams for the future.

Wishing happy dreams to you as well...

Violet in Venice

 

This month's ROY G BIV photo challenge color is 'VIOLET', so I was quite excited to find that the Lido (where my daughter & I spent our beach week) is full of purple-tinged shells. Even though we've gone there for the past few years, I must admit that it had never registered just how many of the shells are purple inside.

Each morning I spent some time at the edge of the water, looking to see what the waves had brought, and (no matter how hard I tried to limit myself), each evening my little tin was full of shells when we returned to the hotel.

 

They amounted to a plate's worth by the end of the trip...

 

Many of the purple shells were in fact fragments, reminding me of shards of broken china, or the finds from an archeological dig. I don't know what they may one day become, but I did enjoy composing them into 'story strips' (an ongoing experiment that you may remember from past posts), shown in the first image, as well as the simple arrangements below...

While most of our stay was spent on the east (beach) side of the Lido, one evening my daughter & I sat for a while on the west side of the island, facing Venice as the sun disappeared into a haze of purple & orange...

We took turns with the camera. As with the past visits, I was most interested in the reflections on lagoon, but it was my daughter who decided to photograph the final stages of the sunset in ten-second increments, and I'm pretty sure the photo above is one of hers.

*

After the past couple months of 'gallivanting', it feels good to be back in the studio again. There is a lot to do, but I hope to find some spare moments to share more photos, books, music & other good things as I work through the projects awaiting me. I have resisted the desire to share a slew of purple-themed songs for 'VIOLET', but leave you with a favorite U2 song of mine, 'Ultraviolet'...

 

* The ROY G BIV photo challenge was begun by artists Jennifer Coyne Qudeen & Julie Booth in 2012. Each month is devoted to a different color of the rainbow—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo & violet. Guidelines are here if you'd like to join in this month, or in future rounds.

One little rock

 

I spent a few hours at the sea recently, on my way to see my daughter drumming in the end-of-the week concert at CampRock. The train stopped in the town of Cecina, and from there I turned west and headed toward the sea. After about forty-five minutes, the Umbrella Pine-lined road brought me to the water's edge. The beaches in this area are naturally stony (though sand is sometimes brought in to complete the picture of a proper seaside), and where the water meets the land I started noticing little rocks (stones? I am never quite sure just what distinguishes one from the other) traced with intriguing white lines, some straight, others circular. As I continued along the shore, I picked up several to bring home to the studio for further study—each was unique—but it seemed ridiculous (and a bit greedy!) to take so many, so in the end I chose my favorite. It has come around with me quite a bit lately, but finally made it onto the studio table. And then onto my tea tray. And the series of photos that follows could perhaps be called 'Anatomy of a rock'.

 

Photographing the rock's many faces led to more image-making. The deep gray called to mind that of my collection of new pencils (among them a dozen Palomino Blackwing 602s). Likewise, the Japanese tea pot on the platinum-rimmed 'tray'. And the rippled reflections of the amber glass I've been using as a pencil holder also captured my fancy (below), reminding me of July's reflection in my 'Arno Reflected' calendar (in the image at the top of the post). I love discovering these little connections between things as I go along, and it's been a while since I've had time to play around with the camera like this...

 

Glancing back through the last few weeks' photos, I then came across this stand of candles in Montepulciano's Cathedral. Their shape echoes the long slender Blackwing pencils, and even the golden flames seem to be mimicking the shiny gold eraser holders.

And yesterday I made a quick watercolor in indigo (still on my mind after this month's ROY G BIV challenge, mentioned in the last post). As an homage to the tradition of Batik, which I associate with the color of indigo, I'd love to explore this idea further using a wax resist technique.

 

I will continue to turn over the image of my pretty rock & its pattern of crisscrossing white lines in my mind, even as my daughter & I head for a much-looked-forward-to week at the sea. This brings brings me to my word for July: wander. As we began the month, we shall end it—wandering—though this time a little closer to home... 

Here's hoping that, summer or winter, you are finding joy in this season.

 

*

 

Below (as well as the image next to the indigo watercolor) is the sea at Cecina, upon whose shores my little rock came to rest...

Flying in a blue dream (II)

The last time artists participating in the ROY G BIV photo challenge went searching for the 'I' (indigo), most of us were rather stymied. Thinking that at the very least I could pin down the color using a variety of art supplies labeled as 'indigo', I opted to create a handful of cubes with indigo-colored materials—watercolors, pencils, sequins, marbled paper, string. But I still came away feeling that I didn't really have a true grasp of exactly what indigo is.

It turns out that Isaac Newton is to blame for its inclusion in the rainbow moniker, but I was interested to come across a passage in an 1869 publication that listed a string of people who contested Newton's definition of indigo. While Newton placed indigo beween blue & violet on the color wheel, one of the professors cited believed it to be in the cyan-blue region that sits between blue & green; others compared it to Prussian blue or ultramarine. Perhaps one difficulty in pinpointing/defining indigo stems from the fact that, in its dry lump form, it possesses a violet aspect, yet a greenish one when transformed into a powder or dissolved. Personally, I've always associated it with a warm midnight blue.

 

*

 

Now, as promised, I'll see if I can explain the title from two posts ago. I had originally meant to include a video of Joe Satriani's Flying in a Blue Dream as a sort of footnote to my blues for June's ROY G BIV challenge, but forgot. So then I thought I'd add it to my return journey photos, taken from the plane—more blue, plus the obvious flying theme. But the explanation became such a digression that in the end I decided to simply save the video and make it the centerpiece of 'INDIGO'.

It's one of my favorite songs of Joe's and, though it was first released twenty-four years ago, he still plays it at nearly every concert. I was thrilled that it kicked off the one my daughter & I saw in northern Italy two summers ago, and was played third when he came to Florence this past May. The song is in part inspired by childhood dreams he had about flying over the world. Even though, like nearly all of his music, Flying in a Blue Dream doesn't have lyrics, I think it does a beautiful job of summoning up an ethereal sense of wonder & delight. And surely some of those blues in the video are indigo (whichever version of the color you subscribe to)...

 

*

 

Another exciting—and unexpected (there was no prior publicity)—discovery the night of Joe's appearance in Florence was Oli Brown, whose band played a few songs before Joe took the stage. Oli is a young Brit with a jazzy-bluesy-rock-y sound, and I can't imagine a better opener for Joe Satriani. Here's a video from the European tour he did as the opener for Joe (+ a little more blue)...

 

 *

 

Technically, I haven't fulfilled the requirements of the ROY G BIV challenge (as the images are supposed to be your own photos), but visiting family & more travels mean that I will likely not have a chance to play around with indigo much this week/end. But who knows? Maybe my fifteen-month-old niece will be interested in hanging out in the studio when she wakes from her nap momentarily...

 

 ~ Wherever you are, here's hoping the music is good! ~

Mac 'n cheese memories

In the summer of 1972, as my little sister and I were enjoying a bowl of macaroni and cheese prepared by our visiting aunt, my parents called with the news that our baby brother had arrived. He was every 'big' sister's dream—a live baby doll we could dress up and do all the talking for (to this day, he's more the strong, silent type). He didn't come home from the hospital for another few days, so the memory that marks his birth is actually the ringing of the telephone (probably avocado green) during our mac 'n cheese, and I don't think a birthday has gone by without my sister & me bringing up our scrumptious lunch that day. 

My daughter knows the story by now, too, and it's become a tradition for us to have mac 'n cheese on July seventeenth. Once upon a time, we would make it from a box, but nowadays we experiment with different kinds of fresh cheese. The funny thing is that, in this land of a thousand shapes of pasta, finding the one traditionally known as macaroni in the US (small curved tubes) is not easy...maccheroni is actually a more general term for 'pasta' in Italy. But I suppose each year's winner of Closest-Resemblance-to-Macaroni does add a new twist each time. You can of course also vary the types of both soft & hard cheese (we'd use sharp cheddar if it were easier to get here), or the liquid (milk, buttermilk, a splash of white wine?) or seasoning (a smattering of sage crisped in butter, a shake of Tabasco?). I don't think we've ever made it exactly the same, but last year I did finally record our basic recipe (below).

It's been a long time since we've all been together to celebrate my brother's birthday, but someday I hope to have the chance to make him a nice big bowl of macaroni & cheese...

{Click for a larger view of the ingredients.}

{The quirky 'chalkboard' font was designed by my daughter (with Your Fonts).

If you would like to try our mac 'n cheese recipe but don't find the text to be large enough/sufficiently readable, please click 'Contact' in the sidebar to send an email or leave a comment and I will email you the recipe.}

 

Flying in a blue dream

My last entry began with a photo of the wing of our US-bound airplane so I thought this view from the final leg home to Florence would serve as a nice bookend for the trip. The small, noisy plane, with its higher wing/propeller engine design, made for a boisterous, bumpy journey over the Alps, but the constantly changing cloudscape was such fun to watch.




It feels like our first visit back to the US after so much time was a great success. We have returned home rich with new memories & experiences shared with my far-flung family & some of our dearest friends—enough to sustain us until the next time...

The culture shock after a seven-year absence from the US prompted these words upon our arrival (words I will forever associate with this visit):
     friendly
     big
     open
     green.

Surprisingly, I didn't think much about Florence while we were away. At least not at first (too busy, too immersed in the excitement). I might as well have been on another planet for the distance I felt.

But, if anything, the trip only strengthened my belief that, for me, Florence = Home. Once everyone began to disperse—my brother & his family to Australia, my sister & hers to China, my uncle & his to Illinois and my sister-in law's parents to California—the excitement over returning started to build.

Besides the constant camaraderie & commotion (there were seventeen of us during the last week)—and the joy of seeing all of the cousins together for the first time—I will remember with fondness those first quiet, early mornings in my parents' gazebo, the talkative frogs in their little pond, lightening bugs & star-filled skies, the thrill of being able to drive again (windows down, music up), and the happiness of spending time in bookstores full of books in English. But slipping into the beautiful rhythm of the days here has been effortless. These are some of the words that keep running through my mind upon being back in Florence again:
     intimate
     alive
     comfortable (like a favorite sweater or cozy pair of slippers).

When I say 'intimate' I mean in terms of both the human scale of the city and the connection that's possible in the absence of a car (and air conditioning!) in my life here. I really dislike being cut off from what's happening around me.

I would also like to find a word that expresses how much I appreciate the sense of old-ness & history, but neither of those quite captures what I feel. 'Permanence', perhaps? It's just so wonderful to be surrounded by buildings & church bells that have filled & defined the city for centuries.

Yes, it's good to be home... And back to things awaiting me in the studio. Slowly, between more visits with family and little trips here & there, I will be working my way through projects, books & blogs that I have missed over the last month.

Here's hoping things are good in your corner of the world as well...

*

This last photo is a shot I managed to get on the giddy (bumpy!) arrival into Florence's airport. Whether arriving by train, bus, car—or plane—I always look forward to that first glimpse of the magnificent Cupola...

 

*

{A favorite Joe Satriani song inspired the title of this post. More about it in July's ROY G BIV photo challenge later this week.}

A few blues

 

At last ~ a new post (my apologies for the long absence), with a few blues for this month's edition of ROY G BIV*, the photo challenge inspired by artists Jennifer Coyne Qudeen & Julie Booth...

The view through an airplane window is pretty commonplace for most of us these days, but I haven't witnessed it for a very long time. Heading over to the US this week, after a seven year absence, gazing out of the little airplane window gave me quite a thrill (and I probably took enough photos to make quite a substantial flip book—people must have thought it was my first time on a plane!)... For me, this glimpse out in the great blue beyond also illustrates my word for this month: 'Imagine'. After a period of transition, new possibilities are now filling my imagination.

My mother's enormous bushes of hydrangeas seemed like another perfect subject for 'BLUE'—and the timing couldn't have been better. There are dozens of blooms in various states of flower, and almost all in my favorite shade of hydrangea-blue (sprinkled with a few verging toward purple-y-pink).

 

I am very behind in posting photos of studio projects (as well as visiting other 'virtual' studios), but will enjoy catching up when I return to Italy in a few weeks... In the meanwhile, happy summer solstice to those of you in the northern hemisphere—and those of you in the south can take comfort in knowing your days will slowly be growing 'longer' once again!

*

{*A note on ROY G BIV in case you haven't seen it mentioned here in the past... Each month is devoted to a different color of the rainbow—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo & violet. This is the second year of the photo challenge, and all are welcome to join in; guidelines are here.}