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.

 

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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.

 

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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)...

 

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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)...

 

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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...

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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...

 

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{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!

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{*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.}

 

Green, part IV - A vertical garden

This may look like it just another lawn—a lawn that could be just about anywhere in the world for that matter—but it might come as a surprise that this particular patch of grass is actually growing on a wall.

As you walk (or drive, or take a bus) along the tree-lined & traffic-busy Viale Giovane Italia, at first you may notice that what appears to be someone's garden is spilling over the top of its wall. But as you draw closer, rectangles of varying shades & textures of green, not so random after all, begin to distinguish themselves.

 
As you come directly upon the tableaux of green, you will probably find yourself stopping to look skyward, and marveling at the arrangement of grass, herbs, ivy & other plants bringing the wall alive, then walking the full length—and back again—as you try to figure out how such a thing came to be...

Crossing over to the other side of the road, it's possible to get the full gist of what's happening on this crenelated wall; interspersed with metal panels, the composition of greenery reveals the geometry behind its design...

With its plethora of road signs, parked cars & a nearly non-stop flow of traffic, it wasn't easy to photograph this seventy-meter-long stretch of wall (which originally bound a convent, then a prison, and now a recently-transformed housing complex complemented by cultural/commercial activities). But these 'obstacles' did give me a chance to spend more time considering the garden from several vantage-points, and I also really enjoyed observing people's reactions to the unusual wall treatment.

I like the three-dimensional aspect, how the shadows (and some of the plants) extend below the rusty edges of the 'box' that contains the garden—not to mention the natural palette of rust that's formed in the few seasons since the vertical garden was a installed (seen in the quartet of images below). All in all, it's brought a rather inspiring, if fairly discrete, new landmark to keep an eye out for when in this part of Florence.

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It's worth pointing out that this recent addition to Florence's landscape alludes to one of the patterns from Christopher Alexander's A Pattern Language—No. 246: Climbing Plants. While the carefully conceived, orchestrated & maintained design means it only loosely follows the premise set out by the pattern—that "A building finally becomes a part of its surroundings when the plants grow over parts of it as freely as they grow along the ground"—this vertical garden certainly captures the spirit of the pattern by helping to smooth the transition between built form & nature. And it is undeniably more alive & intriguing than the continual conglomeration of posters that once covered this wall (fascinating though these fleeting records of city-wide events can be, in their many-layered stages of pasting/peeling).

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I'll close with a photo of my once-blue hydrangea, which has now turned mostly green. It reminds me of how many other photos of 'GREEN' didn't make it into May's series of ROY G BIV-inspired blog entries, but they may well be used for an idea that's slowly evolving from the imagery of the lovely vertical garden composition. It has truly piqued my imagination!

{Click here to learn about Patrick Blanc, the Parisian botanist whose work has led to a recent emergence of vertical gardens in urban spaces.}

{Click here to read about Le Murate, the ex-convent-turned jail-turned-housing complex bounded by the vertical garden (it's in Italian, but there are some photos & additional links).}

Green, part III - Inspired by asparagus

I mentioned recently that my favorite way to prepare most vegetables is to sauté them quickly in olive oil. But another delicious option—for both vegetables & fruit—is to make it the centerpiece of a rustic tart. Whether destined to be sweet or savory, I use the same basic crust recipe, with occasional minor variations/additions (I might use all white flour, a mix of white & whole wheat or nut 'flours', add a dash of sugar or cardamom or rosemary and so on). Besides the apples or pears, or asparagus or onions—or whatever central ingredient has inspired the tart—I also choose a few ingredients as accents: herbs, spices, nuts or other hints of flavor. The asparagus tart shown above is garnished with garlic, chili peppers, thyme & bacon (recipe below).

Asparagus is still plentiful in the markets, so we've been enjoying it a lot these days, either simply sautéed, served with poached eggs, tossed with pasta, stirred into risotto—or lined up in a crust. I love the look of the slender, segmented stalks tied together into fat bunches, with their tender tips curving off in different directions...like a bouquet of stems, still smelling of the earth. Though, if I've ever seen asparagus growing, I probably wouldn't have known it. I was surprised to learn that the plants ('crowns') that produce these extremely green vegetables give way to feathery, fern-like foliage with red berries later in the summer, and then turn yellow in the autumn.

 

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And here are some more of the 'story strips' I mentioned in the last post. I still haven't figured out what they're all about, but continue to enjoy organizing things from my days into these somewhat orderly lines.

 

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{There will be at least one more 'GREEN' entry before the month is over...}

Green, part II - Inspiration from an olive tree

I have had such fun collecting 'GREEN' this month that I don't think I'll actually get a chance to post everything. It feels like we are practically immersed in green right now, so it's been easy to find...and oh-so-welcome after winter.

A visit to the Rose Garden earlier in the week inspired its fair share of green. From up here, overlooking the city from the terraced garden, you can make out the full palette of Tuscan greens: groves of olive-tree green, columns of cypress-tree green, umbrellas of stone-pine green, fresh-spring-grass green & everything in between. In the garden itself, the rose bushes are fully leafed out at last (and dotted with colorful blooms).

You may recall past mentions of my favorite olive tree at the Rose Garden; its branches create a little room of sorts—a wonderful place to sit and contemplate the view. While not as showy or dramatic as the rose bushes, I very much enjoy the olive tree's subtle change from one season to the next. Sprigs of pale green foliage extend from the older growth, gently, lightly curving up at the ends, reaching toward the sun, and spring's delicate flowers will eventually give way to dot-sized olives that will turn from green to deep purple as the months pass. I love how the leaves, distinctly colored & textured on front & back—whether the new growth or the older, more leathery ones—each catch the light in their own way, making the tree appear to glitter. And how the long, narrow leaves project so decisively from the stems, often at right angles, casting an appealing network of shadows on one another. 

A backdrop of cypress trees that borders one edge of the Rose Garden creates a ground of indigo that beautifully sets off the olive trees (seen in first quartet of images below). The second quartet is layered against greens, and the images in the third set reveal pieces of sky between the branches.

 

While sitting under my favorite olive I noticed, nestled among the blades of grass and patches of mint & tiny wildflowers, a fallen leaf in mottled shades of green, yellow & brown. It didn't take long to gather a collection of fallen leaves, each with its own markings. Then I started noticing the even-better-camouflaged, older leaves that had curled tightly as they dried on the ground. I was intrigued by the long, sharp forms, so they, too, went into my little collection cup.

Once back in the studio, the various stages of leaves found themselves arranged into a series of 'story strips' (seen in the image at the top of this post). As part of my ongoing quest to find ways to preserve some record of time's passage, I've been assembling rows/lines of things I encounter in the course of my days (and photographing the results). Though the olive tree leaves stand on their own, my 'story strips' are often composed of strips of paper, ribbon or string from around the studio, which are layered with flower petals, buds, leaves or other objects/shapes I'm working with. I haven't quite figured out what they're all about yet, or where they are 'going', but the inspiration to continue the ritual continues... I will share another one in a future 'GREEN' entry...

 

{More green still to come...}

Green, part I

Here's a little taste of 'GREEN' for my first installation of May's ROY G BIV photo challenge*. This crazy, psychedelic green vegetable—an intimate relative of broccoli & cauliflower—was a frequent guest in our kitchen this past winter. Fascinated by its naturally occurring fractals, and in anticipation of this month's ROY G BIV, I photographed the last broccolo romanesco of the season...it almost could have worked for 'YELLOW' last month, but it is most decidedly, if oddly, green.

As with most vegetables, my favorite way to prepare the broccolo romanesco is to simply chop it into bite-sized pieces and sauté in a little olive oil, along with a little garlic, then season with salt & pepper...quick, easy & delicious! 

 

 By the way, it isn't 'growing' in the pot...it just seemed like a fun way to photograph the broccolo romanesco, and this one fit perfectly.

 
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{More green still to come...}

* The ROY G BIV photo challenge was started by artists Jennifer Coyne Qudeen & Julie Booth last year. Each month is devoted to a different color of the rainbow—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo & violet. This is the second year, and all are welcome to join in; guidelines are here.