raw/cooked

 

Kristof Wickman's exhibit closes this week on November 27.  
He is the first artist featured in the Raw/Cooked series at the Brooklyn Museum.

changing of the guard

 

 

 Seasons in transition

five

Five years ago I made my best decision so far.  Although we celebrated in no grand style, we spent time together in ways that are meaningful to us, and the life we've built together.  Chad, I'd do it again and again.  With every breath, I'd do it again.

My dear one surprised me with a most lovely gift made of the token symbol of this particular anniversary: wood.  This necklace was made by a local artist who resides in Carrol Gardens, and was acquired at Feliz, a gem of a shop in Clinton Hill (I must ask Genevieve what exactly makes her space smell so amazing!)  I think it looks especially nice paired with this ring by Brooklyn-based jeweler Blanca Monros Gomez.  It makes me feel stylish and pretty and well loved.   <3

collographs

Last week, Fionnuala sent us home with a 1-gallon Ziplock bag.  Inside: the stuff dreams are made of.

Our assignments was to create a collograph in preparation for our second makers' gathering to be held during the brunch hour at her house on Saturday, where we'd be experimenting with the art of printmaking.  After struggling with my typical desires to have everything "just so", I finally surrendered to the process and came up with something I was quite happy with.

 

After a brief tutorial on the printing press, we set to work mixing color and inking our plates.  

*Apologies for the dark photos--I'd temporarily misplaced my camera battery charger and was using an unfamiliar substitute :)

jammin'

photo: Hana Pockat

photo: Hana Pockat

A few weeks ago I hosted a lovely group of friends for tea party and instructional meeting, during which we made and canned homemade jam from the berries we'd picked and frozen (with this purpose in mind) earlier in the season.  

As the weather turns cool, our outdoor excursions together may likely be replaced by what we hope to develop into a series of gatherings that aim to share with each other our varied talents in the fine and domestic arts.  

Next up: printmaking with Fionnuala.

Irene

Chad, suited up in stylish Icelandic rain gear.

After arriving back home on the last Amtrak train to New York on Saturday, I was greeted by the cheery, although somewhat frenzied scene of our weekly farmer's market at Fort Greene Park. Young families shopping for produce offered me a special kind of reassurance that I hadn't lost my mind by rushing back before the storm.  Chad and I finished stocking up and headed home to make our final preparations.


And then, we waited. 


It began to rain steadily late in the afternoon, but even as we made our way toward sleep for the night, the wind still hadn't picked up much.  We learned that our windows, kept perpetually open in the warmer months, are actually quite effective by way of noise reduction, as we slept right through the "howling" wind reported by others in the area.  Chad got up twice to check things out, but we slept quite well and woke early to survey the results of Irene: (from our window) lots of small debris, soggy ground.

Later in the day, as it became clear that the storm had passed, we decided to explore the neighborhood.
The streets were littered with leaves and twigs punctuated by the occasional downed branch and even a couple of small trees, which always makes me sad.  Playgrounds were under a few inches of water, and windows were taped*.  We made our way to Fort Greene Park to survey any arboreal damage there, and found the most interesting storm relic by far.  The hollowed out limb of a very large tree near the southeast entrance of the park made for a nice little hive for a colony of honeybees.  It turns out, however, that it was also left so weakened as not to survive Irene's high winds.  The hive was split in two, it would seem, with the majority of the colony protecting the queen high in the remnants of their home.  We're concerned for those poor little guys and curious as to where they will go next and how they will get there.   I feel sure that my bee keeping friend Gabrielle could capture them, but I do believe her hives are full.

 How did you weather the storm?  Hopefully safely.

*Listening to the play-by-play on WNYC, we laughed as one expert taught us that taping windows is actually entirely ineffective, stating: "the only thing that taping your windows on Saturday will ensure is that you'll spend the better part of Sunday scraping it off again".  Cute.

Maine

Bexx was a beautiful bride!

berry picking in Hopewell Junction

A couple of weeks ago, through cool and misting weather, the girls made a small morning pilgrimage north to Fishkill Farms.  After an immediate cider doughnut fix, we made our way through the fields, scavenging the last blueberries of the season on our way to harvest the first blackberries.  We stopped also at the nectarine orchard and filled our sacks. 


It was such a nice jaunt out of the city, and we were back by one o'clock.  The next day I made an improvised jam and quickly preserved the stuff before heading out of town.

 Recipe (all quantities are estimates):


10 nectarines, washed and roughly diced with skin on
1 T lemon juice
1 1/2 c sugar


Cook over low heat, stirring often, until liquid gels.*
Spoon into sterilized jar and seal.


*I test this by dipping a cold spoon in the mix and letting it cool to determine the desired consistency.

Adventure Woman and the Honey Hole

adventure chad.

 

After descending a densely wooded trail in the hills of rural Vermont, Adventure People find themselves beside a rushing mountain river.  The water is a deep rusty orange, but clear (and cold).  Scramble over a band of large boulders, and one gets their first glimpse of the Honey Hole; a deep cut in the river bottom situated idyllically beside a smooth lounge-like rock, perfect for taking in some sun, the smell of virgin forest, and the indescribable feeling of finding oneself happily alone in the world.  This is a sweet and desolate location for two would-be bathers on a hot summer afternoon, which is why we return there whenever we can, and why on these unbearable summer city days, this place sticks in my mind like the tar below my feet.