HUMBLE PIE

The disaster was inevitable.  I had been wallowing in self-satisfaction, thinking of myself as the complete package, artist, writer, and a kitchen master who could do more than just cook pasta.  Last night I was going to treat my sweet wife, (who has never, ever, even once, complained about all the pasta I serve her), to a special dinner…grilled flank steak with veggies, and fresh beets and beat greens.  She loves fresh beets.

I cut up the zucchini, broccoli, and onions and marinated them in oil and seasoning, blanched the beet greens, sautéed them in olive oil with garlic, and went out to the breezeway to turn on the gas grill.  While the grill was heating up I and placed the veggies in Aluminum pack and placed it on the grill. 

Back in the kitchen I began cooking the beets and seasoned the meat in preparation for grilling.  I returned to the breezeway when my dinner plans went up in flames, literally.  I opened the grill and was greeted by flames everywhere…from the grill, the burners, and the drip pans below.  Turning all burners down to their lowest level I spritzed everything with water; the flames diminished and I thought I could continue as planned.  With a large spatula I turned the veggie pack over and it promptly came undone, spilling half the contents out onto the grill, which quickly caught fire.  That is when I fell to my knees on the hard cement floor and begged the gods for mercy, vowing I would never allow myself to become so inflated with pride if they would save me from this fiery disaster.

Evidently they heard my plea and sent Patience to salvage the dinner while I tried to salvage my pride. Returning to the kitchen I sat and watched her work her magic, seeing solace in a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio.

Patience grilled the meat on the stovetop and saved all the veggies, which turned out to be just right, and in the end we enjoyed a very nice dinner, no thanks to me.

There remains a very prominent streak of soot on the wall behind the grill, a stark reminder of the disaster that would be dinner.

There is a lot more pasta in our future.

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

Overwrought- clay mono type (this was the actual title I gave this piece when it was created 5 years ago.)


How do you spell Tuesday? D I S A S T E R! That defines yesterday for me. I awoke yesterday morning anxious to get to the studio...having just finished reading ART AND FEAR, a most affirming book about making art, I was prepared to go to work claiming my own art. Instead the only thing I claimed was two botched canvases!

The biggest botch job was the 24x48” canvas on which I was planning to create a deep, dark moody sky for the “skyscape” series I’ve been working on. After the first failure to achieve my goal I took a break from the canvas and applied what I thought would be the finishing touches to a smaller piece. Camel poop!!! It didn’t work and in fact ruined the whole piece; the entire foreground would not have to be re done. So, it was back to the big one and a chance to redeem myself. But that was not to be, and the second attempt ended up no better than the first. In frustration I smeared the entire canvas with the remaining paint on the palette with a large palette knife and did what any reasonable person would do...walked out of the studio and did not return for the rest of the day.

OK, I am in the house with my coffee and a pile of reading material where I will simply chill out for the rest of the day. But that too was not to be. Patience calls me to say the upstairs smoke alarm is chirping - the battery needs to be replaced - one of my least favorite things to do. It means hauling the ladder up our mean spirited, winding staircase and climbing to the very top to reach the alarm on the 11 foot ceiling. The older I get the more I do not like heights, and this ladder is now at the top of our staircase, so from the top I can see all the way down to the first floor, which surely must be 50 feet away and just waiting for me to fall allllll the wayyyyy down, a feeling that gets stronger with each rung I climb. But, thanks to my steely nerves I safely reach the alarm, remove it from it’s mooring, and replace the battery to stop the incessant chirping, only to discover that at least one of its wires has become disconnected and there is no way I am going to fix that. I should have stayed in bed!