recently we made little pieces to donate to Buy Art Not People.
sarah’s:
chris’s:
Also see: Not For Sale
Small format boards
Zen of bookbinding– a lesson in process
over the past several weeks I’ve been busy in fits and starts brushing up on bookbinding skills learned and last exercised ages since in iowa.
despite chronic letdown of self expectation (better! faster! more!), I have in practice succeeded in forging some quiet happy progress.
when the horde of anxieties rear their beastly heads, it helps to recall the explicitly articulated initial goal: focus not on product but rather the physical practice itself and manual-reacquaintance with skilled activities within the scope of my own home studio– a step ultimately toward satisfactorily finishing the remaining 15 or so between edition bindings.
persistently I coach my awkward steps against tantrums with geologic pacing and instead calmly emphasize the value of incremental progress, as well as all its interstitial creative project interruptions.
Alleyway wilderness
sometimes it doesn’t seem possible,
and yet it’s more than likely–
in fact it’s the way it is.
I crave a house with big floor-to-ceiling windows I can throw open, built of rough barnwood planks, standing in the middle of a field, in the path of breezes traveling long distance over open ground, scent of clover, scent of long grass roasting and gone to seed under the sun, indian blanketed– but this is my home:
Walking the alleyways afternoons after rain with the <20lb dog, which we talked the landlord into despite a no-dogs policy on the building, snapping photographs of rogue flowers, weeds unscythed, unsprayed thus far into the summer, thistle and wild morning glory, ivy rain-dropleted. I’m crouched, standing on the dog’s leash to keep him from sniffing/digging/eating rat poison and assorted trash, contorted and trying to keep the cameraphone from shaking up my closeup focus, when a suited man seated, bearded, on the train platform says, “What is that, marijuana?”
I jump a bit, look up at him, pausing my finger over the camera shutter, say,”Uh, no– this is deadly nightshade.”
“It’s what?”
“Deadly nightshade.”
“…”
“And this is spearmint.”
Snap a few last shots and pull Floyd away down the alley, quickly past the clump where we saw the tiny baby rabbit yesterday, so miniature and wild brown furred, and in the back entrance to the building’s courtyard and up the stairs to our apartment where no one fires suspicious questions across the public way.
Water water everywhere
in the immortal words of eddie rabbit, I love a rainy night.
Happy day to the dads!
Dog bed head
floyd was workin’ some awesome earhair on waking this a.m…
Buckets o’ crustaceans
for father’s day we took chris’s mom and pop to a restaurant where the seafood comes in giant galvanized tubs and the wait staff bursts into whooping dance medleys every 20 minutes on the nose– kind of like a tired frat beach party, but dad was happy so all good.
Fat, in its myriad delicious forms
Supper fare not for the faint of heart– quite literally. the sheer cholesterol depicted below is doubtless capable of outright blowing an artery or four. But, crazy delectable summer meal? You betcha.
New York Strip Steaks with Pan-Seared Mushrooms
Dress steaks with olive oil, salt and pepper. Get grill good and hot, then slap ’em on. Chris uses a standard stab meat thermometer to determine doneness.
Brush clean (not with water) mushrooms and slice. Be sure to use a sautee pan large enough to accommodate all the mushrooms without crowding, otherwise they’ll sweat and stew. Add 2-3 T olive oil to pan and heat, then add mushrooms. Let stand without stirring 4-5 minutes to allow a good sear on the downside, then go through and flip them all to do the same on the reverse.
Grilled Asparagus with Cilantro Lime Aioli
Clean and end-stem asparagus. Dress with olive oil, salt and pepper. Lay crosswise on hot grill, turning occasionally to sear slightly– remove from heat while still firm.
In a bowl whip together with a fork the yolks of two eggs and juice of a fresh lime. Continue beating while slowly drizzling in a thin stream 3/4 cup olive oil. Stir in fresh chopped (but not bruised) cilantro leaves and salt to taste.
(for the record, what’s shown plated above does not truthfully represent what got consumed at a single sitting– while it made for dramatic photography, when it came time to eat, I actually cut the big beasts in halvsies)
Ravinia with the girls
tammy made it happen: the conjunction of diversely dashing city bodies to converge on a metra train headed north for an evening of 1980’s heyday bands B-52’s and Go-Go’s.
and so we assembled, as women are wont to do laden with far too much food, for a picnic en plein aire surrounded by the reveling ravinia hordes and a steady dancebeat.
the evening was clear and fine with a touch of briskness that banished any evidence of insectlife.
general consensus was less than impressed with bored-looking B-52s :-( and enchanted by a swingy-haired, lilting belinda carlisle.
the tipsy train ride home was priceless.
Instagram-ing it in
The multiplicity of smartphone “publishing” media have me a little more scattered than usual lately– one day I’ll be all about microblogging on Twitter, the next snapshot-happy via Instagram– in all a frittery array of assorted pointlessness, aka the overarching theme of my existence these last several months. I am here and there and nowhere at all, perennially frustrated by the conundrum of forcing it all somehow to cohere.
