February 2011

arzigogolare

verb ǀar-ẓi-go-go-là-reǀ 1. to let your mind wander, to muse, to daydream

February 2011

Earl Grey is my favorite tea. Le Palais du Thés, the company I had mentioned a few posts ago, packages theirs in muslin bags, under the name ‘Blue of London’.

I like to place a thin slice of orange in the teacup - it lends a hint of sweetness and, in the case of Earl Grey, brings out the citrus undertones of the bergamot flavor.

The intensity of this blue vase recalls the Arno last night.

A Perfectly Kept House is the Sign of a Misspent Life

by Mary Randolph Carter

Rizzoli, 2010

Tuscany and Umbria: The Collected Traveler

by Barrie Kerper

Vintage Departures, 2010

(See also The Collected Traveler website and Barrie’s blog.)

I have already mentioned Jennifer Causey’s Simply Breakfast website, in which she uses her camera to record each breakfast as a still life in its own right. She has recently launched a new site devoted to local artisans in her Brooklyn neighborhood: The Makers captures artful compositions of the ‘makers’ at work. About this undertaking she writes: “As the project evolves, so does the adventure and pleasure of documenting the people behind the products: to learn what inspires them, what keeps them going, and their thoughts on the city where they live and work.”

The blue vase is from Terrain‘s website. They sell items for the home and garden (and have a store in Glen Mills, Pennsylvania). It looks like the kind of place I would have enjoyed browsing when I lived in the US.

The bold colors and striking patterns of

Chicago-based stationer Snow & Graham

also caught my attention recently.

The moving notes of the allegretto from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 have been resonating in my head since I saw The King’s Speech. Follow this link for a video of Herbert von Karajan conducting the Berlin Philharmonic, followed by a commentary on how this piece makes for a climax that “absolutely soars.”

Seeing beauty in a used teabag ~

As someone who looks forward to coffee each morning and tea in the afternoons, I appreciate the ritual of making and drinking it. And there’s definitely something appealing about the rings and stains of tea and coffee leaving their marks - small gestures of our days. I snapped the photo below when I noticed it lying, pillowy and stained, in the china saucer. It made me think of two artists who have transformed their daily tea-drinking habit into works of art.

Artist Heidi Zednik uses teabags, which she salvages after steeping, to record small details from her day. I first came across her project via an exhibition held at the Abecedarian Gallery, One Unit per Increment, which brought together works created within the framework of a regular interval (daily, weekly, monthly, etc.).

Another artist’s work in that exhibition was also tea-centric: “100 days” featured bowls that artist Tatiana Ginsberg crafted from paper, and from which she would drink her daily tea. Each bowl assumed a unique character as it “reacted to and recorded the specific act of drinking.”

Warm 3Tbsp olive oil in a pot just large enough to accommodate a 1.2 kg pork loin (boneless & trussed). Add the pork and brown well on all sides. Sprinkle all surfaces with salt, then add 1 tsp peppercorns, lightly crushed, and two cloves garlic. Pour in 1/2 c balsamic vinegar, add a few sprigs of thyme or sage, and cover the pot. Simmer on low heat (on a simmer plate if possible, and moved off-center from the flame if it goes beyond a simmer) for upwards of 4 hours, turning every so often, until the meat starts to break apart when tested with a fork. Remove the pork and let it rest while you add a few Tbsp of water to the liquid in the pot. Cook this on high heat for a few minutes, until it reduces slightly, then strain out the herb stems and most of the peppercorns. Release the pork from the string, slice (the slices will be more like suggestions of slices, i.e. not very tidy), then serve with a splash of the balsamic mixture. Potatoes - oven roasted or boiled - and a simple salad of greens, tomatoes, pears and parmesan shavings are our usual accompaniments. We warm leftovers in BBQ sauce, pulling the meat apart (like pulled pork), which makes for amazing sandwiches.

Pork cooked in

balsamic vinegar

A selection of
the small Tassotti notebooks I’ve collected over the years; the 4” x 5 3/4” size makes them very portable.

February arrived to the tune of blue skies and plenty of sunshine... already, spring feels like it’s on the way. It looks as though the windowsill herbs just might make it through the winter: tiny new leaves have begun emerging along the remaining stems. And birds can be heard singing after months of silence. It’s reassuring to know that this part of the world is reawakening.
After consuming I don’t know how many kilos of clementines, their season is drawing to a close, and mandarini and tarocchi (a type of red orange) are taking their place. What sweet, vibrantly-colored juice they make, and the large ones with their leaves still intact are a wonderful treat to eat a section at a time.
As I waited for the coffee to brew this morning, I noticed the sun catching the curved ends of the roof tiles - a phenomenon that only happens for a brief period on opposite ends of the calendar. And I realized why long strings of grey, rainy days become so tiresome: we don’t get to witness the usual transformation of a day. I enjoy watching the city waking up... how it continues to change as the hands on the clock spin forward, until the sun’s gentle leaving gives way to twilight at day’s end. On a gray day, lost is the opportunity to take part in the mass photo shoot happening at the center of Ponte Vecchio. There’s no jostling for elbow room, cameras pointed westward, trying to capture the watercolored sky

reflected on the water. And when the stars don’t appear, I miss the familiar patterns rotating like a giant nighttime clock, and the moon tracing its arc. Without the sun and the moon and the stars, I seem to lose my bearings.
Even though temperatures are plenty cold these days (between zero and ten Celsius), Pitti ‘Beach’ is back in business. The long shadows of figures strolling through on their way to the palace and gardens now pause a while on the sun-lit expanse of the sloped square in the afternoons. The sun is reaching into corners of the city left dark for months and brightening up our apartment (reminding me to wash the windows). I find myself mesmerized by the galaxy of shimmering dust motes...it’s been so long since I’ve noticed them.
The sun also makes my work easier; it helps immeasurably when doing precise work with rulers and X-Acto knives, and natural light has been necessary for a series of photos I’ve been taking lately. The sun’s presence noticeably brings more energy to my work - I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of inspiration and plans, and my journal these days is brimming with ideas to develop. After walking through Florence, noting how the sun highlights the stone, enhances the river, and just generally bring the city into relief, I return with notes scribbled in my purse-sized notebook (or on my hand if I’ve forgotten it), and a host of new photos to upload. We seem to be living in a glorious palette of color after a season of monochrome.

Once again this month, I have included links to items or websites I’ve come across (all along the right-hand section of the page). I’m always fascinated by how researching one tiny fact can lead to dozens of open tabs on Firefox. I also enjoy indulging in following the links on websites by creative individuals - the virtual-world equivalent of arzigogolando (the gerund form of arzigogolare, i.e. letting one’s mind wander),
Projects and the daily details of living fill most of my hours, so I read far too little lately. But this morning I spent some time enjoying ‘Tuscany and Umbria’, a book sent to me by author Barrie Kerper. (She included a lovely interview with me in the latest edition, released under the Vintage Departures imprint of Random House last summer.) It’s one of several of The Collected Traveler titles. These annotated collections of destination-based articles are complemented by suggestions for books to read, restaurants and shops to check out, and tips on local customs and culture - and are a great way to get a flavor for the places featured, from Paris to Istanbul, Athens, Morocco and others.
Barrie also has a blog that serves as a natural extension and enrichment of her books. In a departure from the usual travel-related focus, her 14 February entry explores a book whose enticing title, ‘A Perfectly Kept House is the Sign of a Misspent Life,’ struck a chord with her. And she found that the fulfillment of the

promise made by the subtitle, ‘How to live creatively with collections, clutter, work, kids, pets, art, etc...and stop worrying about everything being perfectly in its place,’ more than met her expectations. Barrie’s review has inspired me to add the title to my bookshelf as well. I’m looking forward to seeing how the featured artists manage the inevitable spilling over of their passions, interests and creativity.
Why shouldn’t that which we use daily compose the landscape of our homes? I love being surrounded by papers and books, art materials and drafting tools, and see chaos as a necessary freedom in a creative life, especially when I’m immersed in the throes of a project. Yet I do appreciate - and am constantly striving for - an underlying sense of order. Since I’m always looking for ways to carve out more time for creative work, I experience a continual tug of war with the whole cleaning issue; given a choice, I would always choose working in the studio over organizing or cleaning. These can be welcome activities when the production aspects of a project are proving to be a challenge though. Unlike design work or writing - processes which can make the hours pass in the blink of an eye - home care is a reliable way to get a tangible result in a finite amount of time. This also applies to cooking, so difficulties in solving design or writing-related problems often send me to the kitchen, where I can be creative without pressure.

On that note, I’ll leave you with a favorite recipe that’s evolved over the years (loosely interpreted from one by Marcella Hazaan). The pork loin is cooked on the stove, on the lowest heat possible, for three or four hours, until it’s deliciously, falling-apart, tender.