Thursday, June 14, 2012
Gustatory affairs
Nearly finished off the bottle of sloe gin decanted on 2 January. Quite drinkable; a sort of alcoholic ribena, but a bit sweet when one gets to the third glass. The fourth glass was full of sludge so got returned to the bottle for disposal elsewhere. Only half a gallon or so to go.
Sticking with the fruit thoughts, bought a couple of pounds of apricots yesterday. Stewed them in a saucepan just large enough for then to all sit on the bottom, in about half an inch of water and with six ounces of sugar. Result turned into a dish where they looked very fetching, the sort of thing that someone like Cézanne would have made a fine still life out of: "Rhapsody on some yellow spheres in a white bowl with spoons & cruet aside". Didn't taste too bad either.
Spent part of yesterday finishing off my read of Ms. M. Drabble's reminiscences around her auntie and her jigsaws. An odd sort of book, rather undisciplined and chatty given her publishing record, but lots of interest nonetheless. Perhaps she is too rich and too well known for the poor and unknown editor to have reined her in a bit.
Much musing on why quite a lot of us like to spend serious time - and possibly serious money if one goes in for arty jigsaws - on a hobby which is, at first glance anyway, rather silly. You make a machine to chop up a picture. You chop up the picture, stir the pieces into a heap and then spend hours putting it back together again. After which you break the jigsaw up again, put it back in its box and put the box in the attic. When attic full, start taking them back to the Oxfam shop, or wherever you got them from in the first place. She says along the musing way that she became a lot more tolerant of other peoples' silly hobbies, giving the example of bridge which she does not like at all. I might give the example of golf. The important thing is to reliably derive satisfaction without disturbing others. Worthiness, whatever that might be, a secondary issue.
Clearly not all bad because she is well signed up to my theory that doing a jigsaw of a painting is a good way to get to know that painting. And one can get a lot from what is probably a poor reproduction. Plus one is so much better prepared to extract value from the real thing should opportunity arise.
Much musing on old age, around the ageing and death of her auntie and her own ageing. Is it right to make an old lady who was a fine needlewoman in her day do a child's clumsy needlework in her dotage by way of occupational therapy and for the care workers to heap extravagant praise on her for her clumsy efforts? Both Drabble and I are rather inclined to think not. But is it wrong to try and keep the brain cells of our old ones ticking over? Would it really be better to let them simply slide away on a sea of apathy?
My arty uncle certainly made a cleanish break. After he had a stroke and could no longer cut wood to the standard he expected, he packed all his tools and gear off to the museum, the Fitzwilliam I think, and took to water colour which he could still manage. He would not have wanted to be praised for declining efforts. I wonder what the Fitzwilliam do with it all? Presumably his was not the only gift of this sort. (Note that 'Point Counter Point' exhibits a fictional artist addressing the same issue).
So if you have a serious activity or hobby, quit while you are ahead. Leave what you did which was good as a monument and do something else in your dotage. Don't muddy your own waters.
Sticking with the fruit thoughts, bought a couple of pounds of apricots yesterday. Stewed them in a saucepan just large enough for then to all sit on the bottom, in about half an inch of water and with six ounces of sugar. Result turned into a dish where they looked very fetching, the sort of thing that someone like Cézanne would have made a fine still life out of: "Rhapsody on some yellow spheres in a white bowl with spoons & cruet aside". Didn't taste too bad either.
Spent part of yesterday finishing off my read of Ms. M. Drabble's reminiscences around her auntie and her jigsaws. An odd sort of book, rather undisciplined and chatty given her publishing record, but lots of interest nonetheless. Perhaps she is too rich and too well known for the poor and unknown editor to have reined her in a bit.
Much musing on why quite a lot of us like to spend serious time - and possibly serious money if one goes in for arty jigsaws - on a hobby which is, at first glance anyway, rather silly. You make a machine to chop up a picture. You chop up the picture, stir the pieces into a heap and then spend hours putting it back together again. After which you break the jigsaw up again, put it back in its box and put the box in the attic. When attic full, start taking them back to the Oxfam shop, or wherever you got them from in the first place. She says along the musing way that she became a lot more tolerant of other peoples' silly hobbies, giving the example of bridge which she does not like at all. I might give the example of golf. The important thing is to reliably derive satisfaction without disturbing others. Worthiness, whatever that might be, a secondary issue.
Clearly not all bad because she is well signed up to my theory that doing a jigsaw of a painting is a good way to get to know that painting. And one can get a lot from what is probably a poor reproduction. Plus one is so much better prepared to extract value from the real thing should opportunity arise.
Much musing on old age, around the ageing and death of her auntie and her own ageing. Is it right to make an old lady who was a fine needlewoman in her day do a child's clumsy needlework in her dotage by way of occupational therapy and for the care workers to heap extravagant praise on her for her clumsy efforts? Both Drabble and I are rather inclined to think not. But is it wrong to try and keep the brain cells of our old ones ticking over? Would it really be better to let them simply slide away on a sea of apathy?
My arty uncle certainly made a cleanish break. After he had a stroke and could no longer cut wood to the standard he expected, he packed all his tools and gear off to the museum, the Fitzwilliam I think, and took to water colour which he could still manage. He would not have wanted to be praised for declining efforts. I wonder what the Fitzwilliam do with it all? Presumably his was not the only gift of this sort. (Note that 'Point Counter Point' exhibits a fictional artist addressing the same issue).
So if you have a serious activity or hobby, quit while you are ahead. Leave what you did which was good as a monument and do something else in your dotage. Don't muddy your own waters.
# posted by Jim @ 1:40 AM 
