Winter is for making art

Textiles.
Threads interwoven.
Texts.
Books replete with woven words.
The tactile pleasure of making food, tasting, enough for fullness in the belly.

My first homemade sushi: not bad. The rolls were too big (I’ll try just 2/3 of the nori covered with rice next time), but pretty enough to look at. Smoked salmon, avocado, cucumber, asparagus, black sesame seeds. Some just vegetable, some with no sesame seeds. I tried one inside-out roll and discovered that the bamboo rolling mat takes forever to wash the sticky grains out of.

What is the purpose of winter?

A long breath you take
and hold

and the slow release is art

What is the purpose of art? A question I’ve been asking for a long time. An answer I look for everywhere.

F. Scott Fitzgerald loved and lost, poured it into a great novel, and still it resounds.

Hamlet tells us it “was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the / mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, / scorn her own image, and the very age and body of / the time his form and pressure.”

Denis Dutton’s ideas of art as an extension and elaboration of our nature are mightily appealing, too.

Today’s third art project: seaglass and stitchery cards.

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