Winter is for making art

Threads interwoven.
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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