The smell of trees. We’ve spoken about Agastya before, in this post – A new haircut. This poem is based on a very particular line that I wrote for him in that post. I hope you enjoy this! Do comment, a lot. Literally. “He missed his people and the way they smelled like different kinds…
I Love great Food as you can see from one of my blog categories. I especially appreciate the history, culture and diversity of world cuisine, great food photography, food science etc.. This blog happened onto one of my food posts and I’m glad they did. What a fantastic blog! Give it a look.
The word Istria may sound rather exotic to some, it surely did to me. Other than the vague idea that the place is somewhere in Croatia (as I was told), I knew close to nothing about it. And yet, we decided to jump at the opportunity, and move there – because why the hell not. And glad we did, I can tell you that much.
Olive branches.
I like to think of Istria as an olive country: from whatever point you choose to look, you will probably see an olive grove, or an olive tree at least. A village, town square, seafront alley, parking lot perhaps – the olive trees are everywhere, somehow highlighting (if not stating boldly) the identity of the region. A region where life without the olive oil would be, well, unimaginable.
Coming from Poland, I grew up with butter, lard and other (mostly animal) fats, with…
I love this. I fully believe that the written word is NOT dead. And my wife and I talk about this all the time, and even if it is DEAD I don’t care,I will never give it up, and besides, it will revive as everything seems to do.
Frustration is an unsettling feeling, undoubtedly.
For years I’ve dappled in poetry and blogging. I’ve been skirting the edges of this craft (this art form) since my early days in Art School. Today I feel a calling, a force within, a palpable frustration in my need to write. Why?
Perhaps it is the voice in my head shouting at me to speak! Periodically afraid to voice my opinion in written format has been directly linked to my fear of commitment. AHA!
I literally was just informed of this by that voice in my head again. LOL! I perplex myself at the same time as finding myself quite brilliant. Seriously, I fear committing to an opinion or “story” as I might have to act on something. Well, at least that is the silliness I tell myself. I want to remain open I think, as an artist I should be open. This is the battle, the battle for clarity and fair-mindedness that stalks my psyche. Strange? I know. Stranger things there are though, ’cause people are their own worst critics.
And storytelling (by the way) is an ancient art form that has been handed down through our bloodlines, our bones. It’s a natural human condition (in my belief) that relay’s messages from within. To seek and tell one’s story, or to be sought out by our inner voice to tell one’s story. Poetry grabbed a hold of me the same way. I heard voices in my head (over and over) that wouldn’t shut up. I felt compelled to grab a notebook and pencil. Lo’ and behold — poetry spilled out. I felt possessed. Mesmerized, I didn’t stop for several years. Same as my urge to pick up a brush and paint suddenly — telling a story visually, expressing an emotion, depicting a scene. No different.
Photo by Genaro Servín from Pexels
Back to Frustration. Frustration about pivoting my art form. Where do I start? I know other artist’s and writer’s have the same problem. Painter’s stare at blank canvasses, as writer’s stare at blank pages. So it goes. To pivot or not to pivot? That is my question.
I want to master my pivoting. If I can master the pivot, I can effortlessly succeed. Right?
Frustration will cease to exist if I just pivot from it — Ha! (In fantasy world) Frustration is key to understanding my story — understanding the road to take, the story to tell. Pivoting is part of creating. Sometimes tackling the beast of frustration to the ground, is how I proceed with creation. Frustration/Creation. Sounds good to me. I’ve learned to listen to the voices in my head. So, I forge forward. I write. I paint. I pontificate. And I frustrate. But I create, and that is what I live for. Now…what should I write?
I love my cast iron skillet. I cook mostly everything under the sun in it. This is a farm fresh potato hash made with organic Yukonpotatoes, peppers, grape tomatoes, radishes and radish tops. Finished with fresh Parmesan cheese. Simple hashy goodness! Yum.
Olive branches. 
