I have lately acquired two new great loves: baking and still-life compositions. Both require exacting degrees of preciseness, leaving little space for improvisation or dramatic last-minute innovation unless you are sufficiently skilled in the technique to do so. Too little moisture or one more object…the finished product becomes cracked or cluttered.
And when everything is perfectly calibrated - taste, texture - it feels…right.
|A Leaf in a River|
If memory is a river, I continuously cross back and forth to recline upon the banks of nostalgia; these banks are called Oman and Rajasthan and wherever I sit, the river flows...and flows...the leaf simply following the currents.
Wherever I walk, I can’t stop myself collecting and preserving the richness I encounter on the ground below: feathers, pebbles, shells, flowers, and leaves. Here are my pickings from my recent walks, reflecting the season falling around me. The only exception is the crimson baby tomato, which I woke up one morning to find sitting exactly where my apartment balcony and air meet. For a while, I reveled in the mystery of this unexpected guest; then, I looked up only to find my neighbor growing tomato plants in the balcony above. What is preferable: the suspense of mystery or relief of mundane knowing-ness? Still pondering…
|The Sole Truths of Fashion|
A snapshot of my mind: i) reading fashion memoirs - Justine Picardie’s My Mothers Wedding Dress and which I highly recommend and b) visual junkie fix: fashion magazines c) writing about fashion and last but certainly not the least d) shoes carted away all the way from Oman, soul-fix for the feet