Dreaming about Bleus or shelf life of Angels

I don’t have many possessions. Among those few which I treasure there are two wooden sculptures I found in Haiti. Both are carved signed “Bleus”. My Internet search didn’t bring any results. But questions remain. Who was he?  Was he young or old?  Was Bleus a good psychologist, who knew exactly what Haiti-voodoo-magic-obsessed treasure hunters would bite into, or was he himself voodoo-magic-obsessed-dreamer?...

I love the choice of material of his sculptures: driftwood, metal wire, buttons, nails (lots of’em), even a plastic cap of a Haitian yogurt LAKAY (which was rather sweet, so I would  just use it to ferment fresh milk to make my own yogurt in Haiti) .

One sculpture is hanging next to my bed. What was he thinking making it? To me it is a Cyclops (the yogurt cap makes a perfect watchful eye) who watches over me while I sleep. I call him “zanj gadyen mwen” – my guardian angel in Creole.

The wood is so old and fragile; sometimes I am afraid it will vanish all together. So here is a portrait of my guardian angel (40x15 cm, acrylic on paper). Naturally the portrait is abstract and looks almost nothing like the original, but you'll get an idea.

Speaking of angels…one is indeed gone for good. I really liked her. I painted her hair gold and I made her make up, I even fixed her wings with new white feathers…and now she is gone. Everything has it’s shelf life, even angels...

1+1

Yey! My blog is two months old today! It seems like it has been a long time, and - on the other hand - like I have just started.  I am wondering how I am doing, blogging-wise... Are there any manuals on “How to make a good blog” or “How to force people to read your blog AND leave comments”?.. :-)

Thank to all (two) of you who reads my thoughts. It has been a healthy experience, also painting-wise, I had to go through all my previous works, sort them out, think them over; I should do the same with my winter wardrobe…maybe sometime in autumn?..

Here is another drawing from my Normandy series “Blue glass collection”. Mixed media on paper.

42x30 cm unframed, 53x43 cm framed.

7 minutes with M. Keyes or the „Yes“ woman

Ok, it is going to be a muddled post, because I am in a tangled state of mind today (it’s a good thing). Have you seen a movie with Jim Carrey “Yes man”? Yes? No? Yes? Well, you should, I mean, everybody should...because every single each of us at some point of life (multiply it by 1000) is missing on an opportunity. We say “No” to too many things, for different reasons (or without any reason at all): laziness, fear of commitment, fear of judgment, fear of this, fear of that.

Perhaps it was the fresh wind of Normandy, or too many oysters, or the long boring winter that made it obvious to me: something has to change (let’s start with that weather, ok?)… And I am changing my life: I am becoming a “Yes” woman. It doesn’t mean that if you approach me with an absurd proposition, like jumping off the Eifel tower, I will jump into the opportunity (ok, maybe with a bungee cord I will…).

A couple of days ago I was sitting in a train opposite of a young woman who was reading a book (In English!). It was a novel I read a while ago “Anybody out there?” by Marian Keyes, one of my favorite female Irish writers. Normally I would just keep looking out of the window with an absent face, because I always worry to be a nuisance to others. But at this very moment I have been thinking about the whole “Yes” concept, so I decided to speak to her. Apparently it was her favorite writer too, so we were shooting titles and names at each other, as if speaking in some secret language. 7 minutes of bliss and complete understanding.

I might sound banal and pathetic to you that I am writing about such an unimportant incident (see?.. another fear), but you can’t even imagine what it takes for me to make a first step, no matter how big or how small. There, I said it. I will leave you at that now (no one promised smooth, well-shaped thoughts, remember?), I have a thousand of first steps to make (getting out of bed will be the first challenge).

If anyone is reading this blog, which I doubt for the most of the time, your thoughts and comments are welcome. Yes.

I wish you a fear free week…now, where is that bungee cord?..

Easter “à la normande” (with onions and cream)

I suspect I won’t be the most popular girl on the blog writing about food right after Easter. Apparently too many of us have been overeating, drinking in abundance, spending too much time with in-laws, and wishing now to forget about the whole ordeal… Not me, though. This Easter wasn’t your regular Sunday with dyed eggs and chocolate bunnies (what do chocolate bunnies have to do with the resurrection of Jesus anyway?), it was the Easter of oysters and champagne, decadent chocolate cakes and coquilles St. Jacques.

For those who just suppressed a yawn reading this there is a button “Next blog” on the top of the screen, for the others I have three words: “The French can eat” (technically it is four words, no? Native English speakers please do correct). But you probably already knew it. I kind of did too, but the combination of several ingredients, such a Frenchman, passionate about food, his Central American wife, passionate about food and life in general, and Easter holidays on the shore of Calvados, produced an explosion of self-indulgence and unforgettable festivities.

On arrival to Grandcamp I was relieved of my luggage and handed a chilled glass of Pommeau (a new pleasant thing to discover, I love “pommes” in all forms, from calvados (in moderation) to apple charlotte (again, in moderation). While "le canard au pêches" was shimmering sweetly, oysters have been opened and glasses of champagne have been filled. Let the magic of French cuisine begin! Ask me about the best way to eat oysters…I will answer: With vinegar and shallots, and a crispy baguette (preferably from a local artisanal bakery) spread with French butter… The duck was served with Château du Bois Meney (Bordeaux Côtes De Francs 2000). Then came a round of cheese (I went for Roquefort and Camembert) and mini cakes from a bakery next door, accompanied, again, by champagne. How much more decadent life could get? Oh, there is always a space for a next downfall…how about an 11 hour sleep? :)

Saturday morning was…well, slept through, and the day started at lunch in Bayeux (at least that’s when my recollection of memories picks up again…). Bayeux is a little town seven kilometers from the coast of La Manche (English Channel), best known for the Bayeux tapestry, made to commemorate events in the Norman Conquest of England in 1066.  Lots of English tourists, indeed, even the menus outside of brasseries had little English incriptions: “Mules Frites a la normande. With onions and cream". That’s what I was having for lunch. And a little portion of sunshine, it is almost as precious as coquilles St. Jacques here. Later there was a “light” dinner of oysters and crabs from the local market (It really would be light if the baguette and butter didn’t cut in).

The Easter morning was cold and windy, so the activities of the day were narrowed down to a walk to the local market (hmmm… 150m both ways, I suppose) to stock up on oysters. Meanwhile le mouton a la moroccaine was shimmering on the stove for lunch. And that should have been it for a day, but of course it wasn’t. There was also dinner with oysters for starters (what else?...) and the coquilles St. Jacques with Pommeau and cream sauce. “It’s never as good as the first time” – wasn’t this song of Sade written about the first experience of tasting a coquille St. Jacques? I am almost sure it was. It’s delicacy and texture are indescribable, at least not with my literary abilities anyway.

The highlight of Monday was a trip to the Mont St. Michel. As proper tourists we had an overpriced crêpe at an overpriced café, washing it down with a glass of dark beer for some reason…an unusual and not unpleasant combination. I felt almost rebellious ordering it.   

Looking back I can’t believe that all this hedonism took place practically in the middle of a construction field. Between the magnificent meals doors were replaced and walls there knocked down and bathrooms repaired. Only the three-meter-long antique oak table in the center of the room was undisturbed (unless by changing sets of plates and glasses) and served us as a sanctuary of stability and reassurance.

I am afraid to bore you to death with my culinary delirium, try to get back to it on an empty stomach, it’s quite fun. Anyway, that was my Easter. How was yours?