Juicy Fruit

When is enough, not enough? I looked at this tart, one I had painted before. And marveled. He always put just a little something a wee bit different onto the top. A surprise to discover, to tickle us more. But this time, it wasn't enough, he just didn't stop.Let's move through the levels. There's freshness, fullness and shapes. Strawberry slices, a fig,tiny little grapes. A full wedge of kiwi, a blackberry or two. And yet, he is not stopping there. He has a mounded rich custard on just the right cake. But is that enough? No. He takes it to a whole 'nother level, up a step or two. Drizzles a sweet glaze, encasing the lot. Pauses to judge. Probably stands back and gives it a nod. Oui, CA, c'est suffit. There now, that, THAT will do. It goes in the sleeve all ruffled and bright. And tempts me too much. What can I say? Well I brought it home and now you, you get to see. Sometimes enough just needs a little bit more. More sweetness, more care. How did chef know that? That just comes with, when he puts on his toque. A good chef knows what he's about. I 'm just the painter saying come, come look at this. Aren't we glad that he did it? Aren't we glad there is cake? Maybe it's a small thing, but maybe he's wise. Sharing his richness, sharing his gift...I think it comes back to him, multiplied.

Trianon

A place for privacy, Simple and elegant but away from the court. This is the Trianon. Marie Antoinette allowed only her inner circle in. They say not even the King could come in without her permission. We know this space. Who doesn't have such a place? Dreams may be fluid, our thoughts like clouds. Drifting encouraged. Time not allowed. Giggles or silliness. Or the next best idea. Each of us have a space all our own. If only for a moment before it is gone. We think our best thoughts, become our best person. Refresh. Renew.Then join in again. So maybe we need a petit chocolate to foster and beckon our muse. Why not? It is our place and we for a moment can be queen. See the richness? And there is some lace. Ahh. Take a deep breath. Sit back. Have a taste.

Blackberry Tart

Blackberries always remind me of my grandmother. I love them and she always held them out to me as a treat. We could go pick them or she had them already baked in a cobbler, or ready to go with some cream. In the dead of winter, yep, there they were thawed by the sink. Grammies will do that. Or make you a quill pen to dip in her ink. So you can make squiggles and draw pictures on her notepad until it's time to go outside and explore.Let's go look. Let's go see. Maybe there's a new chick, or fresh cucumbers( you get to make toothpick animals with those), or some " pretties" in the flower beds. Or gather some eggs ( the warmest spot in the universe is under a hen) She didn't go to art school. She lived on a farm. But she was teaching a painter there from the start. So I ordered the blackberry pie , with Mary, Anndel and Bruce. We'd just been to A Very Large Array last fall. Painters on a lark. And there she was with us although long gone, my grandmother, a southern lady, in a New Mexico diner amongst the adobe, enjoying the day. When I look at this tart,she is there too. In her garden, or walking , holding my hand. The juice much sweeter, the berries full. The light a bit brighter. Come look. Come see. The twinkle in her eyes.

Pear Tart

The glaze. I did not see the glaze when I picked this one out. I wanted a blush on the pear. As I looked at it closer, saw what it was about. I was more intrigued. Layers. Layers and depth in narrow confines. In the wetlands there are canopies. Layers of life. A fish friend explored it with me. He is actually a Dr., a biologist of note. He showed me a world in his dip net that I had not seen before, gold dotted fish, dragonfly ondata, crawfish too young to eat. Then he called out a latin name as a warbler flew by. I saw color, and flash. He saw systems and chains. Layers and links. Connectedness. If we just look a little differently, look into it a little more, within the layers, transparent or no.In clouds, in tree canopies, beneath the mirror of the pond....or in a simple tart, it might suggest possibilities...worlds unexplored.

Tarte Aux Citrons

One little tart in a white paper sleeve. Where can you take us today? Reflection perhaps? It's that time of year. Summer's still with us, but there's a slight shift in the light , a change in the breeze. I am looking for coreopsis to plant in a pot. Yellow again. That last bit of sunshine, a lingering of blossoms, a hint of richness still to be enjoyed.Julien did a yellow quince masterfully this week. In front of a gentle blue. And yesterday the Cote D'Azur.Those of us who love gardens, and art and a view, we notice the passing, note the little signs. We are tied to rhythm. Light. Little changes that pull us along.The vocabulary of color and light, speaks intensely to us. So along with the naples and within the white, I have brushed along a color path that is maybe a bridge to the fall. A little sparkle here and there for summer. Some warm ochres , some magenta and rose. Vermillion and cobalt violet.Some few blossoms for my eye. Discovery, probably small, but enough for me. Enought to linger, soak it up once more. Along a gentle path, a smile. Then I move on.

Napoleon

So much custard so little time. I keep wanting gold epaulets to magically appear,eagles and his embroidered bee slippers. I have seen artifacts of Napoleon's. They still seem to shiver and vibrate, history trapped within. Milles feuilles it is called, mille foglia in Italy. A thousand sheets. Crisp and creme. Restrained in its richness, but elegantly turned out. I can hear the crinkle of watered silks. The rustle of skirts. A jeweler showing a parure to go with the gown. Those mother of pearl combs running through her hair. And he is off in his wing looking at maps, plans swirling in his head. There's a pause, he picks up his plate, a gold fork, takes a bite. Yumm. He looks again at a map as he enjoys the creme and says," Tell me, what is this place called Waterloo?" The sun had not yet hidden, he scraped the crumbs from his plate. A dribble of custard stuck to the fork. More he thought. He always wanted more. ME too, as I put my fork down. And cleaned my brushes. Ahh. What cake shall I go after next?

Strawberry Tart

I am stunned with this one. The juiciness that came through.It was the only kind of fruit covered tart in a Wednesday's pastry case. That's the thing about randomness.If you go with it, sometimes it is exactly the art you needed to make. I have some other things to paint today. Ones with little color. But look at this, it is essentially red. And surprise no bit of green. Where did my compliments go? Well they are there. I split them. The orangier red called for a blue. The more purple red called for it's yellow. Your eye is taking this in and saying , ahh, all is right with the world and this tart is real. But more, I needed more to connect. I needed movement and ooze again. The glaze was untamed. It dripped and seeped and made crispness flee. Except in the paper sleeve. Ahh, there we go, some geometry. Some structure to contain the flow. A mound of custard, a mountain of berries, an island of sweet cake and it glows.