I have many many things to do this week, things that are written in thick black magic marker in the “non-negotiable” column of my Gotta-Do list, so this afternoon it was of paramount importance that I grab a camera, a spaghetti squash, a polished black surface and two dish towels, elbow a stack of newspapers off the dining room table and sit down to do some portrait work.
I am assuming this is the way you, too, deal with pressure, mais oui?
A second set of pictures from the Saturday Farmer’s Market. The vendors are very gracious about my eyeballing their wares and in turn, I try to get in and out as quickly as possible and not interfere with their trade.
Years ago (no camera,) I dithered just a little at an outdoor market in Toronto’s Chinatown and was roundly upbraided by a seller. While I could not understand a word of what she was saying, I’m pretty sure I was served a verbal slap-down.
I believe both my parents and children, as well as the horse I rode in on were included in her rant.
Not a veggie, of course, but who can resist the soft blush of ripe peaches?
My address book got hijacked this morning, so if you and I have ever exchanged e-mails, you might well have gotten an offer from me to save some Nigerian princesses or purchase cool medicines from Canada. I am so sorry. That wasn’t me.
I’ve been on the receiving end of those scam-o-rama messages and I find it particularly bizarre to hear from dead friends. “Zowie! An e-mail from my dead friend Zelda! I wonder what she has to say about the afterlife?” And then I find out that apparently Zelda has been spending her down time selling penny stocks.
I guess there really is a Hell.
Saturday’s visit to the Farmer’s Market in a quasi-panoramic format, because I’m still playing with the odd-sized crops.
Ha! I get it: “crops” like photos and “crops” like produce.
Oh, Wabi Sabi, you need to back away from the middle-schoolers asap.
Finally, just to show you what a gastronomically-diverse community we are:
AND…the chef was Hmong.
Yes! A cultural hat-trick!
These acorn squash have been lounging about in my pantry and finally gave up their green, waiting for me to do something, anything with them.
Ahhhh…how could I let these gorgeous creatures go to waste? I hauled them downstairs, cleared piles of drek off my light table and used them for models.
My pantry: a never-ending source of inspiration.
My light table (rescued from a thrift store) is a behemoth. Despite a crazy-quilt of scratches and marks on the surface, it can still produce some pretty fine effects.
There’s no trickery to the photos. The white glass lit from below disappears in the shot and items appear to be suspended in the air. All of these shots were taken with a 60mm lens.
If yesterday’s post was a poem writ in veggies, today’s is a full-throated and deep-voiced barrel-chested Pumpkin Song.
Of the 12 or 15 pumpkin pictures I took at the Farmers Market, I concentrated on the stems and tops. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t plan it. Just did it and didn’t realize it until I downloaded the pictures. If you want to play word association games and the word “pumpkin” gets lobbed at you, I think it’s a safe bet that you will fire back “Orange” or “Halloween” or even “Great” but I will wager that “Stem” doesn’t make the cut.
And finally, as a soft and graceful ending to this Pumpkin Song:
For the first day of Fall, an early morning visit to our local Farmers Market. Visual poetry in blazing color using vegetables as verbs.
Tomorrow: The pumpkins wrote poetry of their own.
