Mom had this serving platter for as long as I could remember. Perhaps it had been a wedding gift. Perhaps it belonged to her mother. It now belongs to me, by default more than actual affection. When it came time to empty my mother’s apartment, it was too fine to let go, yet not fine enough to put anywhere but the basement.
The afternoon Martin brought it up from purgatory, I had just come home from the market. I spent an enjoyable half hour or so arranging the apples and pears, trying the oranges here and then there, tucking in heads of garlic for some white space. Not sure how I feel about all the cucumber pickles leaping northeastward, but I do like the purple grapes trailing through the middle.
Sometimes the beauty of a thing is the beauty it makes possible.
Any artists out there who might want to take a try at painting this still life? If you do, send the results. I’d love to share them.
photo courtesy of Debra Darvick