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Sketching with a coffee and a good friend.

A good day is when you get that unexpected call from a very good friend from far away. And after a long conversation, without “pretense and expectation”(quoting her words), you can put down the phone, feel inspired, have a wonderful cup of coffee and draw closer the sketching tools. 

Colette and I have shared many coffees over many years. We have shared abundance and empty purses, shopped on impulse as well as on budget. We rode challenging waves and sailed calm waters, we ate fish and chips at three in the morning and elegant strawberries at midday, we wore hats and bought hats and laughed at our own reflections, we drank champagne in strangers’ empty homes and dug up kitchen floors in search of gold. We shared freshly caught lobster on the beach and we licked our fingers from barbecues under the African moon.  And we talked. Listened. We still talk and we still listen.

This is for you, Colette. Thank you for lifting my spirits this morning; for having me cry my heart out and for leaving me with joy.

While enjoying my coffee this morning after the call, I felt The Urge. It has been a long time since I felt The Urge.  You can also call it that hit of inspiration, working of the muse, the bulb moment, the end of the tunnel, the light in the distance….You can even call it panick attack; for feverishly grabbing the paper and pencil and water and brushes, before it leaves! So I did actually produce four sketches. None of them turned out as I planned which I accept, seeing how few things in life do turn out according to plan.

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I have about 3 cups of coffee a day. Starting off in the morning with a big bowl of coffee in which I can dip a chunk of bread or a biscotti as we bake them in South Africa…called beskuit(rusks). Pen and WC in moleskine.

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Then moving through the day I’ll have a cuppacino in just a mug.. Pen and WC-pencils in moleskine.

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Maybe enjoying sitting back after dinner with a small espresso… Pen and WC in moleskine

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Leaving just enough room for that extra special cup around a fire, when the coffee is no good, but the atmosphere and stories fill the enamel mug with bursting aroma and flavour, making it the best cup of the day. Pencil and WC in moleskine.

Posted on by Myfrenchkitchen · 26 Comments

Meeting Marta in Paris

Casey and I met Marta in Paris for a one day adventure….it turned out somewhat of a “death march”. We met early morning at a cafe at the hotel de ville, had a coffee, and admired our beautiful little gifts, handmade by Marta.  Marta is as graceful and loving, vibrant and radiant as she comes across on her blog and she is never without her wide, beautiful smile! See some photos.

We then took to the streets. Dropped in at Shakespeare and Company. I cheated here…sketched them from a photo later at home…it is far too small inside and I had far too few hands and far too many books to browse.

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Stopped at Sennelier art shop and stepped out just before they locked up for lunch, which put us on the hunt for dejeuner as well. Found a bistrot, took off the scarfs and the gloves, almost started ordering the wine, had a change of mind,  put the gloves and scarves back on and continued the hunt.  After what seemed an eternity, passing the same shop quite a few times, we ended up at the little resto Bergamote, next to the marché of St-Germain.  Warm and cosy, with the best traditional baked baguette, great food, friendly service and a very complicated ladies room, where washing hands rested on the per-chance discovery of a well disguised little knob…

The sunny afternoon brought us to the Jardin du Luxembourg just around the corner, and as we found a spot to do at least a sketch or two, a dark grey cloud was moving in fast. Without warning, the rain came cascading down unforgivingly and  had people stampeding for the nearest shelter, trying to keep their dignity intact. Our California girl calmly took out her umbrella and offered us two “Frenchies” generously a dry spot…

The rain stopped as suddenly as it showed up and the sun took us further on our march, into Le cimetière du Montparnasse. By now, the sun had made way for the approaching evening and it was time for a body warming chocolat chaud. For me, this is the finest hour to be in Paris on a cold, wet winter’s day; the bars are filled with atmosphere, warmth and people meeting up to warm their hands around a hot chocolat chaud, the coats and scarves wrapped around chairs, the garcons  serving up drinks in a chatty mood, the lights outside are playing on the wet streets, people are heading home from work with baguettes under the arms, pinching off a piece of crust every now and then.

The end of a long awaited day.  Crossing Paris on foot, experiencing both bright sunlight and pouring rain, enjoying wine and food and song, sharing stories, painting and writing some memories, saying warm hearted goodbyes with promises for futures that may just happen…Life is a gift.

Sketches done in moleskine with pen and WC.

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An urn overflowing with autumn chrysanthemum in Jardin du Luxembourg.

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La reine Clotilde, resting on a pillar – Jardin du Luxembourg

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Another statue, then the rain came pouring down…

Posted on by Myfrenchkitchen · 30 Comments

A revealing selfportrait.

I’m asked to reveal seven things about myself by Marie-dom and Desiree.

When I looked over at Marie-Dom’s site, she did a twinkle-in-the-eye selfportrait and I immediately thought it was a great idea. There has been quite a few selfportraits going around, all of them great. I’m thinking Anita, who did them all different and exciting(I’m only linking to this one post, but be sure to scroll down, she had done many!), and three-for-the-price-of-one from Suzanne, a very instructive series by a contemplating Diahn, a squinting Jana, an intense Martin, a first ever selfportrait by Serena, a dramatic Kate in the shadows and Joan, who took her lovely selfportrait on as a challenge, Linda who also showed us her beautiful first attempt, Ujwala, who tried her hand at a great monotype and Bill, who has his wonderful selfportrait, done in oil(I think?) on his home page. I am sure I missed many who did their selfportraits.

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Compressed charcoal on paper

So here are my 7 revealing “things” – all of them to be found in the selfportrait above.

  1. I can lift my one eyebrow while lowering the other. I can do it both left side and right side. It was usually the threatening face of disapproval I gave our children….and Hartman.
  2. I have always worn bandannas and scarfs and bands and turbans and hats and all sorts of whateverings in my hair and on and around my head.
  3. Aging eyes force me to resort to reading glasses lately. I’m zooming in and out trying to figure out life in small print.
  4. Aging lips on the other hand, allow me to wear more dramatic colours. I have to stay away from shine now, but I can go for dramatic reds. I look stunning. Like Ava Gardner. 
  5. As compensation for all the rest that is sagging, my cheekbones are lifting. I wanted high cheekbones all my life. Like Sophia Loren.
  6. I have an olive skin and dark circles under my eyes which may explain why I am mistaken for being Portuegese, Spanish, Greek, Egyptian, Iranien and Irakien many times. 
  7. I am not witty, but I have a good sense of humour and I laugh easily. I hope that’ll explain my wrinkles.

Whoever is reading here, you are invited to just simply reveal seven “things” about yourself.

Posted on by Myfrenchkitchen · 26 Comments

Facts and tender emotions

Once upon a time, there was a young girl, reflecting on a home and a husband and a family. I planned on having a home with a garden, a handsome husband and 5 wild sons. I placed my order. I got it all, except for the 5 wild boys. I met Hartman,(one of four wild boys!) and we were given two adorable little girls. We couldn’t be happier. This was a little over many years ago. Some time between then and now, they have blossomed into two beautiful, independent and strong willed young women.

Today, with some misty eyes that I suspect may have been tears, I waved goodbye to our Liandri-child, the youngest. This was my second experience in letting go and it was just as hard as saying these goodbyes to our eldest Marinell, four years ago. Although Liandri had done her own thing for more than a year now, she was still very much part of the breathing of our home; in-and-out with friends, parking tickets all over the house, shoes in every room, Godzilla-footfalls reassuring me of safe arrivals late nights, an angry door slamming somewhere, loud music resonating from her room, a freshly baked delicacy from her hands every now and then…

She has taken off today, passport and backpack. All on her own. Traveling, working, discovering. And she leaves behind a mother and father who are sad and happy, scared and confident, but most of all grateful and proud. I know she’ll come back and it will be different, better. But tonight the house is very quiet and empty and I have for company only the memories of twenty wonderful years. Tonight I am once again changing, adapting to the cycle of life, accepting facts with tender emotions. I know she’ll always find her true north. Her legs are strong. I know. We helped build them.

 

Posted on by Myfrenchkitchen · 21 Comments

My atelier; a place of rituals.

Earlier this week, Sharon posted a beautiful art cabinet on her blog her husband made her and she wondered where everybody else paints. And so here I’m showing my atelier. Since I don’t post photo’s on Africantapestry, I present two sketches here that I did this morning and then I got tired. There is just too much detail and I took forever to decide what to sketch and how and how much – too many decisions for me. If you’re interested in seeing photographs of my atelier you can go to Myfrenchkitchen, where they are listed under “My atelier” on the sidebar.

Having this little space, which is my private little niche in the world, forces me to bend the knee before some daily rituals. I’ve come to enjoy them, look forward to doing them, meditate them. For most people it will simply be impractical schlepp. I love them. Lighting the fire every morning in the cold, wet winters…. cleaning the fireplace every morning in winter….waiting for the atelier to heat up, in the meantime fetching my coffee and the cats, opening and closing the vents for the heating, checking the humidity levels, chasing out unwelcome spiders. Even Hartman has to dance to the rythm of my atelier. He always has a stack of chopped wood ready for me in the cave and small pieces in my basket for starting the fire. He even lights the fire in the mornings – the deeper we move into winter, the more he misses his morning train, the more it becomes my ritual. Here in my place of rituals, life forces me to slow down. It’s a place where I am surrounded by memories of the past and inspirations for the future.  It is here where I dream and try to paint it. Write it. It is here where I allow all my multiple personalities to roam free. Unfortunately… we roam too much, dream too much and achieve too little.

Hartman transformed the old stable in the back of our garden into an atelier for me just a few steps of years ago. I helped of course…did all the designing and supervising! We restored the old beams, the walls, the old manger, the fireplace. Hartman installed heating (fed from the fireplace), plumbing for an old porcelain sink, electricity, high speed internet connection, overhead lighting, a bookshelf from an old ladder found in the cave. We dismantled a bedroom dresser of my mother and turned it into a cabinet holding the sink. A couch from Hartman’s parents, armchairs from his grandparents,  lamps, an easel, a farmtable, a little coffee table from my childhood……and I had my atelier; a place where everyting has a heartbeat of it’s own. A place of rituals.

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Copper and quince to feed the soul

I haven’t been doing much of anything lately. Here are two somewhat messy paintings. But that’s OK. Life does get a little messy sometimes. Out of that will come the order.

Copper pots and some quinces. There is one lost pomegranate which doesn’t really look like one. It is. I only treated it badly. 

The rest of the quinces are waiting to be cleaned and sliced and slowly baked in a little water and sugar until beautiful dark red with a lovely thick syrup. Then put into sterilized can fruit bottles and savoured as accompaniments to meat or on their own with a dollop of crème fraîche. That(the cream version) will typically happen on days like I’m experiencing lately; feed my soul some goodness and lots of it…open up a jar of dark, red quinces in a comforting red sweet juice, bring out the crème fraîche, a spoon, get in front of the tv with the cats, lots of throws and a few very soppy, teary dvd’s….”Message in a bottle”…or the likes; I will definitely want to cry. Then I’ll just succumb and dig in.

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WC on Fabriano HP and some pen lines on the bowl with fruit. (30,5 x 23cm)