Memories on Monday: I Don't Know Why He Painted It Orange.

Before you begin to think that my mental state is slipping ... I am well aware that it is Tuesday and not Monday. Regardless, I am doing my Memories on Monday post today. I have tried to get to posting, but life has gotten in the way. In a good way. I just haven't been able to sit down and process the photos I have taken in the past couple of weeks. We had my inlaws visit for a few days. That was really nice. I actually love my inlaws. I lucked out. What really has been filling my days, though, is summer. Summer and all it's glory.

Early mornings have been spent watering the garden and being mesmerized by what I have found there.

I debate shirking all my responsibilities for the day after spending sometime with the myriad of shapes and colors and think about just drawing what I see. I realize when I look back on my photos, just how much vibrant color attracts me.

I have hiked for hours on end in the past couple of weeks. Starting off on the trail-to-the-blackberries my husband made for me.

The birds were kind enough to leave plenty for me.

The sweet juicy berries are quite the gold mine. Their dark, blackness is irresistable. Late in the evening I returned to pick some more and photograph them.

Just peering into the colander I notice just how much color, deep color, attracts me.

On my longer hikes I cannot help to stop and gawk at all that is around me.

The cool damp shade provided by this massive tree along the way makes the green seem to breath on me. My skin feels cooler, my eyes look up and wonder - how much more green could there be?

I contemplate the fact that I can only see 3 different colors, and 4 combinations of them, while the birds above my head have 4 colors and 11 combinations, plus ultra violet light, available to them. What would it be like to be bombarded by what they see?

It is the color everywhere, that as my eyes absorb them, they, in turn, absorb me. They absorb me to the point of no return. It is useless, in the face of all this color, to attempt the pretence of indifference and get on with my day.

When I get home from the farmer's market, it is as if my Leica is an extension of my fingers, there, at the ready, to attempt to capture what my eyes have engaged my emotions to.

Outside and in. It is the color. I experimented making jam this week. Peaches were first.

I used apples for pectin. The core had to go into the pot wrapped in cheesecloth so I wouldnt have to fish out the seeds, only the apples, after 20 minutes of cooking the pectin out of them.

After making jam, any leftover peaches were slurped up with copious amounts of thick, heavy cream.

After peach jam, came the damson plums.

In all their purple goodness, as if dusted with fairy dust.

What a shock it always is to me to see their interior golden color upon cutting them open.

And then ... the grand "ta-dah" magic of the damson plum ... the raspberry hue of the finished jam. It is as if the gold married the purple in a passionate, heated, eternally bonding kiss staining everything in it's touch.

So how did I grow up to be this infatuated with color?

I am blaming it all on a memory of a bench. I barely new my grandfather, tata Leland. I have no memories of him, not a one. Looking at photographs of him is almost, almost, like looking at a complete stranger - merely a historical looking photograph, were everything is an off white and black image and all the people are standing in a stiff pose. I don't remember his face, his smile, his temper, his hands .... none of it. The only connection I have to him is that I vivedly remember the bench that he painted a bright, almost garish, orange. It was placed under "la parra", the heavily weighted grapevine, that served as our dessert station after meals on his back patio at the house on Calle Carmen Silva in Santiago.

I must have stared for hours at that bench, because I can clearly see it in my minds eye. While the adults, still sitting at the dining table, continued their "sobre mesa", long after dinner conversations, my cousins and I, fidgety little children that we probably were, were released to the outdoors. Under the grapevine, as the golden late afternoon sun seemed to make newly forming memories cling to the air particles, with my fingers running along the curly cewed reliefs on the bench, the bright orange paint color so bright, you could probably lick it off the arm rest, my love affair with color was solidified. Now I live with it, inside of me, making me stop to photograph the color I come in contact with throughout the day, catching, like a poorly filed fingernail catching on the surface of a precious cloth. My day goes by in a stop and go motion. Do. Photograph. Do. Photograph again. Repeat. The only fluidity being the continuous observation, and infatuation, with color.

I don't know why he painted that bench orange.

I am just grateful that he did.

Until next time,

Carolina

8 Comments

Even though you don't remember your grandfather, this is a wonderful memory to have and how nice that it left such a wonderful impression on you. I'm a very color obsessed person myself. I can lock in a color the min. I see it, and not forget it. I can even sometimes boldly go to the fabric store without a swatch and match thread to fabric, solely on memory.

I haven't been very diligent with my camera these days. I need to do that more I think.

The peach jam looks amazing! I love peaches, but I haven't had good access to a tree in a while. I find the store ones are always a disaster :(

Posted by: Elizabeth Mackey | 07/31/2012 at 07:52 PM

Carolina...I LOVE IT!!! What beautiful memories and what gorgeous photos. But the CREATION is the best! Those plums, I could eat the whole bucket. And the jam....WOW!! Absolutely DIVINE color, my mouth waters just looking at it. I do remember the bench, my Daddy would be so happy to know you have these memories (maybe he "knows" somehow). Your food pictures are just like the Marie Claire Comfort cookbook (even better!). I love the trail in the woods too.

I love you. Mom

Posted by: Gwendolyn Acuna | 07/31/2012 at 08:01 PM

What a wonderful color memory! When see benches painted that dark green park bench color, I always wish someone had been brave enough to choose another color. Orange would be wondrous. I'm so glad you have this memory of color and all it's rich associations with family and food.

Your jam looks incredible. My mouth won't stop watering.

Keep enjoying Summer's color fiesta with your camera at your side!

Posted by: Melissa P | 07/31/2012 at 10:40 PM

Color...deep, rich, juicy, INTENSE...I could happily drown in it!
Bren

Posted by: Brenda Ferguson | 08/01/2012 at 07:47 AM

Your first photo of the flowers reminds me of your dream suitcase and the fabric from the last lampshade. I can tell this is your favorite paletteI love that you have created it in your garden.

You could be a food sylist, your photos are amazing. You always make me want to drop what I am doing and go cook, or eat. Mostly eat.

I only met one of my grandparents, my maternal grandma, but I knew her well. Both my parents worked so I spent summer vacations with her as a child. Most of her backyard was a flower garden, and you could wind through it on curvy paths of grass. No bench, but there was alot of beautiful color!

Yay! I am caught up, now I will have to tend to my own neglected blog.

Posted by: Alicia Armstrong | 08/09/2012 at 07:55 AM

Hello, I answered your question on the crochet/ knitting on my post. I will answer all questions on my blog from now on, unless I want to be more wordy and have a full conversation. :) Is Facebook still a good option, or email?

I would love to chat with you about crochet!!!

Posted by: Elizabeth Mackey | 08/12/2012 at 11:51 AM