steal like an artist

one of my foundational pieces of advice, which really lies at the origin of STILL blog, is “do good work and put it where people can see it.” that quotation is from austin kleon, who also wrote a book called “steal like an artist.” his point is that there is nothing new, and that everything is more or less borrowed from something else, so go out there and find influences and copy them and you can’t help but make them your own. i don’t know the name of the artist i stole this from (theirs was in metal), but i am admitting without any hesitation that this is a concept i “stole like an artist.” thank you to whomever i stole this from. and to whomever they stole that from. and to whomever that person stole their image from. etc. etc. etc.

winter stems with circles of birch bark

what it could be

• lost archipelago recently found in the in the south pacific with new species of palm.
• dr seuss’s original truffula trees
• golf divets from augusta national found by creatively inclined groundskeeper
• bigfoot’s bonsai experiment
• cordyceps fungi parasitizing an abstract art installment
• the saddest little garden
• the alien invasion at last
• a genetically modified hyper-carbon-consuming flower that will soon alter the trajectory of global warming and save the world.
• blobs of moss with winter wildflowers stuck in them
• (the last one is my least favorite)

ok fine: blobs of moss with winter wildflowers stuck in them. sigh.

design

as a believer in evolution, i have to believe these patterns evolved of themselves, over thousands of generations, and served a purpose that furthered the genetic prospects of the birds that sported them. i can’t decide whether that is a position that weakens the claims of evolution, or a position that strengthens the claims that art and beauty are fundamental.

argus pheasant feathers

the real deal?

we’ve had a few false starts to winter this year. but now the lakes are frozen over, and the snow started falling this afternoon and is supposed to keep up all night. this one feels like the real deal. if so, that means at least four months until my environment wakes up again and color returns. fortunately i stashed quite a bit of fall and autumn away in my studio and they’ll be waiting there, ready to serve, on those occasional winter mornings when none of us can handle another subtle composition of muted grays. here we go. you with me?

fresh snow on oak leaves

gifting

in english it’s a persimmon. in french it’s a kaki. in latin it’s diospyros kaki. which explains the french. but none of them explains my husband’s calling them, in a rare moment of verbal confusion, “kaka,” which really, i think, misses the point. today a new friend stopped by, a fellow stanford alumna, a fellow engaged human being who likes just enough of the same things as i do, and knows just enough about things i don’t know anything about, and who makes good conversation over tea. she brought me these three persimmons/kaki/kaka. it checked all my boxes. aesthetically beautiful. delicious. disposable. unique. custom chosen. and of california origin. truly some of the most talented and intuitive gift-giving i’ve run across in recent memory. thank you, sally. i hope i was half the hostess that you were a guest.

persimmon fruits from menlo park, ca (Diospyros kaki)