For some reason, these putti bottoms had me in hysterics last night. My son had to come and see what all the guffawing was about. Had his mother finally lost her last marble? Perhaps I'm slower than most, but even though I've long appreciated tortellini as pretty - sassy even, for pasta - I've never really given them a lot of thought. But last night I saw them differently; there they were, pert little buttocks (at least to start with) - sedere, posederas, zitvlak* - and I was delighted by them. The laughter started when I tossed them into the boiling water; how could I not have paid attention to them until last night?! Tears ran down my cheeks as I jiggled them loose in the saucepan and watched them soften and plump out. What a great metaphor, I thought... And all joy to them.
I found myself thinking what fun it could be to plaster tortellini bottoms onto the cornices of my studio where they'd add an interesting architectural feature for the hoardes of spiders who've taken up residence here over the years. They - the spiders (of whom I am most fond) - seem to have pulled out all their spinning stops lately as if they have a plan in mind. They're throwing threads out in all directions, linking one light shade to another, one rafter to the next... At the rate they're going, the ceiling space will be a lattice-work of silk trapezes by the time the weekend arrives. Between the spiders and the tortellini putti, my studio could resemble a rococo chapel by the time I turn fifty. Things could be a whole lot worse!
Summer bonnets for clothes peg dolls.
(Yes, yes, I know. . . it's time to stop mucking about and go and get some work done! *Please correct my translations if they need it?)
It's amazing what fun you can see in an object if you shift your perspective ever so slightly.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this joyous ramble, through spider webs and pasta bottoms, Claire.
But Claire, the work of silliness is often the best work of all!
ReplyDeleteThank YOU, Elisabeth - when something completely frivolous like this tumbles onto the page, I find myself looking over my shoulder and wondering who on earth might have put it out there. I'm glad you found it joyous! (Perhaps I am learning to let my hair - my guard - down a little? And that must surely be a good thing... even so, I still find myself going through paroxysms of uncertainty about this side of myself and surprise at finding her 'out there' and potentially making a bit of a spectacle of herself?).
ReplyDeleteAnd then along you came with your affirmations and T. Clear, too. I agree, I agree, T. The work of silliness is often the best work of all! Thank you. Yes.
L, C
I'm never going to be able to eat those things with a straight face ever again! In my head I'm always going to see the little bottoms of cherubim - they'll be cherubums!
ReplyDeleteOh, Vanda - that's brilliant! Seraphim and cherubums. Hah. Completely irreverent - I love it! ; )
ReplyDelete(And such thrilling news for you re; Containment x)
this is lovely, this silliness! it must be in the air, the water, or the stars...
ReplyDeletei too had the giggles, at similar subject matter. riffing through the images i'd taken over the weekend in the viewer of my digital camera, i was stunned to see a full-frame shot of...buttocks. until i realized i had run through all the 'taken ' pictures and was looking at the 'real-time' image of my camera lens pointing at the crease between my forearm and elbow! oh dear; ...something in the water, must be.
I will never look at tortellini in the same way again!
ReplyDeleteHi Susan - what a great story... the things a camera reveals when we least expect it?! There's definitely something in the water/air/planetary system at the moment. Perhaps it's all part of the great big balancing act... gravitas without humour leads to despair while frivolity on its own calls for grounding?
ReplyDeleteWhatever it is, thank you for making me laugh some more - I'm looking forward to seeing your photos from your time away. L, C.
Kathleen, hello... I hope that turns out to be a good thing!
ReplyDeleteThey do look like little arses alright ... gobble, gobble, eh.
ReplyDeleteJohn A. Griffin! 'Little arses' indeed? Bless you, Irish man!
ReplyDeleteTell me, what would be the word for 'buttock' in Beowulf's English? Or in plain old Irish? (You're bound to have a dictionary of elegant - and inelegant - alternatives up your sleeve?!).
So delightful! :)
ReplyDeleteA marvellous blog. it's added a new dimension to my existence.
ReplyDeleteI hope when I'm 80 I can still be a little girl at heart. Tortellini that looks like wet little butts certainly goes in that category! I don't really believe hearts have an age to them.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the smile =)
p.s. I think your studio is beautiful.
Kay, dear. . . ; )
ReplyDeleteHarvey - the blogosphere is a wonderfully 'other' experience, isn't it? Certainly, I feel as though my everyday world has been mightily enriched by the conversations and connections that it has made possible. I trust you are well in your North Island haven - and thank you for your warm comment.
Hi Rachel - I agree, our hearts are at once young and old and every age in between... It is especially wonderful to meet an old person's young heart, and a young person's wise old one... We are endlessly mysterious, that much is true; the way we age and grow younger in the same breath.
ReplyDeleteI feel daily blessed to enter my studio; it is indeed a peaceful, energizing space. Thank you for seeing that.
L, C
I really like the notion of the pasta as cherubim bottoms. Thank you for the smile this Saturday morning.
ReplyDeleteI'm trying to come to peace with my own spiders. We've had a bumper crop this year, and they seem to love our big windows. I tend to believe in leaving spiders to their good work, but I have broken my own rule in that respect several times this year, I fear.
Beloved Snail (I do so love your name; for me, it suggests a world of patience and tenderness), your mention of your relationship with your resident spiders is a great metaphor! Isn't this the way things are? The dilemma we and our lives are?!
ReplyDeleteHow do we live with our spiders? Perhaps our (t)ask is to befriend them (at least some of them), to call them by name? Perhaps living with spiders is a matter of discretion and discernment? Some behave badly and have to be encouraged to leave, please, and take up residence somewhere else, or at least outside. Some we cannot negotiate sensibly with; we have to raise our voices and get stroppy?
I talk to mine... what else can one do? They're here! I do feel dreadful when my clumsy window-cleaning swipes disturb their nests or damage their artwork. But they seem not to be too perturbed; they find a higher corner to start again, or they set to work repairing what needs repairing. Their persistence is admirable. We live respectfully alongside each other - as you do with your N. Hemisphere spiders, Beloved Snail. (I hear myself saying 'oooh, sorry, sorry. I'm so sorry... This is just a temporary disruption'!) I have no doubt you are kind to your spiders even when you have to draw the line!
Thank you for coming by and for leaving a smile. L, C