heavy metal

Somewhere deep in my DNA, there must be a blacksmith.  I have a thing for heavy metal.  Not the music variety, but cast iron. There's something very sensual and earthy about the smooth cool surface to the touch. On my latest trip to my local Gee-Dub (Goodwill Store) I found a 10 inch by 3 inch vintage cast iron skillet with years of lovely patina.  It's marked Wagner Ware Sidney #8.  The Wagner Manufacturing Company was founded in Sidney, Ohio in 1891.  The name Wagner did not appear on skillets after 1922.  From the style of the "W", it's safe to say mine is one of the older models.

If you don't own a cast iron skillet, it's well worth the time and money to invest in one. You can find old seasoned ones for sale on the internet, thrift stores, flea markets, or garage sales. Look for one that might look as if it has seen better days. If the pan is rusty or encrusted with grease, buy it anyway. With just a bit of gentle cleaning (I don't use a lot of soap) and a light swipe of vegetable oil, it will be luminous and ready for the kitchen. Plus, you'll be able to pass the pan on to your children and grandchildren.

Do I cook with it?  Absolutely.  I added it to my wonderful 12 inch family heirloom that's been cooking up Hoosier food for nearly a hundred years, and my little 7 inch garage sale find.  Besides being an ideal heat conductor, cast iron cookware heats evenly and consistently, it is inexpensive and will last a lifetime (actually several lifetimes).  I love that it goes from stove to oven, no special utensils are needed to cook in it, it won't warp, and cleanup is a cinch. A well-seasoned cast iron pan will only get better with age.

Since you can pop them in the oven, try making cobbler, corn bread, and even lasagna in your cast iron. One thing to remember, don't pour cold liquid into a hot skillet, or it will crack.  Allow it to come to room temperature before adding water.

my Wagner Ware Sidney #8

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

spring purge

You drag

empty boxes

from a well-buried cellar

thump them one by one

up the dusty steps

gently

and methodically

slice through duct tape

with your silent box-cutter

fill each virginal square

with a kaleidoscope

of Shakespeare

Sibelius and light

render me gapeseed

excited like taking

a lot of vitamin pills

or drinking

too much coffee

butterflies

under my skin

spring on my forehead

like a high fever

Tess Kincaid

April 2011

Spring usually hits the Midwest like a hot Mack truck, but this year, I've quite enjoyed the gentle, luscious, foggy-soggy-wet-of-a spring.  I spontaneously bought a toy kaleidoscope last week, just like the one I had as a little girl. Spring fever. It must be.

April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.  William Shakespeare

easter thoughts

Auntie Dee and Snowball circa 1949
Burlington, Indiana

I'm not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be. 

Do I want to speak of the miracle 

of our Lord's divine transformation? 

Not really, no. 

I don't want to talk about his divinity.

I'd rather talk about his humanity. 

I mean, you know, how he lived his life, 

here on earth, his kindness, his tolerance. 

Listen, here's what I think. 

I think we can't go around measuring our goodness 

by what we don't do, by what we deny ourselves, 

what we resist, and who we exclude. 

I think we've got to measure goodness 

by what we embrace, what we create 

and who we include.

 Père Henri, Chocolat

                                            

                            
Happy Easter, my friends.

This is a Sepia Saturday post.

penny for your thoughts

Believe it or not, this is a piece by Canadian sculptor Evan Penny.  He creates his disturbingly realistic figures with silicone, pigment, hair and aluminum.  Several years ago, I was lucky enough to see an exhibit of his work at the Columbus Museum of Art.  The skill involved here is mind boggling.  Penny's sculptures literally grab his viewers, stop them dead in their tracks.  Columbus has one of his larger than lifesize pieces, Back of Kelly, 2005, as part of their permanent collection. I recently saw it again, and snapped a few shots to share. The detail is astonishing, down to the blemishes, stray hairs and crusties behind the ears. Genius, in a very real way.

The acquiring of more information only makes things more complex and adds layers of uncertainty. The goal isn't realism; the byproduct is. --Evan Penny

Back of Kelly, 2005, taken by me April 2011 at the Columbus Museum of Art

Back of Kelly, detail, click to embiggen, if you dare

all-american

When it comes to food, I am an all-American kind of girl. Growing up in the Midwest in the 60s made a lasting impression on my taste buds.  There's nothing I like more than a good ol' burger and fries, with a large puddle of ketchup on the side.  My new favorite place to find such culinary fare is my local Graffiti Burger. Their handmade milkshakes are out of this world.  Eating here is a special treat, since eating all-American, unfortunately is not exactly the most healthy.

Graffiti's walls are covered with, you guessed it, graffiti.  "All-American" is spray painted in big black letters above the counter.  We chatted about the term and possible origins.  Post-Google, I found it started in 1888, with reference to baseball teams composed of the best players from the United States. Now, to be an all-American, has simply come to mean to possess qualities characteristic of American ideals, such as honesty, industriousness, and health. I liked it better back in the guilt-free days, when burgers and fries were considered well-balanced American eating.

After savoring every bite of the Graffiti lunch, I stopped by the library, and as synchronicity would have it, felt compelled to pick up Elia Kazan's America, America, 1963. Based on his novel about his uncle's experience immigrating from rural Turkey to the United States,  it is one of Kazan's lesser known films, compared to On the Waterfront or A Streetcar Named Desire, but it is certainly his most personal.

There are no big stars in this movie, but the acting is stellar. The unknown faces give it a raw and powerfully real quality. It starts slow, then builds, so give it a chance. America, America received Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Director, and Screenplay, and won an Oscar for Art Direction. Each frame is perfectly shot, like an exhibit of beautiful photography. If you are a connoisseur of art and film, you will love this movie.

As you know, my synchronicities come in threes.  My friend, Laurie Kolp, mentions an all-American as a plate filled with dreams. I wholeheartedly agree.

vamp

Seducing spring-starved
to a pagan breakfast
of fertile eggs-over-easy
and fresh-squeezed green,

she pants to repopulate,
as tender winter-lips
are somewhat bruised
in a stampede of kisses.

Coaxed to a feverish pitch
of rose hips and nakedness,
only to her early exit, hobbling
out, a one-legged mother,

cane raised in thunder-pout,
conjuring fickle winds
without orgasm, and spits,
sycophant, in your eye.


Tess Kincaid
April 2011

black madonna

my reflection in the Black Madonna

Our eyes meet dark
across the kitchen sink,
pooling maternal kinship,
without a lot of fussing
and praying, we regard
a settled melancholy.

Thoughts crisscross
quiet over the dishwater,
with a soothing ritual scrape
of accumulated leftovers,

keeping the best scraps
a sacred Eucharist,
cooled and wrapped
in smooth silence,
to be digested
tomorrow.



Tess Kincaid
April, 2011

Black Madonna image from Wiki

WT gave me a beautiful framed vintage print of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa for Christmas. The galley-style kitchen at the manor has a sink that faces out toward a bit of wall.  She hangs, facing the sink, keeping me company as I tidy up the dishes.

There are many theories as to why she is called the Black Madonna, including the dark skin is that of the pre-Christian earth goddesses, the theory that she expresses a feminine power not fully conveyed by a pale-skinned Mary, or that the dark skin is more appropriate in describing the original skin color of the Virgin Mary.

There are those who believe she has some esoteric significance, including being revered by the Templars. I'm quite fascinated by her beautiful dark mystery.

accidents of light

Just Married, 1957, Columbus Museum of Art

Last week, at my library branch, Ron Schick's Norman Rockwell Behind the Camera was displayed in one of the featured-book shelves. Rockwell is not one of my favorite artists, but his work is quintessentially American, so iconic, and recognizable. He was a master story-teller.

I picked up Schick's book, gave it a quick flip-through, then immediately added it to my stack. It is full of wonderful photos of the models Rockwell used for his paintings.

It is quite a treat to look into the faces of the real people we have all come to know and love through his legendary works. Rockwell never intended for his photography to be judged on their own, but they are actually works of art in their own right.



"There were details, accidents of light, which I'd missed when I'd been able to make only quick sketches of a setting.  A photograph catches all that."

My Columbus Museum of Art has two of Rockwell's pieces, Just Married, 1957 and Soda Jerk, 1953.  On a recent visit, I snapped a few shots to share with you.  In the reproductions, his work looks so smooth and fine, but when seen in person, it is amazing how thickly he applied the paint.

Soda Jerk, 1953, Columbus Museum of Art

Rockwell's son, Peter, was the model for the counter man in Soda Jerk.

"Before a model even attempts to pose for me, I tell him the story I want my picture to tell because I want him to understand what I am trying to do, what I am trying to convey. Then I get into the pose myself and show him how I think it should be done."  --Norman Rockwell

smile when you are ready

Say anything, invent an excuse;

drag them out of the conversation pit,

haul their coats from the bed. Gather up

the unfinished wine glasses

and crushed napkins.

Trade my rhinestones for the lenses

of Spinoza, mecca of the eternal yes,

whose facets reflect the sweetest looks,

the most tender truths, the familiar

restored to proper strangeness.

The night is a shiny stone; standing close,

our toes try not to dream of climbing.

Is this Dali's sofa?

Then it must be your lips.

Tess Kincaid

April 2011

Last week, my fortune cookie read, "Smile when you are ready".  I couldn't wait to use it in a poem. Don't you love when special words and phrases fall in your lap, seemingly out of nowhere?  Well, it's not exactly out of nowhere, for me, since I don't believe in coincidence. 

If you would like to read more on Baruch Spinoza and his lenses, click here.

Do not weep; do not wax indignant. Understand.

Baruch Spinoza

dough boy, i think i love you

When I'm busy readying the manor for house guests, and need to make more than one dessert, I like to call on my friend, the Pillsbury Dough Boy to help me out.  Don't tell, but I sometimes cheat a little when I'm in a rush, and use his ready made pie dough. You know, the rolled kind that comes in the long red box.  This one happens to be filled with fresh-cut gala apples.  The trick is glazing the top with a mix of orange juice and powdered sugar when it's still hot from the oven. Believe me, I never hear any complaints. Thanks, Dough Boy, you're not only cute and squishy, but you're ever so helpful.

i'm over at the waffle house

April is National Poetry Month and to celebrate, my beautiful friend Terresa Wellborn is doing a series of posts to spotlight poets on her blog The Chocolate Chip Waffle.  I was very honored to be asked to participate today.  So, please pop over and say hello.

Terresa happens to be a very talented poet in her own right.  Here's one of my personal favorites:


Thirteen Ways to Kill Your Heart


Cut it out of your chest
and clawing earth,
bury it.

Climb an impossible cliff and
drop it. Watch it fall,
the majesty.

Boil it until
it screams. Listen in
migratory bliss.

Visit a farm,
feed it to swine.

Stuff it's mouth with newspaper,
suffocate it blue.

Skewer and roast it over an open flame.

With a noose not too loose,
hang it until it's neck snaps.
Flap.

Overdose it with sleeping pills,
in every orifice.

Bludgeon it with a hammer,
hatchet, or anything with a handle.

Abandon it to vultures,
the Mojave Desert will do.

With a knife.

Run it over with your car,
repeatedly.

Eat it.



Terresa Wellborn

Speaking of poetry, don't forget my debut chapbook is now available for pre-order.  I was chosen as a semi-finalist in the Finishing Line Press 2010 Open Chapbook Competition.  Patina, is a 26 page collection of some of my very first poetry, stemming from my love of ancestry and all things vintage.

Finishing Line is a small press and depends on authors to help promote their books. I have an advance sales period of approximately four more weeks, before the pressrun is determined.  So, if you are interested in purchasing a copy, it would help me out tremendously if you would pre-order a copy today.  Click on the link below:

FINISHING LINE PRESS PRE-ORDER

The poetics of Tess Kincaid's Patina balance between discipline and whimsy. Her lyrics and character sketches achieve something many poets do not even try to do:  bring us characters trying to love the world, and a world fertile with sacraments of meaning.        --Annie Finch

Tess Kincaid’s Patina is aptly named, with its acute sense of how the past taints the present and its impressive demonstration of how the poetry of this moment bears the shadow of centuries of tradition.
 --John Biguenet

A huge thank-you to all who have already placed an order.  Your generous support is invaluable, my friends. You're the best.

BVDs

In hot weather, all tight fitting underwear 

is sticky and disagreeable.

--BVD ad, 1906

1906 ad--click to embiggen

I'm not looking forward to summer in the Midwest and having to give up my woolly socks. Last week on a Turner Classic Movies flick, there was mention of BVDs, referring to men's underwear, which sparked a conversation about the origins of the term.

After a trip down Google lane, I found BVD stands for the New York firm, Bradley, Voorhees & Day that initially manufactured underwear for both men and women beginning in 1876. The term "BVDs" has become, over time, a genericized trademark in reference to underwear of any brand.

Wondering about skivvies?  It's 1932, nautical slang, meaning underwear, of unknown origin. An earlier skivvy/skivey was London slang for "female domestic servant", 1902.

When we were raising a family, girls were in the minority at the manor, outnumbered by guys three to two, so men's underwear dominated the laundry. Somewhere along the line, in the late 80s, the boys switched from their G.I. Joe print "whitey tighties" to boxers. The youngest, still in college, has a truck load of boxers, enough to last six to eight weeks, until he comes home for a weekend and the manor is transformed into a Chinese laundry.

vintage corset and my 1950s mod vase

Speaking of tight fitting, BVD was the first to manufacture bustles for women. Dom mentioned yesterday that my mod vase looked like a feminine waistline in a 1950s basque or corset. Lovely?  Yes, but also a bit sticky and disagreeable. Thank goodness girdles and pantyhose are also things of the past. What are your undies of choice? Tighties? Thongs?

being

This is the true joy in life, 

the being used for a purpose 

recognized by yourself as a mighty one; 

the being a force of nature 

instead of a feverish, selfish little clod 

of ailments and grievances 

complaining that the world 

will not devote itself 

to making you happy. 

George Bernard Shaw

Spring is the perfect season for dusting off that purpose, rediscovering the secret force of nature within yourself, and following your bliss. I'm hauling out my own purpose and giving it a good going over with me mops and me brushes. There's nothing like a thorough spring clean of the spirit to renew true joy.


I read Shaw's excellent quote here Working the Earth. Thanks, Teri, for the inspiration.


Photo: daffies at Willow Manor, April 2011

keeping company with art

my mod 1950s vase

My daughter was in from New York this past weekend. One of our favorite traditions is to dig for buried treasure in the Heart of Ohio Antique Center. It's the largest in the Midwest with over 650 dealers and takes a good four hours or so to walk through, even at a quick pace. So Saturday, we hopped aboard the old green Land Rover, accompanied by gorgeous N.C. Wyeth skies.

One of my finds, was a mod little 7 1/2 inch vase. It was stamped UE Sweden on the bottom with a serial number and initials:  a juicy story just begging to be investigated.  Did I comply? Of course I did.

Mari Simmulson Swedish Modern tray
(I love her quirky  Picassoesque style.
Note the chignon.)

Mari Simmulson tray

My sleuthing turned up some fun results.  The "UE" stands for Upsala-Ekeby, founded at the turn of the 20th Century in Uppsala Sweden. The company produced artistic ceramics from 1920 until 1973 when it was sold and subsequently closed down. Several important Swedish Modern artists worked at Upsala-Ekeby including Mari Simmulson, Anna-Lisa Thomson, Ingrid Atterberg, and Vicke Lindstrand.

Mari Simmulson

The initials "MS" on my piece stand for Mari Simmulson, a potter and artist, born 1911 in St. Petersburg, Russia. Educated in Tallin and Munich, she started her career at AB Gustavsbergs Fabriker in 1945. Between 1949 and 1972 she worked at Upsala-Ekeby and became a Swedish citizen in 1952.

An extremely creative artist, her work has been featured in public art displays in Sweden and Copenhagen and is represented in museum collections all throughout Europe.

My little Mari Simmulson 1950s vase?  An exact match is online for $200. I paid $14 and consider it a great investment in keeping company with art.

Mari Simmulson owls

april

I raised my hand
in a classroom of rain;
the sun would not call on me.



Tess Kincaid
April, 2011

eye of a buck

the lucky buckeye I keep in my handbag

Oh where, tell me where was your buckeye cabin made?

Twas built among the merry boys who wield the plough and spade,

Where the log cabins stand, in the bonnie buckeye shade.

Oh what, tell me what is to be your cabin’s fate?

We’ll wheel it to the capital and place it there elate,

for a token and a sign of the bonnie Buckeye state.

--William Henry Harrison's campaign song

Yesterday, when talking about the contents of my handbag, I was surprised some gentle readers did not know what a "buckeye" was. I took it for granted, living in Ohio, that everyone was familiar with the buckeye, the state tree of Ohio. My Hoosier great-grandfather, Glenn Hanna, first introduced me to the buckeye as a little girl, when he gave me one and told me to keep it tucked in my coat pocket for luck.

The common name “buckeye” was derived from the Native Americans who noticed that the glossy, chestnut-brown seeds with the lighter circular center looked like the eye of a buck deer. Native Americans roasted, peeled and mashed the buckeye nut, which they called “Hetuck,” into a nutritional meal. (Okay, my Cherokee  DNA might be begging for a sample, but I'm a bit reluctant.)

Early explorers carried the rare and curious buckeye to the east and reported the Aesculus glabra’s prized medicinal properties and talismanic attribute of wisdom. The extracts from the inner bark of the nut has been used in cerebro-spinal treatments. Some believe that the buckeye relieves rheumatism pain and provides good fortune when carried in pockets or worn as an amulet around the neck. The mysterious nut was used as a general cure-all for generations.

Buckeye, as used as the nickname of The Ohio State University sports teams, was adopted officially by the school as its nickname in 1950, and came to be applied to any graduate of the university. The buckeye nuts can also be dried and strung onto necklaces, particularly popular among Ohio State fans.

Candy Buckeyes

1 1/2 cup powdered sugar

1 1/4 cup peanut butter

4 Tablespoons butter

melted chocolate for dipping

Combine powdered sugar with

peanut butter and butter.

Mix together well.

Roll mixture into 1 inch balls and insert a tooth pick for dunking into melted chocolate. Set chocolate coated balls on wax paper to set. By not having the candy completely covered in chocolate, makes end result looks like a buckeye nut.

Speaking of local candy, I won a box of heavenly maple sugar leaves made by Putnam's Sugarhouse in Charlestown, NH, on Suki's lovely blog, Paint, Poems and Ponderings. Thank you, Suki!

buckeye candy photo borrowed from Google images