Love and Desire and Fear of Loss

W. H. Auden: “If equal affection cannot be, / Let the more loving one be me”, (THE MORE LOVING ONE). 

Augustine wrote that love is “a kind of motion, and all motion is toward something.” 

What makes us move into the direction of something is our graving to possess this something which we deem as Good. We want this good for we hope it will make us happy and it is because we know happiness that we want to be happy. The distinctive trait of this good that we desire is that we do not have it. Once we have the object our desire ends, unless we are threatened with its loss. In that instant our desire to have turns into the fear of loosing.

A generous and unpossessive love seems to be almost impossible. Those who are able to love in this way are short of superhuman. A love which relies on possession, though, inevitably turns into fear, the fear of losing what was gained.

A known cure/ prevention for heartbreak is the acceptance that all things are perishable and therefore even love ought to be met cautiously and nonattachment might be advised. Even the greatest love exists only for a time.

So long as we desire temporal things, we live constantly under the threat of loosing them and so the future, unknown, threatening, strips the present moment of its calm, and we are unable to enjoy it. The future destroys the present because we allow it. 

The trouble with human happiness is that it is never stable, it is constantly at war with fear, the fear of loss. Death is the ultimate loss, of life and love and it is the deep source of our fear. Life’s mode of living, since we know it will end sometime, irrefutably, is that of constant worry. 

So it would seem that to get rid of fear, of worry, we simply would have to aim for freedom from fear. Only in the calm that can no longer be shaken by events expected of the future are we able to experience this fearlessness. So time is an important agent. Cast aside the future and focus on the present. Only the present, the Now, is real, things in the past and things in the future are not.

Like lives, like books, like the universe itself, love is finite, always. It is sad but it is like it is. Once we accept this we are prepared to plunge into the next adventure and try, again, to find love, for a limited time. So there is no use in fearing the future and let it spoil the moment. Rather live the moment, live the beautiful experience of being bound to someone, of loving someone, as long as it lasts, enjoy it. This is what it means with Now. Now then becomes strangely, not now, but outside now, the fleeting moment of simultaneous past and present. Time stands still, becomes eternity, becomes hope and promise, becomes happiness.

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Proprioception* and Existence

Proprioception* and Existence:

The main sense of living, that what makes me truly feel alive, feel I exist, comes from the interaction between my body and the environment. There is Me, my body and there is the environment, which is not Me but forces me to interact with it in order to go on living.

Only in this interaction do I truly experience what is myself and what is not myself. There is a boundary which tells me that what is within it, that is Me and that, what is outside of it, that is Other. To realize myself for what I am means that I exist. 

To exist I need the absolute certainty of this boundary, the boundary that separates myself from the space around me and tells me what I am still and what I am no longer. If this distinction would not exist then everything would be one and therefore indistinguishable. There would be no individuality, no singleness, no uniqueness, no perceivable existence.

To exist means to step out and to see the limits of my being in relation to others and to my environment beyond the body. The constant attempt to determine my own position in space is reminiscent of the search for the meaning of life. An unsolvable question that always remains open and is in flux.

*** Proprioception, also referred to as kinesthesia, is the sense of self-movement and body position ***

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The Tyranny of Vulnerability

The Tyranny of Vulnerability:

Now, still in the Crisis, although the worst first onslaught seems to be over, at least until the second wave reaches us, the mind goes out to art, wants distraction again, experience, aesthetic challenge and performance. And is immediately thrown back as if hurled against a wall. The sad fact remains, that Art, specifically art in music, concerts, theater, dance are still among the things we are not allowed to enjoy in public or together with many people. For this joy we have still to wait. I very much miss having these “profound experiences of Art“ and long for the time they are to be enjoyed again. 

And so it is doubly sad to be forced to observe a tendency in recent years, ever becoming stronger, of groups in society, in social behaviour, to criticise, condemn and even ban art (painting, photography, video, film, theatre, opera, literature) for alleged insults and injuries to sensitivities.

It is sad to see this tendency coming from a mostly young, internet affin clientele, from people who seem to define themselves solely by being “different”,  by belonging to an assumed minority (vegan, gay, trans, feminist, gluten intolerant, birdsong allergic ...) and therefore feel entitled to claim more rights for themselves than others. Their sole purpose of living seems to be being a victim or being just “different“. Sadly the fact that usually a person is much more complex than just being gay, vegan, trans, (… you name it), seems to be forgotten. 

I call this The Tyranny of Vulnerability.

If everything which could evoke a feeling of insult would lead to a ban, then the door opens to an unsustainable state of things, since potentially everything could be insulting to someone. This development would be the end of all freedom of art.

In a society like ours one has to learn to live and endure contradictions. Not all of them are solvable, some of them we just have to learn to live with and thus continue living the absurdity of life.

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

‘One Art’ - poem

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster

                                      Elisabeth Bishop (1911 - 1979)*

*Elizabeth Bishop (February 8, 1911 – October 6, 1979) was an American poet and short-story writer. She was Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1949 to 1950, the Pulitzer Prize winner for Poetry in 1956,  the Naational Book Award winner in 1970, and the recipient of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 1976.

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

The Joy of Baking

The Joy of Baking:

This is not another food blog. Or is it?

Well, it is about food, yes, specifically about baked food. But it is more about the process, the deed, the action, the activity of baking and how I came about to so get into it lately. The main persuasive power has been Corona, of course. With it came all we experienced in the last weeks and months. The lockdown, the isolation, the shortfall of external distraction and the rising need to counter these blanks with new stimulus.

What is one to do when at home most of the time. This might sound like an excuse but is really meant to be only an explanation. In search of something "to do", apart from all the other things I already do and which are always part of my way of living, I discovered baking as a form of creative meditation. So another perfect way to find my inner self and additionally produce something delicious for my tastebuds.

There is something almost erotically sensual in kneading a dough. Not only does it please my tactile receptors but it also brings back memories of playing in the playground, as a kid, in the sandbox. Dirt and water, the main ingredients for a sand cake then have been exchanged for milk, butter, flour, chocolate, sugar and vanilla. The feeling stayed the same. 

If I’d be a yoga teacher I’d open a yoga class “Yoga and Baking“. Or “Connect with the Cosmos: “Bake a Cake”. 

The satisfactory feeling of having created something extraordinary is the same every artist experiences when having finished a piece of art. In addition this “delicious farinaceous compound” ( Henry James) can now be eaten, a delightful if short moment of happiness. 

And I have to admit, mostly I am proud of what I succeeded in doing. Therefore, a little galery:

Irish Cream Gugelhupf

Traditional Lemon Cheesecake

Miss PACMAN Cake (Chocolate-Walnut-Raspberry)

Russischer Zupfkuchen (Russian Pluck Cake, a cheesecake with chocolate dough chunks)

Traditional Plum and Rhubarb Cake with yeast dough

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Murdoch on Suffering and Morality

Murdoch on Suffering and Morality:

All of the following is out of The Black Prince, Iris Murdoch‘s strange, funny, frightening, enlightening and deeply probing pondering on the shapeshifting machinations of the human mind when in Love and Extremis, a sort of re-enacting of Hamlet (the Black Prince of Denmark):

...“There are times of suffering which remain in our lives like black absolutes and are not blotted out. Fortunate are those for whom these black stars shed some sort of light.

This is the planet where cancer reigns, where people regularly and automatically and almost without comment die like flies from floods and famine and disease, where people fight each other with hideous weapons to whose effects even nightmares cannot do justice, where men terrify and torture each other and spend whole lifetimes telling lies out of fear. This is where we live.

The world is perhaps ultimately to be defined as a place of suffering. Man is a suffering animal, subject to ceaseless anxiety and pain and fear, the endless unsatisfied anguish of a being who passionately desires only illusory goods.

If the suffering of the world were, as it could be imagined to be, less extreme, if boredom and simple worldly disappointments were our gravest trials, and if, which is harder to conceive, we grieved little at any bereavement and went to death as to sleep, our whole morality might be immensely, perhaps totally different. That this world is a place of horror must affect every serious artist and thinker, darkening his reflection, ruining his system, sometimes actually driving him mad.“...

                                                              Iris Murdoch (1919 - 1999)*

*Dame Jean Iris Murdoch (15 July 1919 – 8 February 1999) was an Irish and British novelist and philosopher. Murdoch is best known for her novels about good and evil, sexual relationships, morality, and the power of the unconscious. 

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Standstill - Stillness - Silence

Standstill - Stillness - Silence:

One cannot help but register the effects and implications this Corona crisis has on all of us and on literally every aspect of our lives.

What is most remarkably felt is the standstill, the pause, the rest of the hurly-burly. Therein lies a chance.

Out of T. S. Eliot’s remarkable poem, “The Four Quartets”, come these few lines:

“...At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, ...”

We so greedily embrace the busyness of our normal exhaustively led lives because this makes it so easy to forget oneself, to forget the constantly in the back of our head implemented thought of the “big why”, the purpose and reason for all of what we are doing. 

This is, I readily admit, the human condition, the sadly hopeless but also invigorating question which drives us onward, the motor on which our existence thrives and relies. 

But it is also a dangerously disheartening thought, this probing for revelation, for answers which truly cannot be either found nor given. We will never fully understand why we are what we are and why all is as it is. To some it is a consolation then to forget themselves, to ease this anxiety, which really is fear of the future, in the hurly-burly, the distracting chaotic busyness which daily life consists of. 

Now something forced us to hold still, to rest, if we are willing or not and as frustrating this seems and feels, there is this small element of hope and confidence that lies within it. 

People start to complain that nothing is happening anymore, nothing of value to experience, to enjoy. No concerts, no exhibitions, no movies, hardly any social interaction anymore. Nothing is happening! This is a misconception. Something is happening, after all! Namely Silence and Stillness. 

Stillness is a form of action. Stillness is an energetic quality of being. Stillness allows us to find back to ourselves, to get in touch once again with ourselves, because it eliminates outside distractions. There is a spiritual necessity of stillness.

Even when nothing is happening, something always is happening. Almost every creative person feels that. Even when not actively creating something there is always something going on inside. Any artist knows of this space between the stage where the work is yet too unformed in the mind to be presentable and the stage where it is ready to be physically manifested. Stillness is a most welcome tool to allow the work to solidify and be born. I think this is true not only for artists but for all of us, in almost every respect. 

Do coming events throw shadows? If so I think I feel shadows which tell of a slightly different approach, a change in attitude, towards life and the way we live it. There might occur a shift in evaluation of certain aspects of our lives which up until now have rested unquestioned. 

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Recipe for Fig Bread

A (moderately) healthy recipe in which most of the sweetness comes from the figs. I love it.

Dough:

150 g dried figs

2 eggs

1⁄2 teaspoon cinnamon 

60 g brown sugar

1⁄2 package baking powder

1 pinch of salt 

50 g apple puree (Apfelmus)

50 g butter (or alternatively vegetable oil i.e. sunflower, rapeseed (Rapsöl) or coconut oil)

60 g joghurt 

30 ml water

1 tablespoon grounded almonds

100 g spelt flour (Dinkelmehl)

100 g wheat flour (Weizenmehl)

(or just 200 g wheat flour)

appr. 20 g chopped pecans or walnuts

For the decoration:

1 - 2 fresh figs, sliced

Preparation :

Heat the oven to 160 °C.

Chop figs and together with apple puree, joghurt and water puree figs in mixer, then put in big bowl and together with all other ingredients (save nuts) mix to a homogenous dough, then fold in the chopped pecans/walnuts. 

Put dough in a small fattened springform or loaf pan (cake tin, rectangular) and decorate wird fig slices.

Put in oven and bake for 40 minutes, then control with the aid of a stick if it is done. If dough still sticks to the stick, bake for another 5 minutes. Take out, let cool and serve. 

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis:

Metamorphosis is a biological process by which an animal physically develops a conspicuous and relatively abrupt change in its body structure through cell growth and differentiation. Some insects, fish, amphibians, mollusks and crustaceans undergo metamorphosis, which is often accompanied by a change of nutrition source or/ and behavior.

In short, metamorphosis is the phenomenon of the caterpillar turning into the butterfly.

The caterpillar is an eating machine and as such does very well, its behavior is that of an eating machine: stay where there is food and eat it. A butterfly behaves quite differently, instead of staying in one very limited area and doing nothing but eat the butterfly moves in a far greater space and is on the lookout for potentially good new feeding ground and sex partners. 

We humans are one of the most changeable creatures on earth, it could be said that we undergo metamorphosis many times in our life, not so much a physical but a mental one. 

The butterfly does not remember its life as a caterpillar and therefore does not regret it. We, on the other hand, who remember our past, our former lives, we who undergo metamorphosis in behavior, character, lifestyle, we often feel regret at the thought of a phase in our lives irretrievably lost. 

We desire change and aim to change, at the same time we are deeply afraid of change, maybe this is a very human trait and the motor for most of our endeavors in science and art. 

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Ethics vs. Aesthetics

Ethics vs. Aesthetics:

In light of the vehemence of rejection which met the publication of Woody Allen’s latest biography the question arises (once more and hopefully not for the last time) how to handle the fact that art is never made by good people only. 

What follows if one allows ethics to undermine aesthetics? It would mean that only art of morally impeccability of morally impeccable artists in morally impeccable institutes would be allowed to be seen, heard or read - this would be the end of art, such art, stripped of its core, would be worthless.

Artists are human beings, as prone to ethical and moral snares as everyone else. A number of artists come to mind whose personal conduct and believes are hard to reconcile with the admiration and inspiration their art generates.

Woody Allen’s personal conduct, for example, might not have been that of a saint and I am sure there have been situations in his life, as in everyone else’s, in which he made dubious decisions. This should not affect our reception of his art. I personally like most of his movies, their fascination with the absurdities of life.

Emil Nolde, the German expressionist painter, was an antisemite and nationalist. And yet his art deeply moves me on more than one level. Pablo Picasso would not have survived the #MeToo movement, he would have been considered a swine. Richard Wagner, not really one of my favorites, but undoubtedly a good composer, also was an antisemite. And the list could continue, with Klaus Kinski, James Brown, Miles Davis, Michael Jackson… Art is being made by assholes, too. This is the sorry truth we have to recognize.

We also have to recognize that there is no Black/ White, no absolutes, no overall valid morale. It is always dangerous to rely on morale only. Where moralization rules, sanity and reason tend to go down the drain. Morale is the continuance of religion with different means, a very subjective endeavor. As long as we continue to think morally (simplistic) we divide the world in friend and foe, in good and bad, in rules and interdictions.

Should we allow ourselves to be fascinated, moved, inspired and touched by art who’s creator does not meet our moral approval? The answer to that dilemma might lie in a space beyond morale. Maybe it is more about the question which contradictions we should learn to endure. Not all of them are solvable, some of them we just have to learn to live with and thus continue living the absurdity of life.

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Youth - And Why We Shouldn’t Shed Tears When It Is Gone

Youth - And Why We Shouldn’t Shed Tears When It Is Gone:

Undoubtedly our youth is one of the most important and well remembered phases in our life, the one which led from what we were then to what we are now. Youth is the seed out of which our life developed, it is a life forming agent.

But, once over, it is not really a thing to shed sirupy tears over because one has “lost“ it.  

Yes it is true, there are things which a younger body is more capable of doing, and the joy of feeling my body in extremis is still something I dearly remember, as I do remember the thrill, the euphoria and ecstasy of first-time experiences. I have lost the ability to run as fast and arduously as I used to or jump over fences, swim across wide rivers or dance through endless nights. My skin developed cracks and crinkles, the smoothness, the good looks, the capability to please, seduce and win over just with these alone - all gone. Those days are over.

.

Most of what people say they miss when asked about their youth are physical attributes. Admittedly, loosing these is a somewhat unpleasant experience. Beauty is something I still very much cherish and youth and beauty seem to go together. But life has taught me that all, and I mean: all, is ending. So, loosing my youthful beauty falls into the same category as the sad regret I feel when I drop a cherished vase. I do feel sorry for the loss, grieve a while for the irrevocability of beauty now destroyed and gone, but I am grateful, too for the time I have been allowed to enjoy and revel in it. 

What many don’t realize, though, is this enormous gain in other fields, mainly those of the mind, the soul, the over-all sense of being.

Gone are the days of insecurities and fears, of constantly felt anxieties, of that permanent pressure to please and fit in, this nagging need to live up to the (real or imagined) expectations of fellow co-beings or the world.

Gone are also the days of not really knowing what I am, where I belong to, what purpose or sense this life of me serves.

One of the great advantages of being older, if all goes moderately well, is the knowledge one picks up on the way, knowledge which helps to meet new situations less fearful, less surprised, less overwhelmed. At a certain age one has lived through almost every aspect of human life and experienced all manners of situations: kids were born, parents died, friends parted, relationships ended, former life-partners are no longer part of one’s life, one lived through illness, has had luck and has had bad luck. Very few remains menacing theory, reality has lost its terrifying power, one has learned to cope with it.

Dealing with everyday life became more relaxed and lead to (do I have to spell it out) a quieter, more content existence. I can act now instead of freeze in shock and fear. An invigorating achievement not to be underestimated. 

Somewhere I read (I think it was Iris Murdoch) that human beings are “finders of substitutes“. In regard to my life I find that knowledge, experience, ease, calm and content are a good substitute for the desperate struggles of youth.

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

“A Fairly Honourable Defeat” by Iris Murdoch - review

“A Fairly Honourable Defeat” by Iris Murdoch:

In her thirteenth novel, published 1970, Iris Murdoch depicts a social network of which the nucleus is the seemingly intact and harmonious marriage of Hilda and Rupert Foster who live a quiet, content, fairly comfortable life in one of the better-off suburbs of London. 

Into this world comes Julius King, rich, handsome, clever, seductive, deceitful and diabolic. He machinates his victims (and there are not a few) by silently and cunningly isolating them and therefore making it impossible for them to talk to each other. He uses them as puppets in a play, employs their fears, their jealousies and insecurities to his advantage, uses flattery and critique and thus creates a tormenting atmosphere for his victims who, a muddling philosopher, a shy youth, a straying woman, an aging housewife, a gay couple, all succumb with tragic results to his machinations and loose their until then harmonious environment. 

This alone would make a great story but it is with great humor, wit and brilliant dialogue that Murdoch elevates the story into regions of divine comedy. The book vibrates with verbal energy, intense, funny, comical, tragic. With Murdoch, a keen observer of the human mind, it is always about the mechanisms of relationships, the inner workings, the why we act the way we act.

The extremely humane and honest representation of the gay couple especially, in which Murdoch explores deeply and without prejudice what it is that makes a marriage a marriage, is remarkably well done. One should not forget that this was 1970, just three years after the decriminalization of private homosexual acts in the UK. Even today, fifty years later, it remains a very beautiful piece of literary representation of a same-sex marriage.

This novel is a gem in philosophical and psychological insights and testifies of a grand understanding of the human mind. And yet this tale is not a dark one only, it shines and shivers with silent, repressed laughter.

As in a Shakespearean comedy, not all is lost in the end, there still remains hope, some order was destroyed but some important lessons were learned and the future seems far more full of hope than hopeless. 

**Dame Jean Iris Murdoch (15 July 1919 – 8 February 1999) was an Irish and British novelist and philosopher. Murdoch is best known for her novels about good and evil, sexual relationships, morality, and the power of the unconscious. 

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry

Another Recipe for Yet Another Dreary Day

After my success with the red wine cake (see previous blog entry) I went on a search for another mind soother and found this recipe: Cookie bars with bacon and dark beer, white and brown sugar, caramel, peanut butter, chocolate chips, potato chips and salt pretzels.

Amazing, how a little tastebud stimulation can jolly up your day! :)

I found it on ”baketotheroots.de” - Here is the link:

https://baketotheroots.de/cookie-bars-mit-bacon-und-schwarzbier/

Thank you, Marc!!! :)



Ingredients:
For the dough:
3/4 cup (170g) butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup (100g) brown sugar
1/2 cup (100g) sugar
1 egg
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 cups (260g) all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
3 tbsp. dark beer (e.g. Guinness Stout)
2 slices of fried bacon, chopped
3/4 cup (100g) chocolate chips


For the topping:
8.5 oz. (240g) caramels
1/4 cup (60ml) dark beer (e.g. Guinness Stout)
1 tbsp. peanut butter
3/4 cup (35g) salted potato chips
1/4 cup (20g) pretzels
2-3 slices of fried bacon, chopped
1/2 cup (60g) chocolate chips
melted chocolate to drizzle

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 350˚F (175°C). Line a 9×9 inch (23x23cm) square baking pan with baking parchment and set aside. Fry the bacon for the batter and topping and let drain on a paper towel.

2. In a large bowl mix the butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla extract and mix until well combined. Mix the flour with baking soda and add together with the beer to the bowl – mix until well combined. Add the chopped bacon and chocolate chips and fold in. Transfer to the baking pan. The dough is quite thick, so you have to press it into the form and the edges. Smooth out the top and bake for 24-26 minutes – the edges should have a bit of a golden color. Take out of the oven and let cool down completely in the pan.

3. Add the caramels and beer to a small sauce pan and heat up until the caramels are melted – don’t go to high with the temperature, or the caramel will burn. Let bubble over low heat for about 5-8 minutes – you need a thick mixture but it should be still a bit liquid, so don’t overcook it ;)

4. Cut the fried bacon into small pices, crush the potato chips and salted pretzels a bit, so you have (not too) small pieces. Mix with the bacon and chocolate chips and set aside.

5. When the cookie is cooled, spread the beer caramel evenly on top. Spread the peanut butter on top of that (works best with a small spatula or the back of a spoon) and sprinkle with the potato chips-pretzel-bacon-chocolate-chip mixture. Press a bit into the caramel and let cool down.

6. Take the big cookie out of the pan and cut into bars. 

.

A Recipe for A Dreary Day

These last days have been very, very dreary and grey. Typical Berlin after holidays: Cold, wet, grey, not very nice. And, I have to admit, it affects one's mood. Whilst browsing through old notes I found an old recipe, sleeping there for at least 20 years, from my grandmother (not a cliché, she existed, her name was Johanna).  It is a recipe for a Rotweinkuchen, a red wine cake. Delicious! And easy to do! I immediately set to baking it and the result improved my mood for the next 3 days, not to mention my waistline.

Here is the recipe for the Rotweinkuchen:

Ingredients:
For the cake:
250g butter, room temperature
250g sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
4 medium eggs
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 tbsp. cocoa powder
125ml dry red wine
250g all-purpose flour (Typ 405)
1/2 tsp. baking powder (Backin)
1/2 tsp. baking soda (Natron)
1/2 tsp. of salt
100g semi-sweet chocolate, chopped

For the glaze:
150g semi-sweet chocolate glaze
1 tbsp. coconut oil


Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 190 °C. Line a baking form (preferably a Marmorkuchen or Gugelhupf form) with baking parchment or grease and dust with finely ground breadcrumb (Semmelbrösel). Set aside.


2. Put butter, sugar and vanilla extract in a large bowl and mix until fluffy and light. Add the eggs one after another and mix in well. Mix the flour with baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, salt and cocoa. Then slowly mix in the red wine until well combined. Fold in the chopped chocolate (keep about 2 tablespoons for the decoration). Pour the batter into the prepared baking form, smooth out the top and bake for 50 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Take out of the oven and let cool down and then remove carefully from the form and let cool down completely on a wire rack.


3. Chop the chocolate for the glaze and put into a heatproof bowl together with the coconut oil, place on a pot with simmering water and melt. Mix until well combined. Take off the heat, let it cool down a bit and then pour over the cake, sprinkle with the remaining chopped chocolate.

Aesthetics are not an Absolute

Aesthetics are not an Absolute:

This picture shows a painting by Jean Siméon Chardin, the 18th century French painter (1699-1779), considered to be a master of still life. Carefully balanced compositions, soft diffusion of light and granular impasto characterize his work.

I first encountered this painting on a CD-cover of a selection of piano pieces by Jean-Philippe Rameau, performed by Tzimon Barto "A Basket full of Wild Strawberries", a jewel in its own (2005). It is also the title of the painting " Le panier de fraise des bois".

I have always admired this lovely still life, its composition with the abundant redness of the strawberries, the contrasting white flowers in the front and the delicate transparency of the glass of water.

And yesterday I showed it to a friend who immediately took to the picture, too, but had one small critique to offer. To him the glass of water seemed like any ordinary water glass and not appropriate to accompany the erotic, sensual exclusivity of the strawberries. He suggested a metal beaker on another of Chardin's paintings to go with it. 

While I couldn't find any fault in the composition it nevertheless kept me pondering on if and how much aesthetics are influenced by the values of the society we are part of.

Aesthetics are not an absolute, they are prone to change like everything else man-made and respond to the zeitgeist and the general agreement on value. In this case I remembered that back then, in about 1750, there must have been a different value accorded to glass than today, simply because the production was by far harder. So in that time this water glass was most definitively considered to be something of value, something exclusive and therefore quite fitted to go with the exclusivity of the delicious strawberries. A metal or even gold beaker would have worked well, too - probably. But I think Chardin, who is said to have been quite a humble person, chose the water glass instead, most likely because of its unobtrusive and ephemeral exclusivity.

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Music and Memory

Music and Memory:

For the last 2 weeks, out of over 9.500 titles, I have been editing and completing a music playlist for streaming purposes, one for classical music and one for Jazz. 

All my favorites, one after the other, continuously playing in an endless, uninterrupted stream: the joys of modern life, somehow always new, always exciting, thanks to random-mix mode. 

And thanks to this accomplishment I am rediscovering music I had not heard for ages, music which quietly went into oblivion on my cd-shelf, music I forgot the existence of, music I had lost myself in, music I would have metaphorically died for, music I thought I couldn’t live without and then forgot, music strongly attached to situations, events, people, episodes and phases in my life. 

Now, under a downy warm blanket, I lie on my couch and listen again to sounds almost forgotten. Mahler’s 9th, for example, the last slow, 25 minutes long, movement with its heartrending climaxes and its long, almost unbearably bittersweet fading out of this world. So many memories go with it, so many emotions and ghosts rise up from the depth of the past. 

Different times, different ages, they all are still there and even though I knew they were, was aware those memories must still exist somewhere, must still be encrypted in my brain, now, with the help of this music, they are as easy accessible as if they happened only yesterday. This is, among other spells, the magic that music is capable of. Music creates markers in the memory encrypting process. As do other strong tools: taste, smell, touch. Or color. 

It seems our brain uses our fundamental senses to help memorize, store, anchor and retrieve events by simply attaching sensations to them. 

Bartok is coupled with The Shining and early adolescence,  Ligeti’s Requiem with Space Odyssey and a very curious 12 year-old self and a certain person. The Preludes by Debussy make me think of, relive, re-feel, my moods, my joys, my despairs of a time in Nuremberg; Rameau, Satie and Mompou bring back a specific phase in Berlin (as does David Bowie), Bach makes a lost, dear dead friend return, Poulenc recreates the moment of a significant artistic insight. 

This is how I imagine and wish for, old age could be, the long afternoon of my evening of life. Given that I then will still have the necessary mental capacities, this is not an unattractive outlook. Recline on your couch, simply turn on the music and let your life pass by. It’s not them but me who plays “Our Song”!

#robertfaeth, #painterinBerlin, #painting, #art, #bookblog, #bookreviews, #literaturelover, #poem, #poetry