Mixtape – Thiebaud, Kenyon, Harmer
Here is today’s mixtape in the effort to live the words of Goethe, “One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.”
The picture I’d like to look at is by Wayne Thiebaud, who has been mentioned before in this space. We could compare it to last week’s mixtape with the Mary Pratt painting titled, Dinner for One. Here we have a breakfast for one, possibly served in a diner or restaurant. And yes, unlike Pratt’s dinner, this one doesn’t feel so tinged with loss and loneliness and even rebellion and freedom. Instead, to me, it exudes a quiet confidence, a peaceful mood, an indulgence, but a regular one. Agree? What do you feel from this painting?
The light is bright, and the syrup container seems like one used in a diner. At home maybe we’d jut have one pancake and less butter. But when we’re at a diner, our humble pancakes get a proper display, an aesthetic plating. Three pats of butter! I love the pink mug, which seems to be iced like one of Thiebaud’s cakes.
I tried my own version of the above in a photograph, using a coffee press in place of the syrup dispenser. It was on a dull day, though, so it didn’t click quite the way I wished for, but it was a fun little activity, all the same.
Next, I’ve chosen a poem by Jane Kenyon, purely due to the pancake reference:
Surprise
by Jane Kenyon
He suggests pancakes at the local diner,
followed by a walk in search of mayflowers,
while friends convene at the house
bearing casseroles and a cake, their cars
pulled close along the sandy shoulders
of the road, where tender ferns unfurl
in the ditches, and this year’s budding leaves
push last year’s spectral leaves from the tips
of the twigs of the ash trees. The gathering
itself is not what astounds her, but the casual
accomplishment with which he has lied.
I love that the pancakes were the ruse. That the surprise of the title is another surprise at the end of the poem. That the object of the walk was to search for mayflowers, and that on the shoulder of the road and in the ditches is where spring resides. Tenderness, too.
The song I’m sharing today is Don’t Get Your Back Up by Sarah Harmer. I’m sharing it because it’s been stuck in my head often these last few years.
I used to listen to this album a lot at the beginning of the pandemic while I was editing photos. This song always reminded me of the Rumi line, “I don’t get tired of you. Don’t grow weary / of being compassionate toward me!” Though, unlike Rumi, Harmer has moved the hell on which is also fair. “Don't get your back up over this / If I'm so wrong and you're so right / You really got your mind made up I guess.”
This was when the world doubled down on divisiveness, on getting our backs up, on making our minds up. I’m sure I did too. Bit of a survival mechanism to move on though when you’re low down and people are getting their backs up, right? As an antidote these days, I’ve picked up Pema Chödron’s, Welcoming the Unwelcome: Wholehearted Living in a Brokenhearted World, published in 2019, interestingly. The book is in sections like, “begin with a broken heart,” “overcoming polarization,” “the fine art of failure,” “just as it is,” and “how not to lose heart,” not to mention, “speaking from our shared humanity,” (These would all be great pop song titles I reckon).
So there, you have it! Mixtape! I am wishing you pancakes, good surprises, and the strength to extend your compassion outward, and the good fortune to have it extended right the heck back in your very own direction.
