Almost nothing tastes as delicious as heirloom tomatoes fresh from the garden. Agreed? I love them freshly picked, sliced medium wide on a piece of lightly browned toast, adorned with Best Foods mayonnaise, salt and pepper.
I created and diddled with the painting above yesterday morning in watercolor class here (which is teacherless during the summer). Its from a photograph of heirlooms spread out for sale in the market in Jack London Square in Oakland. Of course I changed some of the colors, as I am experimenting with Daniel Smith's new Mayan Red pigment. I love the way it granulates but I think its too brash for the tomatoes.
In the activity building here, just a few steps from the painting studio, is the community library. Its maintained by volunteers and runs on the honor system, requiring no cards or even signatures for checkouts of books. Often while I am waiting for paint to dry I step down the hall and peruse the shelves for new books. Having just finished The Magician's Assistant, which I could not put down, I'm looking to read everything else by Ann Patchett. I came home with two more. The gym is just a few steps further down the hall. Though I have the best intentions to hit the treadmill before I head home often, like yesterday, I convince myself I'm too hungry for lunch.
In Santa Rosa where I live now growing one's own tomatoes is the password for community acceptance. I have five heirloom plants in my slender back yard, and two in pots on the deck. They seem to grow daily, but are not keeping up with my neighbors. In fact the ones interspersed with my roses I used to plant in Oakland seemed hardier. Maybe my Santa Rosa plants are self conscious from my continual peering at their skinny stems?