A Family Recipe: Rice and Lentils with Caramelized Onions, "Mujedrah"

This simple, delicious dish is a staple in Syrian-Jewish cooking and when I was growing up it was a regular part of our non-meat meals. I have to admit that I like it a lot more now than when I was a child. It's a comforting meal on a winter night, and refreshing in summer when served with yogurt with cucumbers and mint. And it's very healthy too: the combination of rice and lentils is an excellent source of protein. Lots of caramelized onions add a wonderful flavor. My mother makes Mujedrah with white rice, but I like to use brown; when using white rice you have to cook the lentils alone for 25 minutes and then add the rice.

4 cups water
1 cup brown lentils
1 cup brown rice
1 teas salt
2 Tbs butter
2 Tbs vegetable oil
3 medium onions, 1 lb, sliced
yogurt

1. Bring the water to a boil in a saucepan and add the rice and lentils and salt. Lower the heat and simmer, covered, until water is absorbed and rice and lentils are tender, about 45 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, place the oil, butter and onions in a wide skillet and cook on low heat, stirring often, until the onions have cooked down into a rich golden brown.
3. When the rice and lentils are done, mix most of the onions into them, reserving some for a garnish.
4. Serve with yogurt.

These amounts are all flexible; you may want to have more rice in proportion, or more onions. My mother adds some butter to the finished dish, but I don't find it necessary because I fry the onions in some butter. When eating Mujedrah I like to thoroughly blend the yogurt into it, which adds a tangy flavor to the sweetness of the onions and the nuttiness of the brown rice and lentils.

A New Painting: "Three Openings"

Three Openings, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 4 x 5 1/2 inches

This painting nearly defeated me, purely because of a problem of dust. Every once in a while I work on a painting that attracts dust specks and little hairs like a magnet, and no matter how many bits I pick out with the sewing needle I keep on my worktable for the purpose, more and more appear. The biggest problem with dust is that the paint will lift off when I burnish the surface, leaving white specks. After working on it for a few hours, I finally solved the problem by wiping off the entire right side of the painting and starting again.

What attracted me to this image was the pinwheel of dark shapes around the round opening; the two dark recesses are joined by the shadow on the left to encircle the bolt. The triangular shadow is balanced by the slightly darker rectangle at the upper left. I occasionally paint planar compositions such as this one, for instance see another yellow painting called Simple Shapes. It sometimes makes me wonder if I could do purely non-objective painting, but I feel that I could never be as inventive as the surprising things I find out in the world.

Cast Shadows

When I took the above photo recently, I was attracted by the shapes, large and small; when I processed it, I was stunned by how solid the large shadow form was. It presented itself as an object, tangible, in front of other objects, which made me think of Plato's "Myth of the Cave". In the myth prisoners are tied up in a cave where they can only see shadows cast on a wall, so of course they think that it is reality; what we think of as reality is also only a shadow. Plato believed that there are two worlds, the world of Being, an eternal world of ideal Forms, and the world of Becoming, our everyday world of representations.




I used to find this philosophy somewhat disturbing, as it seemed to point to a world that did not truly exist, a world I loved. But my thoughts changed: when I read about Kant writing that we couldn't really know the "thing in itself", only its physical manifestation, that began to make sense; it meant there was a transcendent reality that we could only glimpse. And recently I've been reading a wonderful book by a Buddhist monk, Anam Thubten no self no problem, which is a clear exposition of Buddhist philosophy which in some ways is similar to that of Western philosophy; instead of ideal forms, there is a rich Emptiness. As time goes on, these ideas, imperfectly understood by me, are seeming more attractive. But at the same time I am more and more entranced by the sheer abundant beauty of the world, and felt incredibly happy when I read this commonsense approach to an epistemological problem in Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay "Nature":

In my utter impotence to test the authenticity of the report of my senses, to know whether the impressions they make on me correspond with outlying objects, what difference does it make, whether Orion is up there in heaven, or some god paints the image in the firmament of the soul? ...Whether nature enjoy a substantial existence without, or is only in the apocalypse of the mind, it is alike useful and alike venerable to me.

My Old House: The Barn Studio

Although I now work on my paintings in the house, the actual studio where I worked for many years is in the old horse barn. The cow barn, which had been on the other side of the horse barn, to its east, had been torn down before I bought the house. The studio is in 2/3 of the building, the final third, behind the big double doors on the left, is storage. Over several years I had the building improved, repairing the foundation and adding windows and insulated walls.




The green front door was an old one among many left in the barn and it's behind the original sliding door.




This is the view to my left as I enter the building, with flat files and shelves for storage. The black metal form you see on the left is a saddle rack, left from the days when I used to ride horses. The high windows on this wall face north.




On the wall above the flat file are a poster from the museum at Avignon; a printed bandana made by one of my graduate students in California whose parents were farm workers (and who was phobic about strawberries from having to pick them as a child, with all their pesticides and fungicides); and a print by Helen Miranda Wilson.




I have a gathering of stuff––desk, cupboard, table saw, paint cans and trash can––around the center post.




Turning further to the right, we see the back wall of the studio on the south side of the building, textiles hung on it, the large work table in front.




And this is the west facing wall, with windows looking out at the landscape and below them a bookshelf for my art books and storage racks for small paintings. The posters above the windows are my photographs; I used to have a small greeting card/framed print/licensing business and the posters were made by a European company.




This view of a cross beam and the ceiling gives a better look at the old timbers. The farther half of the ceiling was originally open, so my contractor hacked some 6 x 6's to give a look of being hand hewn to match the original joists.




I photographed this post so that you could see how its narrower end is placed on the bottom, to better take the weight. I was told that this is a clear indication the barn was built before 1850 because after that time, timbers were made straight instead of allowing them to keep the shape of the tree.




The old enamel top kitchen table is perfect for a studio palette table, with a drawer for paints. Behind it my old storage cupboard, a beautiful color, but not quite good enough condition for a place in the house. Atop the cupboard is a large collection of long handled paint brushes which I no longer use but like to have around. Which actually is like my current relationship with the studio: I love having it but don't use it as a painting space. It is now my place of reflection, where I can sit in a small rocking chair and look at and think about my work.


*This is the final post of the tour through my house. To see the previous rooms shown go to:
The Bedroom
The Work/TV Room
The Staircase
The (Tiny) Front Hall
The Living Room
The Guest Bedroom
The Back Room/Office
The Mudroom
The Kitchen
The Pantry

A New Textile: "Zippity Blue"

Zippity Blue, hand dyed wool on linen, 9 x 23 1/2 inches.

I had fun with the title of this textile, which I think of as a tutti frutti version, in wool, of Jackson Pollock's drips; it references Barnett Newman's "zips", Pollock's Blue Poles, and a favorite childhood song, "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah". I wasn't at all sure I'd like the piece when I started it, but I think it's not bad. The change of color from right to left, from lighter to more saturated, was not something I had planned, but that's okay too. I like the tension between the two thick dark blue zips.

Barnett Newman, Canto II from 18 Cantos, 1964; lithograph, 14 5/16 x 12 5/8 inches.

My favorite Newmans in the MoMA show of abstract expressionism were his prints, a nice surprise for me. This one wasn't in the show, but it's very beautiful, and hey...it's a blue zip!

Jackson Pollock, Blue Poles: Number 11, 1952; oil on canvas; 83 x 192 inches.

For many years I had no way into a Pollock painting, feeling locked out of its meaning. Then one day at the Museum of Modern Art several years ago, I walked into the Pollock room and I can only describe my feeling as a revelation: the paintings were finally transparent to me, and I was stunned by their deep beauty. The webs of paint became metaphors for the universe.






To dye the wool for this piece, I crowded it in a shallow pan and dripped and splashed the colors in spots from a spoon (not a stick) onto it. The result was irregular blotches of color mixing and mingling, with an overall pinkish tone. When the wool strips are hooked, the colors pop up in ways I can't order, so it's all a surprise, resulting in a lighthearted homage.

At the Met: Ivories

Situla (Bucket for Holy Water), carved 860-80 in northern France; Ivory with gilded copper-alloy mounts and foil inlays.

The medieval galleries at the Met are full of treasures large and small and I'm always discovering something new there. I recently wrote about Medieval Mourners, deeply emotional sculpture; on this trip my attention was caught by several small works in ivory, wondrous in their imaginative form. A section of elephant tusk was hollowed out to create this little bucket, carved with scenes from the life of Christ. I find the simple yet dynamic forms totally engaging, turning narrative into graceful design.

Two Ivory panels with Saints Peter and Paul, carved 500-700; Frankish, northern Germany.

These two panels seem Byzantine to me in the stylized lines of drapery and the drawing of the heads, even though they come from northern Europe. Perhaps the lines of influence traveled north. I love these figures, how they seem light, as though they are dancing toward each other.

Ivory plaque with Christ receiving Magdeberg Cathedral from Emperor Otto I; carved about 962-68, probably in Milan.

I find this piece completely amazing. The delicate sophisticated carving gives us individualized portraits of Christ and saints with the small figure of the Emperor. The pierced grid behind the figures contrasts beautifully with the organic forms of figures and the round wreath(?) and curved footrest.

Ivory casket (detail); carved about 1000-1100; South Italian.

More charming details abound in this detail of a small casket showing hunting scenes with fanciful animals and decorative surrounds. Notice how the pattern of the hunter's clothing crosses his body in neat diagonals, and on the fierce standing figure in verticals.

Walrus Ivory Game Piece with Hercules throwing Diomedes to his Man-Eating Horses; carved about 1100-1150; German, Cologne.

It's such a gruesome subject, but what wonderful carving! The texture on the dogs (these don't look like horses to me) playfully converses with the larger zigzag and circles of the border, which makes it easy to overlook the narrative content.

Ivory Plaque with the Evangelist Saint Mark and his Symbol; carved 1000-1100, probably in Cologne.

This is another delightful small plaque. I find the forms of the church buildings particularly interesting here, with the balls atop the towers almost like onion domes.

Ivory Virgin and Child; carved about 1250; North French.

There is less sculpture in the round in ivory to be seen at the museum, and I was totally taken with this piece. The soft, tender gesture of the child reaching up to touch his mother, her gentle grasp of his foot, and her loving smile make this work a celebration of the earthly mother-child bond, not only a religious expression.

Plaque (detail); 10th to early 11th century; carved ivory with quartz insets and traces of pigment; Spain (Al-Andaluz).

This plaque, so different in character from the preceding works, is found in the Middle Eastern cases of the museum. Al-Andaluz was the name given to the Iberian peninsula during the rule of the Muslims, and this work reflects that different culture. It is purely, extravagantly decorative, with marvelous beasts and humans, and intricate minute carving. The warmth and beauty of ivory as a carving material is evident in all these small artworks.

A New Painting: "Banded Red"

Banded Red, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 7 1/2 x 5 1/4 inches.

I like the strange composition of this just completed painting, with a large plane of red girdled by gray cylinders at its lower end. In order to keep the surface lively, I painted the red with some variation in color and texture. Your eye jumps up to the top of the red plane where there's a line of highlight, indicating a bend in the surface, and back down to the pipes. There's another little detail that you can see in the last image below: the slight curve of the form at the top right leaves room for a tiny bit of another color, a voice from a different world.

My Old House: The Bedroom

The last room in the house to show you is the bedroom (I will do a post on the barn studio soon). As I enter from the work/tv room, I see the old dresser against one of the knee walls, which is a wall dropped down from the slanting ceiling. Behind that wall, running the length of the room, is a walk-in closet for only the tiniest of people, like me. As in the work room, the floor is made of unfinished wide planks of spruce. The room faces east, into the rising sun, and as there are no shades, I awake very early in summer and later in winter.




In the far corner of the room is an old chair, generally covered with clothing, and a small round hooked rug which I made from a pattern when I was first learning the technique. The knee wall on the right side of the room is lower, starting farther back on the ceiling, and thus allowing for a larger usable space.




Here is Poppy, luxuriating on the bed. Her brother Blinky is usually there too, reclining on a pillow. The painting is a small figure study I did many years ago.




This is the rug at my bedside, which I designed and hooked several years ago, before I thought of making artworks using the hooked rug technique.




I think this is my favorite piece of old hardware in the house, with its extravagant and fanciful shape.




When I moved into this house, the bedroom walls were covered with several layers of old wallpaper and paint. One winter's project was to strip the wallpaper and refinish the walls, which I did with a mixture of joint compound, white paint, and color concentrate. I thought I was mixing a blue, but got a cool green. My trowel work was not very adept, so the walls came out uneven and rough, but both inadvertent results ended up looking fine.




This small sculptural diptych by Sam Thurston hangs above the dresser and gives me a great deal of pleasure every day.


*I hope you're enjoying this tour through my house. To see the previous rooms shown go to:
The Work/TV Room
The Staircase
The (Tiny) Front Hall
The Living Room
The Guest Bedroom
The Back Room/Office
The Mudroom
The Kitchen
The Pantry

Ellsworth Kelly in Black and White

Black Curve Diagonal, 2010; Oil on canvas, two joined panels; 40 3/4 x 120 1/8 inches.

This grand sweeping curve of black so struck me when I walked into the new Ellsworth Kelly exhibit at Matthew Marks that I caught my breath: it is a perfect expression of grace and simple beauty. Like most of the paintings in the two venue show, it is made up of two panels placed one atop the other, one black and one white, the surfaces matte and uniform. The duality of black/white can be read in many ways, but I see it as a stripping bare of the idea of color.

Black Relief III, 2010; Oil on canvas, two joined panels; 75 1/4 x 65 3/8 inches.

Each shape has a clarity and refinement as if the ideal of its type, like a Platonic form. There is a lively balance of the shape and its ground, and the small tensions of point and edge add energy. The fact that the painting is a relief and casts shadows emphasizes its solid presence.

Black Curve Relief, 2010; Oil on canvas, two joined panels; 75 1/4 x 65 3/8 inches.

What a beautiful curve! it rises up skyward and pushes at the white space at its side, both at rest and dynamic.

Black Relief II, 2010; Oil on canvas, two joined panels; 74 x 70 x 2 5/8 inches.

My photographs of these paintings aren't as good as they could be: the white of the canvas should be truly white. But I felt my images give more of a feel for the actuality of a physical object than the possibly more accurate ones at the gallery website. I like seeing the shadows of each panel, as they seem an essential part of the work.

Black Relief V, 2010; Oil on canvas, two joined panels; 80 x 48 x 2 5/8 inches.

It is not easy for me to articulate why I love these paintings, why when I look at them I feel an enlargement of my spirit, an opening of my heart. They might seem so bare and cold to many, but to me they are like looking into the mind of the world.

In the smaller space at Matthew Marks is a show of black and white drawings that Kelly completed from 1954-59; in them we can see the genesis of his new paintings. The drawings explore form with wit and fluidity. These works also make me feel happy, with a deep joy in the surprise and wonder of art.