I'm back in my kitchen. It feels like home. The spatula dotted with green Christmas trees and red stars feels right in my hand, and as I stir, everything seems to come easy like I never lost that muscle memory. I walk over to the oven with my cake batter. I hope I haven’t lost my touch. My dog is sitting in front of the oven, sleeping, and as I nudge him to move a little, he looks up at me as if to say, “Really? It’s kind of late to be cooking and I just want to sleep, goddamnit.”
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Kitchen
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I like this one the best. The fourth time it really attains a subtlety that the first three iterations lack. The first three are about narration, the return from a journey, the comfort of home, muscle memory, and sensory experience. But here, in the fourth, you finally break through to a level of symbolism and unsure emotion that makes this piece brilliant. The dog's last word is no longer an everyday, comforting statement, but instead the climax of a complex and intimate physical and mental journey into the cake batter's metaphysical role as a stimulant of our humanity.
ReplyDelete...Just kidding! I like it though.