Feasting on Art

The name ‘still life’, when referring to the genre, was derived from the French nature morte, which literally translates to dead nature. The irony is not lost that a still life, depicting the nourishing foods that maintain life, is cast in a substance that simultaneously preserves food and prevents growth – thus embodying both life and death. Consumption and environmental decline are issues at the forefront of the work with the salt highlighting the death of the ecosystem from which the groundwater is pumped. The salt sculptures with their ghostly pallor and the effervescent fleeting ice forms embody the transient nature of the organic products. Through modern farming practices, shallow rooted plants replace native vegetation enabling the dissolved salts stored in the ground to rise and contaminate water systems on the surface. The result is saline water, demonstrating the way both water and salt are intrinsically linked. Through the Yonetani’s work, the need for a conscious awareness of where food is sourced and how its consumption effects the environment is reinforced.

Ken + Julia Yonetani, Still Life: The Food Bowl, 2011, Murray River salt,* dimensions variable (all objects life size), Copyright the Artists and Artereal Gallery, Sydney

* All the salt in this work was obtained from SunSalt, and originates from the Buronga Salt Interception Scheme on the Murray River.

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Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse were two of the most influential Modernist artists working in the first half of the twentieth century. The two artists met in 1905 at one of the gatherings of Gertrude Stein who was a patron of Picasso‘s. Their work was – and still is – often compared and upon meeting, the two become both lifelong friends and rivals. Whereas Picasso often conjured his compositions from his imagination, Matisse preferred to work from nature and would complete much more expansive interiors around his subjects.

Left: Pablo Picasso, Vase, Bowl and Lemon, 1907,
oil on panel, 62 x 48 cm, Galerie Beyeler, Basel
Right: Henri Matisse, Still Life with Blue Tablecloth (detail), 1909,
88 x 118 cm, oil on canvas, The Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg

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This is the last weekend before the Feasting on Art Recipe Contest deadline. Submit your entries now to be in the running to win a copy of the cookbook, Food of the Louvre.

Historically, the pomegranate was used to symbolise fertility due to the mythical origins of the fruit. As related by Silvia Malaguzzi in her book Food and Feasting in Art, the god Acdestis, violent and lustful, was “handed over to Bacchus, who got him drunk. Once Acdestis had passed out, Bacchus tied up his feet and genitals. When Acdetis woke up, blood seeping from his genitals formed the pomegranate. The fruit was taken to the nymph Nana, who became pregnant by it and gave birth to Atys” (1). From the outside, the pomegranate is a fairly inauspicious fruit. It was not until I sliced it open, the crimson juice staining the cutting board and splattering on my clothes, that the corporeal aspect of the fruit was revealed. Within the iconography of the Christian Church, the pomegranate represents the blood of Christ. The name is derived from the Latin pōmum meaning apple and grānātus meaning seeded. Beating a section of the fruit with the back of a spoon yields a scattering of round ruby seeds.  The pomegranate is sometimes thought to be the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, similar to the ‘garden of paradise’ of Qur’an where the ancient fruit with the jewel-like seeds grew (2).

Jacob van Hulsdonck, Still Life with Lemons, Oranges and a Pomegranate, c.1620-40
oil on panel, 42 x 49.5 cm, The Getty Collection

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When considering the colour green, there are a number of connotations that are promptly conjured; green is the colour of money and wealth, through which one can become ‘green with jealously.’ Likewise, it is the colour of nature, growth, and life and one can have a ‘green thumb.’ It is within the secret green porcelain of China, called mi se meaning ‘mysterious colour’, that the two connotations of the colour intersect. Mi se was produced in the 9th and 10th centuries in China and was reserved for only the Emperor to see – let alone use – and the porcelain was so secretive that first verified example was not discovered until 1987. The porcelain was more valuable than gold and silver although its popularity ‘stemmed partly from the Chinese tendency to mythologise art, in order to appreciate it better (1).’ The green colour of mi se was derived from a small amount of iron in the glaze and the porcelain itself was obtained from nature. Mi se ‘comes from the mountains – from their earth and their forests. The wood was used for firing…and the clay was used for the body of the porcelain. But the two together – as wood ash and kaolin – were also used for the glaze that makes up its delicate skin and jade-like colour (2).’ This green porcelain of the earth represented the pureness of nature yet was an elusive commodity that embodied the wealth and power of the Chinese elite.

Lin Fengmian, Still Life, 1988
ink and colour on paper, 68.3 x 68.3 cm, Private collection

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I read the essay Borderland by M.F.K. Fisher on a sunny afternoon during a fleeting hour of leisure. The title gave no hint to the topic of the essay, yet within the first few sentences, the words began to resonate. Speaking of the simple pleasures of food, the methodological preparation of the tangerines reveals that what we choose to eat is uniquely personal. The essay remained knocking around the back of my mind and was instantly recalled, due to what will become obvious reasons, upon spotting Still Life with Wrapped Tangerines by William Joseph McCloskey. M.F.K. Fisher’s writing is so evocative, the quiet moment and uncomplicated enjoyment of a preferred treat cannot be more eloquently related than through an abridged version of her Borderland essay.

“In the morning, in the soft sultry chamber, sit in the window peeling tangerines, three or four. Peel them gently; do not bruise them…separate each plump little pregnant crescent…Take yesterday’s paper (when we were in Strasbourg L’Ami du Peuple was the best, because when it got hot the ink stayed on it) and spread it on the radiator…After you have put the pieces of tangerine on the paper on the hot radiator, it is best to forget about them…On the radiator the sections of tangerines have grown even plumper, hot and full. You carry them to the window, pull it open, and leave them for a few minutes on the packed snow on the sill. They are ready…I cannot tell you why they are so magical. Perhaps it is that little shell, thin as one layer of enamel on a Chinese bowl, that crackles so tinily, so ultimately under your teeth. Or the rush of cold pulp just after it. Or the perfume. I cannot tell.”

M.F.K. Fisher, Borderland

William Joseph McCloskey, Still Life with Wrapped Tangerines, 1889
oil on canvas, 25.4 x 35.56 cm, Private collection

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