So about a week ago, I tried roasted dandelion tea. I have rather a fondness for teas of most kinds, though I do tend to swerve away from the black teas. I prefer herbal, or green, though I am not adverse to an iced black fruit tea… does that even technically count as tea?
Anyhow, I like dandelions… and I like tea. The two don’t mix. I don’t know if it was the roasting that was the issue, but I have never, ever tasted a worse tasting tea. I’ve tried a fair amount of tea.
I’m not entirely sure whether to be disappointed, or glad. On the one hand, if dandelions don’t taste all that nice, I’m not sure that all that many people will be swooping onto my lawn to poach my dandelions, roast them and turn them into tea. On the other hand… well… I almost wish that it tasted as wonderful as they look and smell. I guess it just goes to show that some things are far more enjoyable alive and gorgeous than dead, shredded and shoved into a teensie tiny bag to be boiled in water.
Now that I think about it, a lot of things are better off that way!
Kat Johnston Sketch – little quickie dandelion-inspired ramblings on a piece of lined paper.
This, my dears, is laziness. Pure laziness. This is ‘I don’t feel like drawing anything really today’ at its finest.
I picked up a pen, and this is what we’ve got: dandelion-inspired type flowers, because I still have dandelions on the mind. In fact, I even went and plucked one of my childhood books off of the shelves to read one little story again since I was talking about dandelions on here yesterday. Its one that has stuck with me since I was a little kiddley-wink.
I still have most of my childhood books – you can’t believe how fantastic it was to be able to collect them from my parent’s house a couple of years back and bring them to rest in my own little library, where they should be. I love them to utter bits. But, I’ve digressed… let me tell you a little about the story.
It is called ‘Thirteen O’Clock’, by Enid Blyton and it tells the story of a little boy called Sandy who blows at a marvellous dandelion clock – puff, puff, puff! He counts the hours, as we all should do, and reaches the magical fae hour of thirteen o’clock (no, not military time, a magical little hour that lies between twelve and one – happens only once in a blue moon, you know). With that, his adventure begins – the regular sort of stuff of Enid Blyton fairy tale… you know, witches and pixies and magic brooms and morals which aren’t so subtle when you look at it twice.
I loved those stories as a child: I still do. I go back and actually read the books I read as a kid. Although the language is more simple than what I might read on a day to day basis, my lord, they are still great stories. The incredible visions that can be bought to mind with just a few words, their ability to spark the imagination, to make you remember that despite the fact that you still have to find a way to pay the bills next week there is still wonder in the world… I just love it.
Now, this is not the only reason that I like dandelions… but it is one of them. Ever since first reading that story, I have picked dandelion clocks and puffed, puffed, puffed, counting off the hours, hoping that just that once… I might reach thirteen.
Vivid yellow dandelions, a pure, pleasurable treat to the senses. A pox upon those who see this precious flower as a weed.
So… the hubby reads the post of yesterday and disappears from the house for a few minutes. I wondered where he had gotten to. He really is a rather nice ogre, after all, all things considered. I peeked my head outside the front door to see what he was doing, only to find him pottering around on the lawn, snipping up the dandelions to make a little bouquet for me. He had to mow the lawn soon anyway, so he thought he might as well save them and give them to me to enjoy for a few days more instead of pulverizing them with the mower. Isn’t that sweet?
So, rather than putting up a drawing today, I present to you a photo of some of the wonderful dandelions that adorned my front yard, scattered amongst the green. Still fresh, vivid in their pure, wonderful yellowness – a weed to some, visual and imaginative bliss to me. Van Gogh had his sunflowers, I have my dandelions. I love ’em to bits. I can probably tell you why, too, but perhaps that is a story for another day. Thank you for the dandelions, sweetie.
I might go through the photos in a little bit and pick out the best, to put up on flickr. I’ll let you know if I do! Oh, and I’m adding a dandelions category too… its about time, really.
Edit: No James, I really don’t want all your ogre babies. Pfft!
Ogres are annoying… especially when they go trampling my dandelions.
Another very quick, very rough little drawing (its Sunday… what can I say?) to make sure that I’ve got today covered in the ‘creative product a day’ vein. This one has a story.
Since last week, I have been craving a particular type of strawberry flavoured chocolate (this one here) which I can only obtain (in bulk) by getting in a car with my lovely husband and driving over to the other side of town. So, this morning, the conversation went something like this:
Him: So, what do you want to do today?
Me: Go to Sunnybank.
Him: Why? What do we have to go way over there for?
Me: Candy.
Him: But there’s a supermarket less than five…
Me: Candy.
Him: But the…
Me: Candy.
Him: Just down the road, supermarket, full of can…
Me: Strawberry chocolate candy. Here’s your keys.
And thus, the rather quick, rather immature battle of the wills was won. Sucker.
Our car is parked out the front of the house, on a little brick drive-way thingie that curves through the front yard. I was admiring the field of dandelions we currently have taking up most of our excuse for a front yard, as I danced blissfully towards our awaiting chariot to take me to the mythical candy.
For those that haven’t been reading for a while, you might not realize that I rather like dandelions. Whether dandelion clocks (which rarely tell the right time), or full bloom in their pretty little yellow glory, these unappreciated flowers are just gorgeous to me.
James knows I like dandelions. He also knows that he is going to have to drive. For over an hour there and back. To get candy.
I jump into the car, blissfully unaware of his evil scheme, my eyes wide and shiny with wonder at the wonderful world around me, all full of potential and greatness and cuddleyness and dandelion fields. I turn to my loving husband, with all his grumbling and his moaning, gently stroking a hand by his knee as I quietly whisper with downcast eyes, ‘Thank you so much, sweetheart, for driving me across town. I really do appreciate it, you know. You’re so wonderful, and sweet, and kind.’
He flicks the ignition and the car growls into life, its sound harsh against the twitter-tweet of the blue birds perching on the tree-branches close by. With that, James turns, a maniacal look glimmering deep in the recesses of his wild, bloodshot eyes as he jerks the car forward to crush my precious dandelions, singing ‘I’m an ogre, I’m an ogre, no dandelions for you!’
‘Why oh why did you crush my dandelions, my love?’ I whimper, as I look towards him with glassy, tear-filled eyes.
‘I’m a ogre. Its my job to crush dandelions.’
With that, we drove away… and I got my strawberry chocolate candy. But at what price? So many pretty dandelions, so ruthlessly murdered under the tires of a rather vengeful ogre’s car. AND I still have to live with the damn ogre, who will live to crush again.
Where oh where is my prince, to save me from the ogre, sweep me off my feet and avenge the deaths of so many innocents? Or at least get me strawberry chocolate candy on demand without having to crush dandelions needlessly in the process?
Disclaimer: events may have been changed just a teensie weensie bit for dramatic effect. Eg, my eyes weren’t so tear-filled, and my fist may have just connected to his arm at that point. Other than that… all true, promise. Especially the blue birds. Blue birds rock.
Just a little picture drawn quickly to get something up by early afternoon. I’ve been doing a lot of dandelions recently, for some reason. I think I’m going to make them the little ‘symbol’ for Atelodemiourgiopapyrophobia, a fear of imperfect creative activity on paper. When you can’t think of something to draw, you might as well draw dandelions, yes? Ahh, my ‘fear of drawing on an empty page’ phobia is getting a little life of its own here… but I’m going with it.
I think it would actually be a great name for an exhibition: a showing of sketchbooks, of works on paper, the great and brilliant pieces mixed in with the ones that probably get overlooked even by the artist themselves… in other words, pointing out the fact that each and every thing drawn, painted and roughed out is important in its own right. Each one is a step forward, each failure a step closer to an even better failure; sometimes success.
How would we polish our skills without trying things and seeing if they work? How are we ever going to advance ourselves and challenge the boundaries of what we do if we don’t give it a go? If you never reach for the stars, then there is no chance that you are ever going to reach them unless you ride on the coattails of someone who can. A song comes to mind, actually – They All Laughed, a great Gershwin song from 1937.
I can’t count the number of things that I have just stumbled upon by simply giving it a go, trying something new and often stepping back afterwards and going ‘oh my god… that’s horrible’. The fun thing with that though is that we know what not to do next time. That said, I admit I’ll often try it over, because you never know quite when the first time was just a fluke. Find glory in the failures, fail in style and never forget that not ever failure is quite what it seems from the outset. Accidental discoveries such as silly putty would never have happened without it! Yes, there are more significant discoveries than silly putty, but hey, its so funnnnnn!
Just a little note saying thank you also to QUT’s Artisan newsletter for including a link to the site – I had a whooping 194 visits to the site yesterday, with five more wonderful responses to the survey. Thank you QUT, thanks to those who visited and to those who have yet to visit but probably will.
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