Speaking Sushi

They say one's early years are the best time to learn a second language, before the brain's circuitry gets set in its way. That seems as good an explanation as any for why I don't speak sushi -- I came too late in life from too far away to bond deeply, as most Vancouverites do, with raw fish and seaweed. Mind you, I've enjoyed some great lunches with my friend Rumi, but that's because of her tactful guidance in menu choices, her deft wielding of chopsticks, the gracious way she seems truly not to notice when my eyes are bulging from having carelessly downed way too much horseradish, and most of all, the pleasure of her company.

I guess that's why I tend to smile favourably on sushi restaurants and couldn't help but take an interest when a new one went up last year along my bus route, right where I sometimes get off to make a transfer. First the "for lease" sign was replaced by a scrawled "coming soon" notice. Then tradespeople went in and out the curtained doorway for several weeks, and eventually a homemade banner announced the next week's grand opening. Then, remarkably, fate intervened and that very weekend, a car went out of control, ramming right through the new windows. But the new restaurant rose from the ashes (or shards) and finally opened six weeks later.

The hand-made signs were replaced with formal graphics, and I made a memory drawing of a scene I'd glimpsed from the bus one dark autumn morning: A very tall guy whose splotchy jacket echoed the circular motif of the restaurant's graphic design.

Not long afterwards, the new Hime Sushi restaurant gave me an opportunity to observe how instantly and creatively the mind fires -- or misfires. One drizzly Saturday morning, I was standing under its awning waiting for my bus. Cold and a little sleepy, I absent-mindedly noticed the hand-lettered menu on a large whiteboard inside the door. Suddenly, my mind snapped to attention. I'd never heard of stuff like this! And in the space of what must have been less than a minute, I'd read and analyzed the six menu items as follows:

1) BORB FULGHAM
Why does this remind me of "bulghur wheat"?

2) ANAREA AGRO
Maybe this is their vegetarian menu? ...Because of "agro"? Oh, don't be silly.

3) MALANI MANSARAS
This doesn't sound anything like California rolls...or tempura...or
okinomi-yaki.

4) DEVE PANNER
In fact, this menu is sounding more South Asian than Japanese. Is this like
"paneer" maybe, that cottage cheese kind of stuff?

5) ASHOK PURI
Ashok? I think I once knew someone named "Ashok"....

6) COLLEEN RILEY
Colleen Riley?? Colleen Riley?? Wait a minute, what's going on here?

Now thoroughly wide awake, I noticed a small printed card taped to the top of the whiteboard: "Enter to win free dinner for two," and written across the empty lines where people were to record name and phone number: "Congratulations to first winners!!" I quickly reviewed the "menu": Barb? Andrea? Melanie? Dave? Lack of sushi fluency had led me astray, but it looked like Hime Sushi's management had done a pretty fair job of interpreting the bad handwriting of their customers. First the car crash, now the contest. Good fortune surely follows them.

Full Circle: Spices and Punk Cabbage

"Okay, I've started the last in the Astrological Plants series," I announced from halfway down the stairs after a mid-September studio session, excitedly calling out the name of the sign and its flora.

JT heard me from a distance and, with just a touch of yuk in his voice, called back, "Spices and Punk Cabbage?!?!?"

Okay. He knew I must have said "Pisces" -- which is not only the last in my 12-piece series, but with a nice symbolism, is also the final sign in the astrological year. (Unplanned; I didn't paint them in order). But from two rooms away, the name "Skunk Cabbage" had become distorted.

Pisces is ruled by Neptune, and of the plants assigned to Neptune, it's said: "Little is yet known concerning (these) plants...it is probable that plants possessing strange and occult properties...belong to (this planet)."

And there is something occult, I'd say, about the way the large yellow capes of Skunk Cabbage burst up through the coastal wetlands, as early as late January -- sometimes in an expanse of dozens of flowers, without evidence of the huge floppy leaves that follow. Far from occult, of course, is the plant's odour which contributes its common name.

Neptune's colours are black and white (as in skunk?) deep blood red, mauve, lavender, burnt umber, burnt sienna. From the first splash on the paper, I felt it would be eerie good fun to try to bring these colours together within my usual complex symbol system. You can see Pisces' evolution here.

-- and TA TUM, the whole completed series here.

I've been asked about the source of the personality traits in each sign's painting. I select them from lists of "emotional characteristics" and "intellectual characteristics" in the book Astrological Keywords by Manly P. Hall (1958) -- and "select" is definitely a key word in the process. (Would I, a Gemini, have selected "duplicitous" as one of the traits for the Gemini painting?") I admit: I tend to reject the more negative descriptors and then check the positives against "natives" of each sign who are people I know and like.

It happens that two awesome Pisces women have played important roles in my life. One is an almost-lifelong friend, originally a penpal from the age of 12. The other is the remarkable Uber-Boss of the two non-profit organizations where I spent my last and happiest working years. Coincidentally, both have birthdays on March 13th. Characteristics: Compassionate; check. Introspective; check. Philosophic; check. Intuitive; check. Executive; check. Sensitive; check.

As for the success of the Pisces painting, I'm pretty pleased with it. It's kinda skunky. It's kinda punky. It's more than a little bit funky. And now, what to do with the whole Astro-Plants series? Maybe I should delve into my horoscope for....a sign.