004. Digestive Reliquary
Hello ####,
Cows have a digestive tract that is 131 feet long, 20 times longer than the length of its body. Comparatively, the human digestive tract (from the esophagus to large bowel) is only 30 feet long. These organs layer together inside of us like rolled-out dough folded into pastry. Digestion is a process of destruction, the breaking down of whole organisms to their smallest portions. It is the crunch, the runoff of flavors into your mouth, the release of fragrance. It is the orchestra of organs that spill enzymes into your guts, the bacterial ecologies eager to harvest and nourish. For this week's letter: feasts of the visual, tangible, and auditory.
TOUCH
I first learned about Cynthia Cruz in a poetry workshop I was in sophomore year. Since then, I return to her collection, How The End Begins, from time to time for inspiration and solace. Her poems are collapsing stars, rapturous with hunger. Her body and mind are devoured by saints as she nestles herself into the warmth of chaos. The perfect kind of poetry for the changing leaves and creeping chill of autumn. Another notable line: "I pulled God's roots out / And now the stars / Are finally / Just dead planets, / Again."
My go-to bag for the past month has been this delightful tote by Tiger Bee Press (appropriately called "Progressive States of the Primary Emotive Organ"). I adore the design of each of the hearts and the red straps are a great detail, not to mention it can hold all of my books. Tiger Bee sells cute, handmade prints and great chapbooks. I'd highly recommend checking them out.
I got a copy of Rachel B. Glaser's poetry collection, Hairdo, a while back from the New Museum gift shop. Short but sweet, her poems lull you into a soothing kind of rhythm. She has a way of telling everyday stories, humorously confronting sexual fantasies and personal anxiety through emotionally honest poetic language. This is one of those poetry books that I wish I'd read when I was seventeen. Makes for a great subway companion. Another line from this book: "I have several beautiful heads / all the body parts / and people haunt me."
I won't lie, I'm fascinated by microbes from their symbiotic relationships, their abilities to adapt to the bodies of new organisms, to the microbiome that exists within our stomachs or our living spaces. Every time I get the chance, I'll read a chapter from Ed Yong's I Contain Multitudes: The Microbes Within Us and a Grander View of Life. Yes, there's a lot of science in this book, but Yong does a great job of breaking down these complex natural systems and shares awesome stories about how microbes have defied our scientific expectations. His chapter "Mutually Assured Success" is one of my favorite parts of this book. Yong talks about how our gut flora has turned us into flexible eaters, how animals rely on microbes for regulating our immune system, and the symbiotic animal/organism relationships that exist in extreme environments like the deep sea. Definitely pick it up if bacteria's been on your mind lately.
LOOK
Clara Peeters was a Flemish still-life painter, and one of the few female artists from that era to be recognized for her historic role in the Dutch Golden Age of painting. Although very little personal information about her exists, Peeter's artistic specialty was food. She created both elaborate banquet portraits and modest "breakfast" pieces over the course of her career with awe-inspiring, intricately detailed technique. Pictured above is Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels (1615).
I couldn't do a food-themed letter without referencing Meret Oppenheim's Object (The Luncheon in Fur) from 1936. This fur-covered spoon, saucer, and teacup sculpture makes me shudder every time I see it at the MoMA (in a good way, of course). Oppenheim worked with the Surrealists in the 1920s. Influenced by her feminist mother and grandmother and Carl Jung's psychoanalytic writings, she'd go on to produce all kinds of dream-like, anthropomorphic works over the course of her career such as gloves decorated with bright red veins and a pair of white heeled shoes that become something like cooked turkey wings.
Carolee Schneeman's group performance, Meat Party, from 1964 was a "celebration of flesh as material". With the use of transparent plastic, raw chicken, fish, rope brushes, wet paint, and sausage, Schneeman's dancers writhed in this heap of objects. The viewers, having to bear witness to this ecstatic, painterly performance, directly experience the contact between material bodies and objects. The dancers would develop improvised relationships with the objects and people around them, playing with the density and mass of the items, using gestures to explore the densities and masses at play within the space. There is something disgustingly erotic about Meat Joy and the work's obsession with spontaneous movement and bodily instruments. You can see part of the performance on video here.
LISTEN
I'm not a big 'food' person. Cooking's not my strong suit (not by a long shot) and I tend to only watch the Food Network when I'm in the swing of a depressive episode. I came across Burnt Toast while looking for new podcasts to subscribe too (and learn about something that isn't just politics or true crime). If you're interested in food and how it intersects with our lives and culture, it's worth giving this podcast a listen. Some of these bite-sized episodes include a history of the worst food in the White House and a story about a man whose specialty is growing giant pumpkins.
This past week when I was studying or just sitting quietly on the train, I'd put on "Late Night Ramen" by Izzard. This instrumental song is wonderfully bouncy and soothing. The sounds are delicately layered over each other, producing this great juicy texture like squeezing berries between your fingers. A great song if you need to take it easy.
As midterms come to a close, I've been leaning towards dreamier tracks. One particular song that's been in my head lately has been "Cherry-Coloured Funk" by the Cocteau Twins. This song makes for great background music while I clean or dance around my room. Elizabeth Fraser's soothing voice reminds me of laying on the beach during summer. And I can't forget such delicious lyrics: "Beetles and eggs and blues and pour a little everything else."
LICK
St. Vincent's latest music video for her single "Los Ageless" is a feast for the eyes. The whole thing is a kaleidoscope of tacky 80's colors, plastic surgery bandages, and badass guitar shredding ("In Los Ageless the mothers milk their young"). Seriously, words cannot describe how much I adore her. If "Los Ageless" doesn't satiate your chromatic appetite, check out the neon visuals in her music video for her other single, "New York"
I got these amazing fake cherry earrings from depop a while back and they've become a staple in my wardrobe. I'm trying to incorporate more statement earrings into my life, and these are a great addition. Gotta love their ripe burgundy color (and the fact that they were only $11).
I first saw Blondell Cummings' Chicken Soup (1981) at the Brooklyn Musem's "We Wanted a Revolution: Black Radical Women, 1965-85" over the summer. This solo modern dance performance was inspired by Cummings' memories of her grandmother cleaning and cooking up chicken soup in the kitchen. In this piece, she breathes life into each gesture, pulling the viewer back into childhood memories long forgotten. It's a highly personal look inside the personal labors of everyday life. You can watch an excerpt of the dance here.
CLICKS
In the 1st century AD, Apicius was a lover of luxury and gourmet food. Apicius wanted to be a gastronomic advisor to Rome's leaders and would craft all kinds of elaborate, experimental meals for the guests who came to dine at his villa. I've had a lot of fun reading his cookbook, Cooking and Dining in Imperial Rome, which has all kinds of recipes like Sardine Loaf and Stuffed Pumpkin Fritters. Who knows, I might take a crack at one of his dessert recipes, but definitely a great read if you like history or cooking (or both).
I can't stop thinking about Dorothea Lasky's poem, "The Clog". There's something so utterly sensual and unsettling about this piece. I love her images of tugging flesh into lactation and how the poem wanders into unfamiliar territory. Favorite line: "Milk that never comes out / It grows inside / Does it fold back in time."
If you're ever looking for culinary or visual inspiration, I'd recommend checking out Gather Journal. They've got great recipes and articles about music, food trends, cookbook reviews, and new restaurants. The food photographs in this journal are absolutely scrumptious (like glistening figs on a bedsheet littered with rose petals, a close-up shot of an oyster's slick interior, or the photo above). Seriously, I get hungry after being on site for too long.
Alice Constance Austin was a feminist architect who designed the first ever kitchen-less home. In 1915, she was asked to design homes for Llano Del Rio, a socialist commune. She wanted to centralize kitchens (not eliminate cooking entirely) to be used communally by all of the residents. Her homes were designed with built-in furniture and automated cleaning machines to minimize the kinds of house chores that would be designated to women at the time. You can see pictures of her designs here and read about her work in Dolores Hayden's The Grand Domestic Revolution: A History of Feminist Designs of American Homes, Neighborhoods, and Cities here.
I'll end this letter with one last poem: Tristan Tzara's "White-Looking Countryside." Tzara was one of the founders of the Dadaist movement and his tense relationship with Andre Breton was what pushed Breton to leave and found Surrealism. History aside, I want to crawl inside this poem. I can't help but lick my lips at lines like "cooking golden insect eyes / I am what buzzes bad in the heat in / the beating of my striated heart." This poem is thick with sickly sweet. // Consume the right dose of flavored probiotics. Floss seeds out of your teeth. Drink enough creme de menthe to stain your tongue green. Slowly slurp up butternut squash and feel its warmth fan out through your capillaries, down your throat, straight to your bones. Rest easy.
Love,
Ellie