It's White Bean Chicken Chili Time
Or in other words- this is the 'Football Season May Officially Be Over (I'm from Massachusetts, so. TOM BRADY #12 #GOAT 4Evah) but Chili Season is Definitely Not Over' post.
Still, I confess that even after watching every episode of Friday Night Lights, football retains a certain mystery to yours truly. A few things I know. Tight ends tighten. Running backs are amazing athletes. Quarterbacks have eagle eyes, poise under pressure, great aim (and other fine qualities). And special teams kickers pray to the football gods when called in for a tie breaker with 6 seconds to spare in the final quarter.
Do I sound like I know what I am talking about? I don't. At least, not in depth. I just overheard some sporty banter over gluten-free tuna melts. To which I smiled politely. Listened intently. And reached for a pickle.
Back fields in motion. Quarterback sneak. The Snap. The Blitz. I love the lingo. It's a language alluringly foreign to me. Like, say, algebra. Or for some, postmodern abstract neo-expressionism. Visual chaos executed in angles and arcs and bursts of focus, drive and energy.
Thing is, I get the practiced dance of propulsion. Designing motion from multiple points of view. I get it. In my bones. This is my territory. You're talkin' my language. Value verses tone. Light bumping up against dark. Sharp contrast dissolving into blur. And I appreciate the power of practice, focus, and intention. Negative space divided by a perfect spiral.
Though it's not all yin yang, a wrestle of opposites.
As in football- and life- painting is a locus of expression, sometimes true and authentic, and sometimes disappointingly off the mark. Like a short field goal. Or an incomplete pass. We try. We sometimes miss. But what matters is- we make the effort. And that is all we can do. We kick the ball. We brush wet paint. We string words into a lyric. We stitch a quilt. We photograph a child's curiosity.
We make chili.
And sometimes?
We get a winner.
And if not?
Tomorrow is another day.
Karina
xox
