Professor Butter Beard and Vincent’s “Self Portrait at the Easel”
“The world concerns me only in so far as I feel a certain indebtedness and duty toward it because I have walked this earth for thirty years, and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir in the shape of drawings or pictures – not made to please a certain taste in art, but to express a sincere human feeling.” - Vincent van Gogh in a letter to his brother Theo
I can hear you, gentle reader.
“He’s talking about Vincent, again?”
Yes, I am. But this time, more than ever before, with a grateful heart.
Just this past week, right before Thanksgiving break, one of my most talented students asked if he could interview me as part of another class assignment. I’m usually not keen on being interviewed, but I felt the overwhelming desire to return the attention he had been gifting me as a professor for the past two semesters.
The session began with a series of rapid-fire questions about my personal and professional background, past and future decisions, observations and predictions. But then the queries took an unexpected turn towards personal reflection. Answers slowed as my soul journeyed across a lifetime of passions.
“Who would you consider your major influences,” he innocently asked. Insert slow inhale and exhale. My father, I began, for teaching me the best way to educate is through storytelling. His brother, for teaching me to forgive and be grateful. My Buddhist mentor Rick, for initiating and continually inspiring my stumbling soul’s journey.
“Any specific educators,” he politely added in an attempt to pull me back into the moment. Dr. Michael for suggesting I turn the North Sea upside down. Dr. Napoli for teaching me architectural history is literally the foundation. And Mrs. Gildow, who in seventh grade, taught me that “art is a personal dream carried forward into reality.”
“One more,” he said. “Favorite artists?” If there is any reality in seeing your life pass before your eyes, I experienced it then and there. Pop! Pop! Pop! Vermeer’s exploration and explanation of light. Julia Margaret Cameron’s photographs of the soul. Those wacky Scottish Picts and their inspiring ability to stay true to their passions. Rembrandt’s total self-awareness and Michelangelo’s ability to sculpt with paint. And Vincent, always Vincent. A man whose dreams could only volcanically escape the constraints of his mind by frantically releasing them onto the canvas.
His “Self Portrait at the Easel” is probably the last painting Vincent completed before leaving Paris for the south of France in February of 1888. He only represented himself at work three times in a corpus of 35 painted self-portraits. The three are similar, depicting an artist in a blue linen smock holding a distinctive rectangular palette. They have often been linked to a celebrated self-portrait from Rembrandt’s late career that Vincent would have studied during his frequent visits to the Louvre.
In a letter to his sister Willemien, written in the spring of 1888, he described how he continually dreamt of colors and how they then inspired the creation of this self-portrait: “a pink-grey face with green eyes, ash-coloured hair, wrinkles in forehead and around the mouth, stiffly wooden, a very red beard, quite unkempt and sad, but the lips are full, a blue smock of coarse linen, and a palette with lemon yellow, vermillion, Veronese green, cobalt blue, in short all the colours, except of the orange beard, on the palette, the only whole colours, though.”
Oh, Vincent. I understand. I vividly dream of flavors nightly and then release those combinations into my morning baking, fully trusting them after witnessing their passionate dances in my nocturnal journeys.
Last night, after spending the afternoon with Vincent and then finally, after six weeks, rejoining the world by attending an evening of theater, I dreamt of winter blood oranges, fresh cranberries and rosemary from my herb garden recreating the ballet from “An American in Paris.” Vincent and I gave them a standing ovation, rather tipsy on absinth and smoke, and this new Prof BB Drizzle Cake manifested itself just in time for Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. May your feasts be as delicious as your dreams.
Orange, Cranberry and Rosemary Drizzle Cake
1 Delicious Bundt Cake
2 cups fresh cranberries
3 sprigs of fresh rosemary (about 4-5” long)
3 sticks (12 ounces) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 ¾ cup granulated sugar (plus more for the glaze and final dusting)
Grated zest of 2 oranges (save the oranges for the glaze)
6 large eggs, room temperature
1 tsp vanilla paste
2 2/3 cup all-purpose flour
5 tsp baking powder
½ tsp fine sea salt
1 tsp Chinese Five Spice Powder
1/3 cup buttermilk, room temperature
Glaze:
Juice of the 2 oranges and enough water to equal 1 cup liquid
1 cup granulated sugar
The nude sprigs of the rosemary
1) Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
2) Spray a lovely 10-cup Bundt pan with cooking spray with flour and set aside.
3) In a food processor, pulse together the cranberries and the leaves from the 3 rosemary sprigs. Pulse 5-6 times, just to coarsely chop the berries and mingle with the leaves. Set aside.
4) In a standing mixer, beat the sugar together with the orange zest until the oils are fully distributed and the sugar looks a bit wet.
5) Add the butter and vanilla paste and mix until very light and fluffy.
6) In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, sea salt and Five Spice. Since there is a good amount of baking powder, you will want it evenly distributed. Set aside.
7) Add the eggs, one at a time, to the creamed butter/sugar mixture and beat well after each addition. Add the dry mix and beat until no dry streaks remain. Fold in the cranberry mixture and then the buttermilk.
8) Spoon the batter into the prepared bundt pan and bake on a center rack for 40-45 minutes, checking for doneness with a wooden skewer (if it comes out clean, the cake is done).
9) While the cake bakes, make your glaze: In a small saucepan, whisk together the orange juice, water and sugar. Add the three nude sprigs of rosemary. Bring to a soft boil over medium heat. Remove from the heat and pour into a glass measuring cup to have at the ready.
10) Once your cake has come out of the oven, let it cool in the pan for 10-12 minutes. Invert onto the cooling rack and poke holes into the cake with the wooden skewer. Spoon half the glaze over the cake letting it fully seep into the cake. When finished, sprinkle the whole cake with a little granulated sugar.
11) Save the remaining glaze to add to cocktails or pour over pancakes or ice cream.
