pass the potatoes

 

While we seldom or never have them, I do love a baked potato, the whole thing, dark skin and all. Enjoyable "loaded" but good no matter how. Most often with butter, salt and pepper. Linda's step-father Jim Graham told me he ate a baked potato every day, and only put salt and pepper on it. IDK, I probably could do that, although the butter is the final boost into perfection. Maybe a butter-flavored sprinkle would do it?

It becomes different altogether if famine is such that there's nothing to eat but potatoes, though, and a dietary problem. That's where the little family is in "The Potato Eaters" painting by Vincent Van Gogh. 

The detail in the painting is exquisite, the worn, cracked edge of the table's boards, the curl in the young man's hair, his gaunt face and fingers, prominent lips and almost protruding eyes; the way the young woman looks at him, is he her brother or her husband, and is that love, lust, adoration, fear, or worry on her face? the woman across the table looking down as she pours the tea; the tea (or is it coffee?) server, I think the tea is over a heater, and the tea is served by holding the cup and tipping the teapot? the older man holding a potato to bite into, the way the lamp casts light on the scene, table, chair, room, and people's features and clothing; the dating detail of the clothes they're wearing, including both the women's hats and the men's; that the men are wearing their hats inside and at supper; the construction of the very likely dingy room; that we are behind, looking onto the scene as the family have their meal. Is there conversation, or silence, and why? How does the room smell? And the people themselves? Is the room chilly? Too close feeling? What are the relationships? Are there two couples and an old grandmother? A one room dwelling? How much privacy? Privy outside? Where do the women fetch the water for cooking and drinking, and is it sanitary? Has anyone in the family died in the famine yet?

Are the men pious, or just the women? Is the parish priest kindly, or a self-important authoritative petty tyrant POS who makes sure to keep the women in line with fear of hellfire? I'm guessing the latter.

It's my favorite of VvG's art, IDK why, maybe the intimacy, we are intruders, or maybe we are other members of the family? Irish, they are surely Roman Catholic, and children waiting to eat leftovers? How many children? As they sat down at table did someone, the usual person, cross themselves as they invoked the Trinity, say, "Bless this food, which we receive of thy bounty ..." and repeat "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit" with sign of the cross again before they dug into the potatoes?

We can be there with The Potato Eaters as closely as we wish. In fact, if I see it in an art gallery I hope there's a bench to sit on, because there's a lot to wonder about, and I'm staying here, not really interested in the rest of the art. 

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Still Monday, isn't it. Seldom or never two blogposts in one day, but I'm going ahead with this one, which I've been contemplating ever since a friend sent me the art a few days ago. Tomorrow there'll be something else entirely in mind. Hopefully.

Pax

T