My friend F paints duck eggs. Not in the Easter/pagan sense of applying pigment to shell but in the canvas-on-easel oils-on-palette sense of depicting them. This bowl, these eggs, are not from her studio. They are in her kitchen. On her black work-surface against her black wall. Awaiting culinary rather than representational alchemy (in both disciplines F is an artist).
I can utterly understand the obsession. (She’s painted quite a large number of different permutations of eggs.) Taking the photograph was exciting enough – the textures, the colours, the subtle gradations of hue, the shapes, the way the light fell on and thereby changed all these things. And all I did was twiddle a couple of knobs, position the camera and click the shutter. Imagine the challenge, the possibilities of building up an image from nothing.
It is F’s birthday today. She is one of eleven pisceans sufficiently near and dear to have their birthdays entered in my calendar, the first of whom (February 21st) is 1st son and last of whom is me.
Are pisceans reputed to get on particularly well together? or is this bulge (yes, it’s far and away the biggest clump of nearest-and-dearest birthdays, I went through the aforementioned calendar to check it wasn’t merely “I’m a piscean” bias), is this bulge (I restate since the previous parenthesis was so long you might have forgotten the original question), a statistical anomaly?
Anyway, the explanation, should one ever conclusively be demonstrated, matters not at all. I merely wish to celebrate and salute my fishy sistren and brethren.