I see a mad scientist with unkempt hair and crazy bulging eyes when I attempt to cook something new. Frantically involved in the experiment, I juggle twelve tasks simultaneously. I lose track of things and forget steps in my haste. A myriad of possible disastrous outcomes harass my best effort.
No matter. The end result is (usually) delicious and, for me, cooking is synonymous with edible creative experimentation. What’s not to love?
“The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Deprived of meaningful work, men and women lose their reason for existence; they go stark, raving mad.”
Fyodor Dostoevsky
“We don’t want a world where the guarantee of not dying of starvation brings the risk of dying of boredom.”
Youth
by Arthur Rimbaud
IV.
You are still at Anthony’s temptation. The antics of abated zeal, the grimaces of childish pride, the collapse and the terror.
But you will set yourself this labor: all harmonic and architectural possibilities will surge around your seat. Perfect beings, never dreamed of, will present themselves for your experiments. The curiosity of ancient crowds and idle wealth will meditatively draw near. Your memory and your senses will be simply the nourishment of your creative impulse. As for the world, when you emerge, what will it have become? In any case, nothing of what it seems at present.
