Pleasure Notes

“Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.” – Peter, Paul & Mary

My father put my brother and me to sleep each night by singing us folk songs. Lemon Tree is one of my favorites in my memory. It always transported me to another time and place. I was reminded of it again when I came upon David Smith-Harrison some months ago.

by David Smith-Harrison

His intaglio prints are gorgeous and haunting. The silhouettes of the trees, along with the architectural details he includes in his pieces, capture the starkness and romance of the Mediterranean. Having lived in that part of the world for almost two years, I’ve left a bit of my heart on its dry hills and along its stunning coasts. Some day, I will live there again.

"Cherry Tree" by David Smith-Harrison

In the meantime, evocative art and literature sooth the yearning.

I reread Bitter Lemons, by Lawrence Durrell, if I wish to recall the feel of a uniquely hot sun against barely-shaded white rocks or the sounds of devout old women bent double in their black shrouds as they curse young men who flirt without shame. The autobiographical book may be set in Cyprus – an island to which I’ve never been, and recounts life in the 1950′s – a time about which I know only through history, but it perfectly captures a spirit that still hovers over much of small-town Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, and Southern Italy.

I visit the Getty Villa when I want to remember what it feels like to delicately brush away centuries’ worth of dirt to reveal a fully-intact amphora, a still perfectly polished gold coin, or the alabaster head of one of David’s extended family that someone chose to use as a suitable brick in an ancient wall.

And I gather lemons.

by mewtate/flickr

I collect a few fresh specimen at the Farmers’ Market and retreat to my kitchen to cut and peel them, seeking their sharp aroma ad happy when their scent lingers in the air and on my fingertips. I squeeze their juices into a steaming cup of tea that accompanies a gorgeously gooey piece of fresh baklava from the Armenian bakery down the street.

It is, after all, not so impossible to eat the fruit of the poor lemon. The task is not for the faint of heart, of course, but it is worth it. Funny, isn’t it, how much of life is both bitter and sweet?

"Lemons" by David Smith-Harrison

What do you do to transport yourself to another time and place? Where do you go?