Pairings .10 🍷🧀
(Re-)Learning How to See, plus Pizza Salad
“Pairings” is a series in which I share things that go well together - not only the traditional wine and cheese, but things I’ve read or heard or seen. (Content varies widely!) If you’ve missed previous installments, you can find them here.
I’ve been thinking a lot about seeing lately: choosing to observe, how to do it, habits that make it easier for those of us who don’t do it naturally. These two essays pair well on this theme.
1. Learning To See With Eyes Wide Open by Hadden Turner
relates his recent experience visiting a museum, where the crowds failed to actually see the objects on display.What I found most fascinating as I ambled through the halls full of wondrous artefacts was how few people actually saw the objects in front of them. Mostly, they saw them mediated through a device — they merely saw an image on their screen and not the real thing.
To stop, to notice, to see is a rare disposition in our modern world. Far too much “looking” is done unintentionally or casually, never perceiving the essence of the object or the wonder it imparts. This is not only the case in museums and galleries, but also out in nature, in our work places, and even in our own homes. Why lamenting this is so important is because seeing rightly is essential for knowing, and knowing is essential for love, and love is essential for care. And we live in a world that is in desperate need of care. Just look around you at all the broken, shattered, and burnt out lives, dilapidated and decaying buildings, and abused and degraded fields and forests. If you can’t immediately recall anything that fits these descriptions, it is because you haven’t looked long and hard enough. And where you are suffers because of this.
I’ve said before that there are some things in life that are worth trying hard not to notice. If you can’t change it, and it’s driving you nuts, sometimes the most peaceful option is to hand it over to the Lord in prayer and move on. This isn’t a case of “ignorance is bliss” so much as “admitting my own limitations.”
But there are other things that do deserve our attention: not only the brokenness that we can attend to, but the beauty that we ourselves have not made.
I’ve spent more time in ‘observational’ mode in the last year than in the last several years of my life combined, and it feels shockingly extravagant to notice things without the constant need to analyse them. To wonder and appreciate and just be in creation that points to the Creator.
To notice that the grass under my feet in my friend’s American lawn feels entirely different than the soft mossy stuff growing in my own English back garden. To pay attention to where my goddaughter’s eyes are drawn when I read her a book: often to my own face before the pictures on the pages. To realize that I feel happier when the cat is snoring gently beside me as I work, rather than having the sofa all to myself.
My husband is a visual observer. Often he’ll remark on something that I wouldn’t even think to notice: the way the light hits the aged buildings on our Oxford walks; that the black cat looks so much more brown in the summer compared to the winter; how our friends’ newborn shares a profile with her elder sister.
“How did you see that?” I will often ask. (I’m an observer, but the kind who’s interested in the essences of things. Depsite my love of murder mysteries, I’d be a terrible police witness because I could tell you about the kind of person someone seemed to be, but I couldn’t tell you how tall they were or what color shoes they wore.)
He will chuckle and remind me that he spent years observing and drawing things as a child, the fruit of his mother’s rule that staying up past 7pm meant doing something quiet and analog like reading or drawing. In his teen years, he took up film photography and learned to how frame objects, how to capture light and shadow, how to see what would make a beautiful photograph – not always the same thing that looks beautiful to the naked eye.
Becoming an artist requires the discipline of sight, which is why I enjoyed this slightly more technical piece on drawing as a skill, from
.2. Drawing what you see (not what you think you see) by Natalie Eslick
That may sound like an odd thing to say - drawing what you see, not what you think you see - but it is not always as easy as it sounds. It takes practice, but also a little bit of cognitive unravelling to be able to draw what you see (and not what you - or your brain - thinks should be there).
We don’t say things like, “oh she is so talented because she can walk, I could never do that”. Or “he is so talented because he can drive, I could never do that”. Or “they are so talented because they can read, I could never do that”. We all can do all of those things - of course we can, and we do. It is not talent, it is practice.
So we also have to practise unbiased observation, seeing deeply, unravelling the symbolism we were first taught, mastering hand-eye coordination, having patience, and being compassionate with ourselves for trying and failing and trying again and learning.
I’m really taken with this idea of observation being a practice—being work—and I want to keep it up in my own life (whether or not I start drawing.)
3. Pizza Salad
While we’re observing the world around us, it never hurts to enjoy the delights of food in the process. That’s something I definitely tend to observe!
I’ve adapted this recipe from
. Usually I’m a fan of just throwing whatever you have into salads, but I’ve tried a few variations and come up with what I personally feel is the perfect balance. :) (I love cucumber, for instance, but it just doesn’t work in this one. )We had a guest for dinner last week who said, “this salad actually tastes like pizza!” and my husband refers to it as his “favourite salad of all time” so it’s a win around here. The key is to slice/ dice everything quite small: you want each bite to contain several elements.
Pizza Salad (serves 2)
Ingredients:
1 heart of romaine, or little gem lettuce
small handful of cherry tomatoes
1 bell pepper: red, yellow, or orange but not green
2 green onions (UK: spring onions)
1 sprig fresh oregano leaves (optional, if you happen to have it growing in your garden)
6 slices Milano salami
1/4 cup Pecorino Romano diced into cubes. (You could use Parmesean, but it wouldn’t be nearly as good. Use Provolone if you must. If you’re dairy free, use avocado here.)
2 Tbs capers, OR 1 Tbs minced pickled jalapeno, OR 3 pepperoncini (pickled peppers), diced
Croutons: see below
You’ll want to use the dressing from this recipe: no need to change it, but I scale it down to 1/2 or 1/3 for two people.
Croutons: Take 1 1/2 cups cubed sourdough bread (aim for 1 1/2 inch cubes) and toss with olive oil. You want them moistened but not soaking. Spread on a baking tray and sprinkle generously with garlic powder. Bake or broil (UK: grill) until light golden brown but still springy. You don’t want them to be rock-hard the way croutons often are. Remember: this is pizza salad, and these croutons help give the texture of pizza crust… toasty-crunchy on the outside and soft-doughy on the inside.
Take the time to chop everything really fine: honestly, it’s worth it! Then toss it all with the dressing & croutons and enjoy right away.
Tell me: are you an observer by nature? What sorts of things do you notice? Has having a camera in your pocket changed how you observe things? Does it help or hinder your ability to see? If you’re an artist, did it come naturally, through lots of practice, or both? And if you try the pizza salad, I’d love to hear what you think of it.
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I am not an observer by nature, but I want to start a daily drawing practice to help improve my observation skills!
Thank you for the mention Kerri. I love your thought of being in "observational mode" and how your husband is attune to noticing that which normally remains unnoticed. They are such great and necessary skills and dispositions to nurture.
One thing I have found helps me to be a better observer is to learn the names of what I see. This helps me differentiate the unusual from the usual, the rare from the common (and appreciate both the common and the rare) and the act of differentiation/identification itself forces one to observe the unique features of what one is beholding.