Eating a meal brings the pleasure of the food, the tastes, textures, the nourishment provided, the focus for conversation, meeting, all the usual suspects.
It had not occurred before to this writer that all of the above is just process, the journey along the path to the main game, which is the meal reduced to nothing, or as near as nothing that a knife and fork can provide with food.
It doesn’t matter whose is whose, but the eater is definitely in the making, bringing their take, their interpretation of the meal. Not everything is an artwork, but the extent the meal provides such a scope for variety in its execution is definitely there to be remarked upon as strong.
We are perhaps accustomed to looking aside at the empty plate as if it presents a venue for shame as if some toilet has taken place. Our eyes are averted to the privacy of the empty plate. Manners argue that they are bad if found looking.
We eat and as we eat, we arrange and organise. We order and measure. We eke out the meal as if it is the last. Our appetite when we eat lasts forever. or at least until we are full.
It’s exhausting finding opportunities for art practice everywhere. It’s an indulgence. Too many liberties taken does not serve the ultimate goal which is to make the most of opportunities presented.
That being said. the circular plates weave their magic, making the contents, remnants unified again.