This was the staple breakfast of my childhood, one that l'd find waiting for me in the morning, laid out right by the kitchen window. And only recently the meaning of that slice of smeared toast sunk in.
Every year during the summer months, my grandmother would make the most delicious jams and preserves in the world. It was her way of keeping LOVE safely stored for us in the pantry, to enjoy later, when needed. Each plump, glass-like cherry bead rolling off the spoon onto the slice of buttered bread became a good omen, soaked in the warm light of the morning by the kitchen window. I thought of life as a syrupy mouthful of toast eaten slowly, while all the flavours mixed on the tip of my tongue. And this scene is now playing in slow motion in my head, finally revealing its meaning.
It was cherry season in June. And this time I made myself breakfast.
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personal work
2024, gouache on paper
