Food, Ink

PRESS, POSTED TO THE 'NET IN THE COURSE OF THE LAST YEAR, ON THREE REMARKABLE PROJECTS (WHEREIN EVERYDAY CUISINE GETS INVENTIVELY TURNED ON ITS HEAD) - RECALLS FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT, WHO OBSERVED:  "DINING IS ALWAYS A GREAT ARTISTIC OPPORTUNITY."

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FASHION, FORAGED

concept couture grown from the shapes of produce and other "clean" eats

credit:  Gretchen Reoccurs

FANCY-DANCY "SAVEUR LITE"

plated fare with a truck stop, vending machine pedigree from an anonymous feed

credit:  Chef Jacques La Merde ("Chef Jack Shit")

FOR FELONS, THE FINAL FEAST

last-request dinners of 600 Death Row inmates, memorialized on painted china

credit:  Julie Green

Toppled

"FALL SEVEN TIMES, STAND UP EIGHT." - JAPANESE PROVERB

"Fallen Soldier," 2007 oil on panel by Gerry Perrino

The latest headline to catch my eye from today's New York Times pays tribute to the final hours of business at Manhattan's legendary F.A.O. Schwarz.  An endlessly looping song traditionally played in its Steiff™-strewn foyer memorably proclaimed the two-story building a "World of Toys," albeit one of diminishing quality in this age of faceless Amazon and Walmart supply giants.  The store was also famed for the costumed employees greeting visitors at its door, dressed as members of the old fashioned Queen's Guard -- "toy soldiers" come to life, as if from out of The Nutcracker.  Recalling this, my mind immediately raced to retrieve not that ballet's libretto, but lyrics from late-'80s Billboard topper Martika.  Her smash hit "Toy Soldiers" was meant to illustrate a friend's debilitating cocaine use, but now, repeating select stanzas aloud, I am struck by how precisely they illustrate my depression, with its mental fog and physical weakness, much-worsened by starvation habits and compulsive rituals.  Observe:

It's getting hard to wake up in the morning
My head is spinning constantly
How can it be?
How could I be so blind to this addiction?
If I don't stop, the next one's gonna be me.

Only emptiness remains
It replaces all, all the pain.

Step by step
Heart to heart
Left, right, left
We all fall down
Like toy soldiers

Bit by bit
Torn apart
We never win
But the battle* rages on...

*FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, I'M STILL FIGHTING.

Forging New Channels, Forgoing Trails Long-Exhausted & Absurd

Mixed-media collage from late-high school or start of college, early Aughts.  Magazine and acrylic on 14" x 18" canvas paperboard.

Outside pressures yield chinks in the rigid armor of OCD patterns as I (literally) attempt rerouting aspects of behavior contrary to a healthy, well-rested regimen.

Lens filter found crushed in driveway, left by Erica (June 12, 2015)

"There is a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in." - Leonard Cohen, Anthem

I simply must curb my self-mandated walking routines, as they are not currently conducive to mounting a productive schedule, nor restoring depleted vitals.

Print under framed glass, one of three by me, with black matting.  A December 2002 etching traced from a 1973 design sketch (found in a book on fashion history).

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.  With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do.  He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall."  - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

A green smoothie paired with ready-made liquid supplement are again recommended as baseline essentials by trusted counsel.  As emphasized in prior accounts, the aim is to incorporate items of potent nutritional content into my day, with a greater spectrum of ingredients carrying vitamin benefits.

Kale NutriBlast blended from frozen banana, Maine blueberries, yoghurt, ice, & warm tap water.  Also:  Orgain chocolate shake, pink Alstroemeria (June 19, 2015)

"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable."  - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Straw 'pole

In a desperate bid for a "quick fix" to correct my severely depleted physical reserves, I permitted a close acquaintance familiar with my situation dare me into drinking a frozen dessert frappe at the local McDonalds.  Given that I'm virtually orthorexic, this was no minor effort on my end, although for him it is a no-sweat treat.  (He casually pointed-out several menu items routinely ordered as dinner, totaling well over two thousand calories per meal.)  My companion likes to frequent food chains like Applebees and smaller stands such as Maine's own Wasses Hot Dogs, preferring "American" cuisine built on meat 'n potatoes.  But for Lorena Stackpole, this would be a new and unwanted gesture, although for myself and other strict dieters, there exists occasional interest in whether such concoctions live up to their hype.  Let's just say my curiosity was more than satisfied, the product being oddly wan and unquestionably wretched, what with a vein of imitation-chocolate syrup that made me thirst for anything else to counteract such manufactured, hollow sweetness.  Needless to say, I would be positively surprised to step foot beneath those ubiquitous Golden Arches ever again.  My displeasure was recorded the following day via e-mail exchange with a like-minded confidant.  An excerpt:

Q:  What friend asked you into drinking that nasty thing from McDonalds?  Ugh.  Why do people have it so wrong?  The object is to eat things that are good for you, or damn tasty at least!!!

A:  Oh, you have no idea the agony my gut was in within the hour after taking that horrible poison into my system!  I would have GLADLY exchanged it for a coconut-kale concoction with almond butter and ice.  My therapist, a lovely and trusted adviser, agreed that I should be allowed wholesome, natural fats and nutrients, not a laundry list of preservatives (as tallied in the official ingredient report).

I concluded with three selfies --two obscured-- in addition to the obligatory image of some random kitten devouring a Coolatta, as encountered on Google Images.  Needless to say, the McD slogan of "I'm Lovin' It" was NOT realized in this experience...

Colors of An Easter Gale

ANOTHER PAINTING, THIS ONE THE LARGEST OF THE COLLECTION.  GIVEN THE HOLIDAY, MIGHT SUCH EFFORTS BE DESCRIBED AS "ABSTRACT EGG-SPRESSIONISM"?

Acrylics of various texture and sheen - 3' x 4' canvas - early April 2015

(SMALLER SQUARES REPRESENT ISOLATED DETAILS)

Hunger Pain(tings)

A NEW SIX-PIECE SERIES OF DIZZY, DROOLING COLORS HELPS UNLEASH MY APPETITE FOR DESTRUCTION, WITH PIGMENTS AND PAPERS APPLIED IN A ANGRY, SEMI-DETACHED STATE OF AWARENESS

UNTITLED NO. 1

24" x 36" (cropped view, as this one is FAR too busy -- and therefore due to be painted over)

UNTITLED NO. 2

20" x 16" - acrylic on canvas - 3/2015

UNTITLED NO. 3

16" x 20" - acrylic and cardboard paper (from Diet Coke 12-pack) on canvas - 3/2015

UNTITLED NO. 4

16" x 20" - acrylic and paper on canvas - 3/2015 
(collage extends slightly beyond frame)

UNTITLED NO. 5

20" x 16" - acrylic with paper on canvas - 3/2015

UNTITLED NO. 6

14" x 18" - acrylic with paper on canvas - 3/2015

Good & Lenty

It was in the season of Lent eleven years ago that I first entered a treatment facility to correct habits of starvation and exercise-as-puntive-measure.  As it did then, this period of the year carries resounding ironies for an anorexic, especially if it finds that individual in the throes of reinvention, struggling to resist deprivation as a lifestyle direction.  In a twist on age-old tradition, such a person would find it necessary to tweak Christ's example, reinterpreting the Church's calls for fasting, choosing instead to suppress disordered urges, to "restrict restriction."  It is a laudable notion, and efforts by Catholics and others to demonstrate temperance, reverence, even mindfulness -- a popular buzzword amongst contemporary health practitioners -- mustn't necessarily exclude those with eating issues.  Instead, these forty days can be used to provide a window of time in which one launches healthier patterns, abstaining from impulses contrary to recovery.

I myself have been endlessly debating if I should be evaluated by specialists with expertise in hypermetabolism, as I have been attempting for some time to navigate what is referred to by medical journals as the "refeeding" stage of weight correction, or a process in which the severely malnourished patient receives aggressive nutritional support, often triggering uncomfortable symptoms (at best), extreme physical complications (at worst).  I consider it requital for my family's continuing support and patience that I attack my issues head-on, so as of today I have almost doubled my daytime calorie intake -- the morning, afternoon, and early evening comprising those hours when I have trained myself (since age thirteen) to "wait-out" hunger until a late-night mini-feast might be allowed before surrendering to sleep.  (Call it the "one and done" approach to meal planning.)  In January/February 2011 I tentatively introduced a small lunch into my routine, but I have rarely managed more than that, convinced that I haven't "earned" supper if my appetite has not been stoked to its consummate standing.  Energy expenditure has long been a contributing method for taxing my body to its breaking point, of creating strain under the pretense of healthful exercise, but but my overall frailty of both body and will have put the kibosh on all but local walking errands.

As things stand now I am fearful of what might ensue should I not embrace relatively normalized eating, as I have been increasingly aware of classic indicators of organ failure, most notably of the heart and kidneys.  (For "Rena" to face renal failure would indeed be a pathetic ending to this story, despite the opportunity for flawless alliteration.)  On an earlier outing I happened to observe The Fugees' Killing Me Softly -- a personal favorite, an achingly beautiful track -- playing over the speakers at the corner market.  I had only just at that very moment followed a link on my iPhone detailing the silent signs of cardiac arrest, which in females is often gradual -- or, as the song implies, a gentle assassin.  This, combining with the fact that Sunday marks the start of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, has me connecting the dots to form a pretty clear picture of where this train is heading, for without a sharp turn in its tracks a major crash will foreseeably mark its end.