Sketches - Mustard pot

2 weeks ago, I had an art day with my pal, Max.  Max is amazing.  He's a one-of-a-kind, super talented human being, who sees the beauty in all things kitschy.  He and I spent 8 + hours hanging out: painting and drawing one Sunday.  It had been ages since I had picked up a sharpie, and I had forgotten how zen it feels to zone out on something small and intricate.  So, instead of meditating this week, I started sketching again, just for fun.  I thought it might be cool to focus on the stories behind some of the random objects I've collected via the sketches.

So here is the first one: my jug of moutarde, aka $18 french dijon mustard.  I know, its ridiculous to invest this much money in a condiment when I don't actually eat condiments, BUT this is different.  This is a memory.  When I was a kid, every summer from 4th to 8th grade, my parents sent me to Lac Du Bois: French Camp in the woods of northern Minnesota, where a pot of mustard sat on every table in the canteen, to be used for salad dressing: one part mustard, 2 parts oil, a part vinegar, salt and pepper to taste.  And although my relationship with all things French has been very love/hate over the years (e.g. Olivier my former French boyfriend, aka the first man who ever proposed, albeit with unrealistic prospects) every time I see this pot of mustard, I can't help but smile.  And that's a good thing.  So, I consider the pot of mustard to be an investment in joy and great memories.