Cynthia

Art takes courage. I find that fascinating (also scary).

I’m not talking about the courage it takes to put your work out there, live through rejection and put it out again, although that takes plenty of guts. But rejection’s a given in my dayjob, and like most writers I’ve built up armor against it: You don’t fall in love with your own words in the first place, so you can stay objective when an editor carves them up. (Note to Susan who patiently listened to my screeching as she edited my humor columns: Yeah, yeah…but that was different, a matter of flow and timing, not love! )

I gotta admit that it cuts closer to the bone when my art is rejected so maybe I’m not all THAT objective. But what I’m really talking about here is the courage to create art in the first place, which for some reason I’m finding particularly terrifying right now.

It takes guts to get the first mark on the paper (or the first blob of clay in a freshly planed surface). Guts to leave the model you’re slavishly copying and work instead from your head (or maybe your heart). You need courage to tear out what’s almost right and start over even though there’s no guarantee the next version will be better. To know when to keep going and (more important) when to stop. To take a now-perfect clay model and destroy it with plaster or silicon.

It’s hard to trust yourself, to trust instinct. To get past the idea that there oughta be an Undo button for clay and frit and instead work without a safety net. (In this respect, computers have a LOT to answer for; I’ll bet Rodin never worried about an Undo button.)

Boiled down, it means to finally understand in my bones that I can control this, and that the best stuff happens when I’m having fun.

But it’s weeks like this that I really wonder if I’m brave enough, which is why the guy in my current project (above) is no longer zennishly calm but looks instead as if he’s had the beejaysus scared out of him. Dammit. I’m not channeling my art, my art is channeling me, and I need to smack it upside the head and finish this thing so I can invest it, get it into the kiln and move on.

In other words, Cynthia, geeeeeeez. Lighten up.

• Restaurant website
• Location: Pioneer Square-ish, across from Fox Regal Cinemas
• Price to fill up two people: About $60, with dessert

After the movie (Kat and I had gone to see Bottle Shock), we headed across the street to Dragonfish. It was about 9:40 pm, and the restaurant was dark and deserted. “We have 19 minutes before we close,” said the host, “but you’re welcome to try the sushi bar and have happy hour there.”

I lived in the big city too long, I guess; I’ll never understand a restaurant, particularly one so close to the theaters, that shuts down so early. But we schlepped over to the bar, found a table…and got in under the 19-minute wire to try the dinner menu.

I’d eaten at Dragonfish once before, with my sister Suzi after her gabfest with the princess, and found it enjoyable. (Admittedly, we sat next to the big saltwater aquarium, and part of what I enjoyed was watching the fish.)

Dragonfish is what’s called Pan Asian, which I think means the that chef gets to fix whatever he wants as long as there’s soy sauce on the premises. As far as I’m concerned, it’s more usually snobbery and showmanship than great grub: Thai, Korean, Chinese and Japanese fight it out with no clear winner, the teriyaki may come stuffed in a lentil tortilla and topped with pesto, while your waiter instructs you in how to eat it “properly.”

Dragonfish mostly escapes those negatives and instead just fixes good food of slightly indeterminate origin. I had one of the specials, a rare beef tenderloin on dashi noodles; Kat tried the Orange Peel Beef. Both were very good, well worth ordering even if neither knocked Typhoon’s Beef with Grapes from its special place in my heart.

The waiter was very nice, made some good suggestions and talked us into dessert, a mocha creme brulee decorated with berries and small chocolate truffles. The brulee was OK, the truffles and berries were better.

But I do like this restaurant. I don’t know that I’d travel huge distances to eat here, but it’s a nice place to have a late meal. Just get there before 10 pm.

Somebody up there was listening to me…it’s raining.

Not only raining, but I woke this morning to thunder and a flash of lightning. According to the National Weather Service, we have an unprecedented summer storm moving in and it’ll rain (and thunder) a surprising amount over the next three days.

Yummy.

BTW…free dinner next time you’re in town to the first person who can identify the song whose first line is the title of this post.

• Restaurant website
• Location: Beaverton
• Price to fill up two people: About $35

For several years now I’ve been moaning about the westside burbs of Portland and their chronic inability to get past the whitebread suburban restaurant mentality, i.e., that the restaurant spectrum can be neatly encompassed by McDonalds-Hooters-Cheesecake Factory.

I stand corrected–Thailand Restaurant, wedged between a Fred Meyer, a gas station and Costco in one of the whitebreadiest burbs around, is so good it belongs on the east side of town.

Robyn, Jeff and I went there last week after Robyn said it had gotten high marks on Portland CitySearch. I was skeptical, but figured that one meal of mall Thai wouldn’t hurt me. Instead, I got a really delicious meal.

The Pad Thai was excellent, the spring rolls just right and the sticky rice with mango (it’s in season now) was on target. I had something that I’d normally call larb, a mixture of slivered beef, spices, rice and minced vegetables that they called something else (just ask for #65), which was addicting.

Service was fast and friendly, nice ambience, quiet surroundings. Don’t let the strip mall exterior fool you–this is a restaurant to put on your list.

Really nice little movie.

I don’t think it’s going to take the country by storm–it’d need suicidal actors, bloodbaths and wicked-evil folk to do that–and it’s not really into deep, mind-rending gouts of insight. But it does supply a couple of my favorite underrated actors, Bill Pullman and Alan Rickman, a bit of microhistory I’m personally interested in, and a lot of charm.

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