on true artists.

i think art is that which is crafted by an artist, someone conveniently defined by the american heritage dictionary as "[noun]: one, such as a painter, sculptor, or writer, who is able by virtue of imagination and talent or skill to create works of aesthetic value, especially in the fine arts."

especially.

not exclusively.

the first time that my husband and i traipsed merrily to the baltimore farmers' market, we ran across an artist. he was working with equal merriment alongside two egg-shaped grills tricked out as pizza ovens. i think that the temperature that day was roughly equal to the surface of the sun. when we approached his stall, i saw this:

i wish that you could taste photos.

look at that. THAT is pizza perfection - a crust crisped by leopard-spots of char, a perfectly tangy tomato sauce, rich mozzarella cheese, and unadulterated basil. 

needless to say, i bought one. i gave my husband one bite. and i ate the rest of it. 

no regrets.

a few weeks later, the pizza maven needed some help manning his stall. i leapt at the opportunity. and in casual conversation, i discovered just why he embodies artist as much as if not more than the sculptors and painters and writers of the world. see, as a writer, i know the limits of my medium. i know that words, and language, are inherently flawed and dense and that you, reader, will never see what i see in my head when i write about pomegranates spilling rubied seeds or dates crusted with sugar. your idea will be different from mine, because words are filtered through intellectual understanding [my high school english teacher, who lectured us on heart of darkness, would completely agree with me]. maybe it's easier for the painter, like van gogh, who can make the night sky ripple with texture.

still.

this pizza maven asked me what i cook and bake. i told him that i was thinking of trying, possibly, to pursue a good, solid challah recipe - but that i would never try pizza, for example, or home-cooked indian food.

he gave me a very...funny?...look. not funny, but amused. 

"why not? it's all about the hunt."

he is chasing pizza perfection, pursuing it with all of his senses - the feel of the dough, how it springs back from his fingers, how it smells faintly of sourness. he isn't restrained by the idea [or fact] that his medium is incapable of conveying his love for what he does. and it shows.

my g-d, does it show.

baltimore - i implore you, if you have the opportunity, track the pizza maven down. his pizzas are works of art. 

and now, i am hungry. at my desk. the perils of writing about delicious, delicious pizza.

update, update, update: the pizza maven is potentially POSSIBLY PLEASE going to open a place in hampden. prepare your appetites, baltimoreans.