Photographing everything you eat in this way, sometimes such unimpressive and unnoteworthy food, I’m reminded of the artist Ieke Trinks and her collaborative work Dagboek Eten & Drinken (Eat & Drink Diary), with Gabriëlle Barros Martins, where they photographed absolutely everything they ate for three years (2009-2012). It’s not often that the idea of a work stays with you for so long, especially one simple on premise. I met Trinks in 2012 during a residency in Rotterdam. I was receptive, in my third year of art school. She was an intriguing and supportive artist who seemed only to wear clothes in the bright block colours of red, pink, purple, and blue – I wondered, but didn’t enquire, if this was another rule based performative project. To encounter just a tiny snapshot of this huge documenting commitment was impressive. Before placing anything past her lips, it had to be photographed. Snacks, meals, drinks. Trinks would pull out a compact digital camera, holding the consumable, or it placed in front, and snap. This was long before the culture of instagrammable food - and on the cusp of cuisine being part of the fabric of our social media experiences. Ironically not much of the work exists online, nor on the artists' websites. It looks like five early photos were posted here and the artists produced two culminating DVDs. Witnessing the ritual felt almost absurdly humorous in its strict faithfulness to capturing the realities of eating. Although it could interrupt offerings or distract from shared moments, it seemed to be a good ice-breaker, a conversation starter. I remember hearing her talk about arising challenges and hesitations - when she accidentally swallowed some water from the swimming pool, was she to photograph the pool? Close or wide shot?
Speaking of pools, today I go to yoga then swimming. This combo makes me feel like a nimble merman when I get to the water, being all stretched out from the yoga. I’m a bit of a water baby. They called me dolphin boy. In primary school years Dad would take me and my bestie to Erskine Swimming Pool, and afterwards get a pizza crunchie supper from the chippy nearby to eat whilst sitting on the big rocks, watching the Clyde. The crisp air drying off our hair. If I had swallowed some chlorine water, I would vomit it all up in the middle of the night, my poor Dad having to clean me up. Despite growing a stronger stomach, I’m now careful. During this double whammy exercise I chug a fresh 750ml water from my full bottle as fast as anything. For insurance mostly, having recently once failed to stay hydrated, giving me aching nausea the next day. In this sense, I’m a total fitness noob.
In the back office at work there is a secret treats drawer, started during covid when you weren’t allowed to share. You eat from it. You contribute. Well stocked today. I bring a multipack of Mini Cheddars and take a pack for myself. I’m really loving Mini Cheddars right now. Like, a lot. There’s not much to say on that. I’m just in my Mini Cheddars phase. Lunch leftovers and banana later I’m working a late shift and really cannot be arsed to find something special to tart up as dinner. My appetite ain’t there. I get the cheapest sandwich in Tesco which will fuel me till home. I spot the new Tesco meal deal prices. From £3 to £3.40. I want my pay rise. Now.
Yesterday’s writing prophesies itself and I’m home alone tonight. I fancy a martini. My favourite Drag Race exit line ever is Ms. Kasha Davis’ “there’s always time for a cocktail.” A fantastic mantra. I feel at peak palette maturity in the past couple of years basking in booze forward cocktails. However, purists will hate me. I like martinis extremely wet and very dirty. Sopping. Filthy. I’ll do half an half, or 2 parts gin to 1 part vermouth if using a sweeter vermouth. I try caper brine tonight as a new alternative, having already tried gherkin. And after the first sip I admit olive is the best. Original for a reason! Again, I’m not that hungry but compelled to make some random shit using up odd bits. A gazpacho inspired thing that I eat with toast, roast parsnip and red onion. Leftovers tubbed again for tomorrow. Each day a new. Fed from the last.
Find Conor on substack at ‘Mud Tracks’, on instagram @lifeisthefarce, and on his website here.