Bricks and clay

I set to build myself anew,
I tore old walls apart to trade
Crumbling brick for moving clay 
And shape honest to the core. 

I shaped myself a shallow bowl,
I erred to craft a solid plate.
I passed success and took 
Such a mangled clump apart. 

I tried to shape one, 
but no better than another,
Oh! to stand tall. 
But now it stands to fall. 

Wicked devils eager work
Lump to cut with string. 
Pieces come apart a brick,
Shapes all to drown in slip. 

But what is worth 
in making after all?

It’s been a while since I felt like writing anything creative. Lately I’ve felt like doing nothing much, I missed direction, occupation and enthusiasm. It’s a terrible state in which I desperately need something to do, but don’t feel like doing anything. It’s a vicious circle with boredom and apathy feeding each other.

Today I am happy to have written this poem. I’m happy with it now, so here it is.

Bitter is the coffee

Many of us don’t go through the day without having at least one cup of coffee, and some hardcore enthusiasts I’ve met spend the whole day drinking coffee instead of water, only to finish strong with a 9pm espresso. No later so it won’t affect their sleep.

Our dependence on coffee is partially due to the functional addiction caffeine induces: once it leaves the body, we feel more tired than before, and we crave more. We believe we can’t function without it and see it as our means of coping with constant demands for performance.

To a large extent, however, we drink coffee because we have a lifestyle dependence on it. It fills many gaps in our often boring days and we like it for its taste and flavour, and for its bitterness. This latter liking is acquired, and many drown out the bitter taste with sugar and dairy products. But if you’re a true fan of coffee, you probably want the bitterness and appreciate the additives for the new experience they create.

I was intrigued when I found that in 2016 a US company called Senomyx claimed in patent number US 9.247,759 B2 a way to reduce consistently the perceived bitterness of coffee. The food and pharmaceutical industries have been masking out bitter tastes for a long time. The additives used are trivial – sugar, salt – or already widely used and derived from natural sources: gluconate, carboxymethylcellulose or beta-cyclodextrin. But early in the 2000s companies started looking at ways to block the taste, rather than just mask it. Some potential uses appeared sensible, for example to make very bitter drugs more palatable to patients.

Tasting bitter

We can taste many different compounds as bitter, but can’t tell them apart based on taste, i.e. we can’t discern different kinds of bitter. The intensity of the sensation determines how we react: coffee and tonic water earn our liking, but intensely bitter substances, such as denatonium benzoate, make us so strongly averse that they are used as deterrents to prevent accidental poisoning. Little was known about the molecular basis of our tasting bitter before a team of scientists (Elliot Adler, Mark Hoon, Ken Mueller, Jayaram Chandrashekar, Nicholas Ryba, Charles Szuker, Luxin Feng and Wei Guo) reported in the year 2000 the discovery of a type of taste receptor called T2R (Taste receptor type 2, also abbreviated as TAS2R) responsible for bitter taste detection in mammals.

The biology

Taste receptor cells are found on taste buds covering the surface of the tongue, and in other areas of the mouth. You can see an illustration of a taste bud here. Receptor cells contain structures which allow for interaction with a tastant (a chemical entity eliciting the sensation of taste). Sour and salty are detected by channels in the cell membrane, but sweet, bitter and umami are detected by TRs (type 1 deals with sweet and umami). Adler et al. showed that taste cells contain T2Rs and proved they function as bitter taste receptors. Some only responded to a single compound, like mT2R5 (m for mouse strain) which reacted to cycloheximide, while others were not so selective. Using cell experiments the researchers explained why mice with mutations in T2R5 were about 8 times less sensitive to the repulsive cycloheximide.

Adler’s team showed how a bitter compound can be detected by one or more receptors, and that by blocking those receptors it should be possible to reduce the sensation of bitterness experienced. They also predicted from genome analysis the existence of 40 to 80 different T2Rs in humans.

The chemistry

A study published in 2010 (by Wolfgang Meyerhof, Claudia Batram, Christina Kuhn, Anne Brockhoff, Elke Chudoba, Bernd Bufe, Giovanni Appendino and Maik Behrens) investigated the detection range of human T2Rs (25 known at the time) against a selection of 104 compounds from natural and synthetic sources. A complex picture emerged with most T2Rs detecting multiple compounds – hT2R14 (h for human) was the least selective in this study and responded to 33 compounds – and more than half of the compounds activating up to 3 receptors, with one (diphenidol) found to activate 15 different hT2Rs. This complex detection pattern probably emerged from the evolutionary process which shaped it into a sophisticated means of preventing poisoning. For example, the studies of Meyerhof et al. showed how hT2R46 detected the toxic compound strychnine and the very similar, but about 100-200 times less toxic, brucine. The sensitivity for strychnine over brucine was just about as high as the toxicity factor and orders of magnitude higher than required to detect the poison in food.

It is no surprise that with so many receptors responding to so many different compounds, we end up finding bitter things that are not toxic to us today. Caffeine itself is bitter, but not dangerous in the amount we usually ingest.

Senomyx reported that compound C (below) can be used in taste tests to reduce consistently the perceived bitterness of a coffee fraction (i.e. instant coffee, medium roast or medium-dark roast) to which it had been added. The receptors targeted were hT2R8 and hT2R14, found to respond to bitter compounds in coffee. Compound C was also found to block to different extents the response of 19 other T2Rs, indicating it could be used broadly to reduce the bitterness of products.

Reported synthesis of compound C by Senomyx.

The chemistry for making compound C is nothing to write home about. It’s a simple three step procedure. The sulfonyl chloride starting material is reacted with 4-methoxybenzyl amine to form a sulfonamide, which is then N-alkylated with benzyl bromide under basic conditions. This results in the carboxylic acid being benzylated as well, so the final step involves a base hydrolysis of the benzyl ester to give compound C.

Bitter is the coffee

Animals have developed complicated systems to detect bitter chemicals as a means to avoid poisoning. Although we are now far less reliant on these defense systems, should we try to block them out? I agree there is value in applying this strategy to medical products, especially if intended for children who are more sensitive to bitter taste than adults. But what about foods and drinks?

What got me thinking was the structure of compound C and others Senomyx exemplified. They look to me more like drug molecules than food additives. The compounds chosen would have to be approved by regulatory agencies, so I don’t think there is any real danger there, as far as the science is concerned.

My question regards the principle. Cheating your own senses to avoid disagreeable sensations covers a range from necessity to indulgence. Taking painkillers is a valid improvement to our quality of life made possible by modern science. It is necessary if we are to function normally. Numbing our tongues to eliminate disagreeable taste from a drink we consume for enjoyment is luxury.

Where do we draw the line between necessity and luxury? Is it wrong to make use of any opportunity to increase our satisfaction and make life as enjoyable as possible? No, if it doesn’t contravene legal and moral principles. Is there value in denying ourselves this then? I think the value is in pushing ourselves to pursue more elevated means of satisfaction. Rather than spend time and energy fixing every nuissance, we could be thinking of better ways to find joy in our lives. Or how to acquire a liking for the bitter things.

Turning red into gold

Quinacridone gold, also known as PO49, Pigment Orange 49, was a golden pigment used in the automotive and artist’s paint industries until 2001, when production reportedly stopped. The pigment had gathered somewhat of a following within the artists’ community. Artists such as Jane Blundell explored alternatives on the market, and others like Sandrine Maugy bemoaned the last supply of pigment having been used to mix lesser colours.

Quinacridone gold appears to have been special even by the standards of the quinacridone family of pigments, which Bruce MacEvoy at handprint described as follows: “Among the miracles of modern industrial chemistry […] one must include the discovery and development of the quinacridones.”

Quinacridone gold PO49 is described at The Color of Art Pigment Database as “a mixed crystal phase of Quinacridone & Quinacridonequinone; C.I.Pigment Violet 19 (C.I. 73900) and C.I.Pigment Red 206 (C.I. 73920) co-precipitated. The exact derivative has not been disclosed.” Bruce MacEvoy at handprint claims “PO49 is another mixed crystal form of PV19 alpha and beta.”

Not surprising that the formula was proprietary, but still, what is it? And what is PV19?

The discovery

PV19 stands for Pigment Violet 19 and is one of the forms of the original quinacridone, patented in parallel as alpha (bluish red), beta (violet) and gamma (bluish red) forms by DuPont in the 1950s.

Chemical structure of linear quinacridone

Let’s look at our glossary of terms before discussing further.

Polymorphism describes the existence of a solid compound (containing more than one type of atom) in different crystalline forms differing in the way molecules are arranged in the solid. Polymorphs have different properties, which is why controlling their formation is crucial in pigment manufacture. Polymorphs are often referred to as crystal phases.

Crystal phase refers to a form of a solid in which the comprising atoms or molecules are arranged in an orderly fashion throughout. The crystal is said to have long range order, i.e. it is possible to predict with a high certainty what atom will be found at a specified position.

Powder X-Ray diffraction pattern is a graphical representation of the crystal phase features still distinguishable in the powder, i.e. after the crystal has been ground up, or if only a collection of minute crystals is available. X-rays are diffracted through a crystal like visible light is diffracted through a prism. The X-ray diffraction experiment records where the light ends up and how intense it is.

Solid solution describes a homogeneous mixture with structure and properties different to those obtained by simply mixing the components in the same ratio. It shows an X-ray diffraction pattern different to the sum of the patterns of its components.

First (amusing) bit of information is the mention how better red pigments were needed in the 1950s due to it having recently become a popular colour for cars.

The alpha, beta and gamma crystal phases of quinacridone and the method for controlling their formation represents the scope of the three DuPont patents, together with the characteristic X-ray diffraction patterns each phase exhibits.

The crude quinacridone formed by oxidation of dihydroquinacridone (more on this later) is subjected to a milling process under defined conditions which generates a material fine enough to use as pigment, and with control over the crystal phase. The process looks deceptively simple: quinacridone is mixed with salt, mill balls or cylpebs (little cylinders) and nails (the latter to prevent caking), and the mixture rotated until the pigment particles are fine enough. The material is then washed with dilute sulfuric acid to remove the salt and any metal contamination introduced by the milling process. The quinacridone can then be used as a paste, or washed with methanol (to remove water) and xylene (to remove methanol) before drying to obtain the powder.

The chemistry

The control over phase formation is achieved using solvents. Milling without DMF (dimethylformamide) or xylene converts quinacridone to the alpha form. Adding 25% xylene with respect to quinacridone during milling results in the beta phase forming. Adding DMF during milling or stirring quinacridone in DMF either prevents the gamma phase from turning to alpha, or turns other phases to gamma. Long story short, the gamma phase is the most stable and will form (predominantly) when sparingly soluble quinacridone crystallises from solution.

Such crystallisation also occurs in the high temperature oxidation of dihydroquinacridone with nitrobenzene-m-sodium sulfonate under alkaline conditions in a water/alcohol mixture. DuPont patented their way of making dihydroquinacridone.

DuPont synthesis of dihydroquinacridone in Dowtherm A

The condensation of diethyl succinate was performed in Dowtherm A (23.5% biphenyl and 76.5% diphenylether) and after a quick water wash, the resulting diethyl succinyl succinate (name which I find terribly confusing) solution was treated with aniline and catalytic anyline hydrochloride and heated under vacuum (no further detail here). Another quick wash to get rid of the catalyst, a distillation to remove aniline and the resulting substituted dihydroterephthalate can be used as a suspension in Dowtherm. The discovery here is the closing of the quinacridone ring system by heating the dihydroterephthlate at a high temperature (which is why Dowtherm is used) in the absence of oxygen to give dihydroquinacridone. The last step is an oxidation to remove the extra two hydrogen atoms, which is preferably achieved using the soluble oxidant meta-nitrobenzenesodium sulfonate. The great thing about the (dihydro)quinacridones is they are so insoluble, and isolation by filtration provides pure products.

The background and chemistry covered, let’s return to the question of PO49.

Turning red into gold

A number of other developments made by DuPont over the following decade resulted in what is most likely PO49. This patent from 1964 describes a number of inventions which allowed for extending the range of colours quinacridone pigments can attain. First of them is the incorporation of a derivative of quinacridone called quinacridonequinone, which can be formed by extending the reaction time in the oxidation of dihydroquinacridone described above. This sounds like a cost effective solution – tweaking a known process rather than having to develop a whole new one.


A mixture of quinacridone and quinacridonequinone can be processed to form an intimate mixture either by milling or by co-precipitation from concentrated sulfuric acid in water (known as drowning). This mixture, on solvent treatment (DMF) converts to a solid solution. Solid solutions, having properties different to that of a simple mixture, can have a colour different to that of their components. A solid solution containing quinacridone and quinacridonequinone is reported to have a maroon colour, quite different to the reds that quinacridone alone can generate. By varying amounts of components and their nature (various other quinacridones) a whole range of colours shifting towards yellow or blue was reported. But no gold.

Finally, a technical improvement on the precipitation step from sulfuric acid afforded “a bright gold pigment.” This invention adds the sulfuric acid solution to a high velocity flow of water to form very fine particles, which is believed to favour solid solution formation. The resulting slurry is then heated to convert the solid mixture into the solid solution. There is no need for any solvent treatments, which makes the process even more attractive.

I would say the story of PO49 going out of production sounds plausible. For whatever reason, the automotive industry didn’t want PO49 anymore. No demand – I would imagine the amount of pigment used by industry is far greater than what artists go through – means no supply, even if to the outsider chemist the gold pigment does not stand out as anymore of a challenge than red. Quinacridones are still being produced, and since PO49 does not appear to have any special challenges associated, its demise really might be due to gold falling out of favour while red is still going strong. Perhaps PO49 was superseded; chemists are always mixing something up.

The value of trying and failing

I tried working a copywriter job. I wasn’t good enough, so I was let go. It was a positive experience because it was the first time I could accept rejection. My qualities were acknowledged alongside my failings. It was a balanced evaluation, it was based on evidence, and that is why I accepted it.

This was the first time I got sacked, but not the first time I failed. In the past I interviewed for patent attorney and consultant jobs. I didn’t even get hired. Some other things I interviewed for, got rejected and was very bitter over: undergrad student accommodation supervisor (or something along those lines), prestigious PhD studentship working on cancer research, posh doctoral training programme. There’s also all the things I applied for and never heard back, or only much later. If you send me a rejection email after two months without any other contact, I wasn’t really holding my breath at that point really. But thanks, better late than never.

I think this is good proof on the value of honest feedback. Not the ‘we’ve had a very strong selection of candidates.’ Not the ‘you’re good, but not good enough.’ Empty encouragement is wasting people’s time. Telling them what they can and cannot do right now will set them on the right track.

Looking at my puzzle of experience and its missing piece finally found I can write these three lessons:

  1. I like chemistry the way a nerd does, not like a professor or like an entrepeneur.
  2. I don’t care for lofty ideals. I care about a job well done.
  3. I’m not good at saying what needs saying, the way it needs saying. It’s bad for me whenever I do it.

I’m happy I tried doing all the things that are not for me, I failed with, I stopped caring for, or never cared for at all. I have a better idea what is for me, what I can do and what I like.

I am a bit more confident. Maybe I can make some better choices.

On and off topic – the disconnect between sodium ammonium tartrate and Gantt charts

Can I talk about chemistry? Can I be nerdy, veer off course and ramble?

Yes, I can. Unfortunately, it took me more than 15 years to learn this. In fact, I only had this revelation about 10 minutes before I started writing this post. The wonderful topic I was investigating was how could I make racemic sodium ammonium tartrate at home, crystallise it and separate the enantiomers the way Louis Pasteur did to make his way into history books in 1848. (Note: the series of reports made by Pasteur started in 1848 and culminated with this discovery in 1853. A list is available here)

My cause is not noble – I just wanted to make a Youtube video. But the flashback I had was of Proust eating his madeleine with jasmine tea proportions. Don’t worry, my prose is far more modest.

I was somewhat of a weirdo even in the chemistry enclave. My interests never lined up with those of others. Scientists, as you expect, tend to be pragmatic and think about the future, the next discovery. This is great, and necessary for their survival in today’s scientific environment. I, on the other hand, have always been inclined towards the past. I got excited about the stories of discovery usually reserved for textbooks and other materials made for the public.

If you’re not a scientist you might be thinking what is wrong with that? We learn from the past – that’s what history tells us. Scientists generally appreciate the teachings and will go searching the literature for information, but they don’t care that much about who did what and how they got there (not beyond the requirements of referencing anyway). And if the information is now common knowledge, any attempts to uncover the murky, distant past are scoffed at. This makes an onerous task a shameful one. Scientists don’t care much for the history of science.

Back to my experience; I remember working on my master’s project thesis. I had an intro that was a bit like a herpetologist touching on the likely anatomy of the biblical snake in the garden of Eden. Needless to say, it wasn’t well received by my supervisor. I had to cut out a lot of the work which made me so proud.

I was heartbroken and furious. That maybe some points were valid (the page count for example) is irrelevant. Always getting our work edited and aligned with the standards and interests of the majority is damaging. Yes, that is how we learn and improve. But in my case, that is how I completely lost direction.

I ended up being unhappy doing what I liked. I hated what I was doing because it was what someone else wanted. I always got told they wanted to help me. I eventually gave up on chemistry and tried doing something else.

I failed so far. I recently got sacked from a new job (not a chemistry one) after two weeks. But I am not bitter about it. I think it was actually the most honourable rejection I’ve ever received. There was objective evidence I couldn’t do it. I got given a chance for what I had to offer and for my dedication. This is opposite to what I had experienced in chemistry where what I had to offer and who I was never mattered. The only thing that mattered was whether I delivered exactly what was expected.

I am obviously being emotional and still bitter about my chemistry past. I can’t think of anything clever to say here to balance this statement. And the only problem is I feel I should. Here it comes (after hours of mulling). Part of being a scientist is seeing black and white at the same time. But no one cares about dull, grey complexities – Not even scientists.

And that’s a shame. I think part of the problem with modern science is that it’s focused on delivering scientific ‘products’ rather than knowledge. It’s focused on the future, on achievement. It’s creating solutions to predicted problems rather than current ones.

Problems are solved by experimentation, by study, by reflection. Solutions are always serendipitous. Asking scientists to plan their work and their discoveries is absolutely ridiculous. I remember I had to make a Gantt chart at the beginning of my PhD. I hadn’t even heard of one before – which is to say that the study experience doesn’t quite prepare you for this. What is worse, the work was planned around ideas that were already in place for my project. Ideas which were written before I had arrived.

How can you expect young scientists to develop the skill of coming up with ideas, if you waste all their time researching someone else’s ideas? Pasteur is famous for his statement: ‘In the field of observation chance favours only the prepared mind.’ I don’t think Gantt charts was what he had in mind.

Why is this relevant? Because scientists should care about what they are doing. If you kill their interest and their passion, you are losing your biggest asset: the scientist. I cared. I still want to care. It just bothers me seeing how few people care.

I probably can’t change that. I just hope I can find the strength and ability to convince other people how exciting science can be. To make them appreciate the story of sodium ammonium tartrate.

Information makes me quiet

Imagine you believed your entire life the primary colours are red, blue, and yellow. Then you find out they are cyan, magenta, and yellow. There is also red, green, and blue. But you can also create a palette with any three colours you choose. But you might want to include more for a larger space and more accurate reproduction.

Sustained learning makes me unwilling to talk. It also makes me angry.

I am a simple creature, and like all humans, I like to share my thoughts and feelings. I thought until now that the value is in being acknowledged and, hopefully, appreciated. It made me happy, but it also caused me trouble when I didn’t get the response I hoped for. Now I understand why.

Keeping my mind busy with a constant flow of information gives me comfort. It does a good job, but not perfect, of keeping me from feeling lonely. If I feel less lonely, I have less motivation to talk. Being in company does the same thing: I listen and say less. And if a book or person is not talking, I talk to myself.

That is the value of sharing: it sets the scene for others to talk, providing me with the information flow I crave. I am not angry for not sharing what I’ve learned, or what I wanted to share before knowing better. I am angry because an information overflow is followed by a dry spell.

The quality of what I have to say becomes more important to me as I learn more. The problem is, of course, the more I learn I come to realise how nothing I say can possibly be of much value. I then don’t say anything. And I get angry.

So then, why was I seeking approval? I wanted the new information to build on or agree with what I had already learned. Not to disagree. I got angry when I learnt cyan, magenta, yellow are the primary colours. Maybe so did you when you read that.

Frozen fingers – Part of the Little Blue Marbles Series

Winter that year had a strong bite, punishing people by freezing their cars solid and pushing needles in their bones through insulation, feeble house heating, and layers of woollen personal protection. Snow didn’t come. Most in the area had to decide between having a full stomach or feeling their toes and fingers at least once in a while. Freya’s parents made no exception, but unfortunately they were inclined differently: her dad kept warm on cheap beer and her mother plugged in the electric heater whenever he’d fall asleep.

Freya had just turned thirteen the day they opened the pond to skating. She had always loved to skate, but never got any good at it. Having two left feet would have been less of a problem than hers for skating, assuming the ice skates would fit. Her problem was functional rather than conformational as something in her brain stopped her balancing on one leg and pushing with the other. Her ability never improved and she was stuck awkwardly shuffling on the sides with the beginners every time she skated, every year the pond froze.

Her disappointment turned to desolation and, for this particular birthday, to resentment. She went to the pond with her run-of-the-mill skates in her bag, but on the way threw them in the bin. She climbed the small hill found next to the pond, sat on the frozen ground and looked down on the cheerful throng. The sun was setting behind, leaving her observation point in the shadows.

A lilac haze started slowly perspiring from between the frigid blades of grass, oozing like dense droplets out of the hill’s pores. Something started tensing deep within, something which was out of place, vast, much too large for the physical dimensions of the modest relief. For minutes dripping like spoiled honey from a dying hive, this vague curdling of the earth’s marrow was spreading with a precise rate, not so much up, but out. It grew out of the perimeter and started dawdling towards the pond. Immense but somehow lacking will, it was heading that way reluctantly. A sharp gust of wind marked a shift in growth from size to kind. It was now pulsating, ripples spreading from an epicentre of blood drops hitting an impregnable but malleable resin. The earth was losing control, something else was dictating, prescribing evolutionary course. The hill was growing taller, rising, escaping the sedimentary, ancient foundation it used to stand on. It was drawing back from the inchoate creation, yielding to what it seemed to want. The growing darkness was lit by the wispy lilac tendrils surrounding and permeating the frozen pond. They were somehow growing backward in that direction, like an entangled sillage left by the throng of skaters. Time passed slowly. The hill became enormous, a mountain. The pond grew deeper, the ice insubstantial. The air warmer, thicker, heavier. The mass of curious but reluctant tendrils grew so dense it congealed, it became solid, having no choice but to yield to pulsating. Pulsating with no clear purpose or intention.

An hour passed. Freya’s heart was beating with a strong thump, the echo resounding in her painful temples. She was frozen solid, but her fingers were screaming in pain, still alive. It was dark. She then wandered with lilac-glowing embers of hate tucked away between the folds in her mind.

Lady in waiting

What is better suited to this fantastical art style potpourri than a cringy play on words? A lady-in-waiting was the aristocratic version of a lady’s personal assistant. The lady in my painting is waiting, the poem is about waiting, you see where this is going:

A windswept emptiness
Fills my restless body,
Prodding corners of my mind 
For leftovers of peace. 

Nights come early and grow short 
Days are scattered,
Fallen leaves under a barren tree
Waiting for rhythm. 

Waiting casts its spell
Parting patient from impatient. 
Waiting matters more than
What, whom, or why. 

Patience turns children old
And vulgar into virtuous. 
Impatience demands sacrifice
And gives it to the wind. 

Art making-of

The cover image is another painting I’ve put a lot of effort into (~3 days work). The positive with these longer works is that having plenty of time for my mind to wander while painting, I keep changing the idea; alone working on something for more than a day almost guarantees the way I feel about it will change. I call it exploratory painting: first I want to identify what it is I want to paint, then I can think about structuring my study to gain necessary skills.

This way of working shows clearly in this piece in more than just the mistakes, impulse decisions, and leftovers from previous versions: the head of the lady I’ve left in a simplified style resembling Japanese art, mostly because attempts to put detail on that scale got me nowhere. I aimed for a reasonably accurate anatomical construction, I tried to paint the body with some volume, and after all that work I mostly covered it up in an attempt at mythical, entrapping garment design. To add the third piece to this concoction, I constructed the setting with a fairly accurate representation of a reddish sky, a distant darkened landscape, and a foreground affected by the supernatural, rendered with a decent amount of solidity, but perhaps questionable colour matching with the background – I was aiming for supernatural after all.

The joy of waiting

I can thank the Bob Ross shows for title inspiration here.

I am an impatient person. It’s a double-edged sword: it pushes me to do a lot, try new things, cut corners if I have to, but it also works against me: poorly thought out decisions, less than polished work, and just a waste of energy at times. Striving to make some better quality paintings requires patience, dedicating enough time to work on them to achieve decent results. And investing that time apparently pays off, although I’ve previously argued it probably wouldn’t. I think the value in finding this patience is the time it opens up to thought, as mentioned above. The idea evolves, even if the execution is only going to be as good as my ability at this time.

And that’s how I am beginning to find the joy of waiting. Active waiting (in this case meticulously applying paint) seems to be the way forward.

Lady New Year

A thousand times she's threaded
Needle eye on frayed yarn of time.
Now she toasts a flute to sun's
Ludic chase of cousin moon. 

Popes, heads, and states have
Charted her passing in clay,
On hide and beyond the ether
In sand and flame and flow. 

She cares little and hopes
People would once seek
Her company and clink
Not celebrate her passing, blink.

Happy New Year, everyone! I got the idea for this painting only on the 30th of December and it turned out to be more difficult and ambitious than I expected.

I am not a fan of making resolutions, but here is one which seems appropriate to the subject: in 2022 I want to make more of these (distantly) Mucha inspired works.

Alphonse Mucha was a painter, illustrator, and designer (and much more), perhaps best known for his famous Art Nouveau posters he produced at the end of the 19th century in Paris, which helped launch his fruitful career. He is one of the artists I discovered in 2021 and who has impressed me the most with his ability to combine realism with fantastical beauty.

Stop burning fossil fuels to warm up your car

Three times a day I witness a long column of traffic form outside my house, stretching as far as I can see to both ends of the road. I suspect by now locals will know of bad traffic times/areas. Why do they choose to travel anyway?

For this article I am not going to try to uncover some great wisdom. In fact, I am sure it will make most readers think I am stupid. I still have to write it. I am baffled.

I understand people have to go to work in the morning and get back in the evening (are people with desk jobs actually more productive at work?). But what about lunchtime? Where is everyone going? Does spending that much time in your car not defeat the purpose of having a car in the first place: so you can quickly cover short distances and save time?

Are they just going out for lunch? Where I live is really not the kind of place full of fancy restaurants catering to wealthy people having power lunches. Are they getting lunch from the supermarket? Is that not just a waste of time and (fuel) money, and not to mention bad for the environment?

Are they running errands? Well then, why choose the busy hours?

I suspect the car-loving, driving fananatics head out for a drive just to satisfy their craving. It is beyond me why travelling one metre at a time counts as satisfying.

And really, my only problem with this nonsense is that it causes so much pollution for nothing. I believe that the air pollution we cause as a species could be easily mitigated if people weren’t so lazy and selfish and didn’t drive when they shouldn’t. It seems like this won’t be so much of a problem anymore once electric cars become the norm. But we are far from achieving that goal.

I am sure some car lovers will say: ‘But modern cars have the engine cut off automatically when stationary.’ Yes, but most people don’t drive modern cars.

Another option that comes to mind is public transport. Unfortunately, the service really is bad in general. And here I can’t do anymore than point out the stalemate in the debate between users and providers: authorities don’t offer more service because people don’t use it; and people don’t use public transport because the service is bad. Also, because they’re posh.

If there’s a sidewalk, use it. Walking a mile will make you feel better.