Elizabeth Obermeyer

Back in August, I learned about a retreat for emerging artists (writers, musicians, visual artists) called SoundBites being offered through the Art Gallery of Hamilton. The entire concept was extremely appealing to me, because it included two of the things I am most passionate about: storytelling, and food. When you’re 57-years old, the emerging artist handle is a tricky one but there was no age limit that I could see, other than the restriction that you needed to be at least 18 (nailed that) and so I sent in my application.  

I was thrilled to get an email a week later saying I’d been selected to attend the retreat along with twenty-five or so other writers, and it was honestly one of the most beautifully rewarding days of community building and storytelling, and yes, food.

The SoundBites retreats were just one part of the AGH’s art + music + food Festival featuring musician, artist and chef Roger Mooking and built around his current interactive AGH exhibit (running through January in the Fischer Gallery, it’s amazing, go see it!) And truly. Art AND music AND food? This is a theme that speaks directly to me.

I have long touted my fascination with food and family and love and how recipes and dinners together are some of the most uplifting experiences because food and stories and storytelling go hand in hand. Think of the recipes you know and love and think of where they came from. There is always a story behind them. 

Think of the way people’s faces light up when they talk about their grandma’s cabbage rolls or how their uncle made the best spaghetti sauce. I love to watch friends make dinner where the recipe they’re using is a newspaper clipping from decades ago that they keep tucked into another cookbook and even though it’s worn and stained and fragile they won’t part with it because to type the ingredients and the process into their phone notes just wouldn’t be the same, somehow. I love how cookbooks become atlases, how their splattered pages trace the history of the dozens of times that particular soup or stew or pasta dish has been made. I love the marginalia in cookbooks, too and I pore over the notations, the exclamation points, what is crossed out and what is added. And I love, too, the way people can be so generous and open with their recipes. Whether they were handed down for generations or they were saved on the NYT Cooking App last week, there is always a story and these are stories I want to know about. I want to know people through the food they create.

I love that the AGH recognized this connection and partnered with Mooking for his extremely cool, interactive exhibit and together came up with this incredible retreat at the stunning Rocklands Market in order to build on that theme. 

We were treated to a delicious lunch on arrival, followed by two sessions courtesy of two extremely generous professionals: Alan Magee, longtime Canadian tv and film writer who led an inspiring session on effective storytelling, and Sue Kuruvilla, tour de force publisher at Penguin Random House, who walked us through the power and potential of developing our own literary brand. Both professionals recognized that there is power in a story, whether it’s the one you are creating out of thin air, or the one that encapsulates you and your own artistic vision. I cannot stress enough how deeply inspiring these two speakers were, and their words still resonate with me weeks later. 

Our final session of the day was an interactive culinary demonstration which invited audience participation in creating a meal together. Chef Mooking chopped and prepped and explained and gave tip after tip, told story after story, and we all gathered around the kitchen island listening to stories about working in kitchens, about the history of the ingredients he was using, and so many other tidbits about knife technique and how you can store hot peppers in the freezer until you need them and it truly felt, at the end, like we all had shared something very special. Because we had.

There is a reason we celebrate milestones and events with food, just as there is a reason we deliver food to the grieving or the overwhelmed. Cooking is an expression of love. Telling stories is an expression of love. The combination of both can sometimes be the best medicine I know. When words fail, when emotions are too powerful or a day has been too tough, a hot bowl of soup, a plate of macaroni and cheese, or a pile of your favourite chocolate chip cookies placed in front of you can be enough to let you know you’re loved, and to help you see that things are going to work out.

The retreat experience was a wonderful opportunity and I am so grateful to the AGH for putting it together and for including me, and grateful for the other attendees who were so open and generous with their stories and their experiences. I met some fabulous local poets and writers (some of whom are maybe reading this post, hi!) and made wonderful connections. I have spent the past few weeks processing everything from that day—there was a lot to take in! These weeks since have also been a time of rejuvenation for my writing, for my blog, for the way I think about my own art and the way I think about myself as an artist. It’s amazing what eight hours of immersion in an artistic community can do. Add to that the consumption and creation of delicious, nourishing food, and you’ve got the recipe for a perfect, perfect day.