Tucker Roudes
Love And Tahini - P005
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Paper: This image is printed on heavyweight museum-grade archival Hahnemühle Cotton rag photo paper with archival pigment inks.
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Mat: The image has an option of a 2-4" white mat depending on image size. If you prefer a different mat for framing please contact the shop for a custom order.
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Framing: Frames are exquisitely handmade of fine hardwoods and are works of art in themselves. Depending on the frame size, they have a 1/2" - 3/4" face and 1 1/4" - 2 1/4" frame depth. There are four finish options: Solid White, Solid Black, Natural or Walnut). Pieces are framed with museum grade 99% UV Plexi and framed in a style where the print is set to the back of the frame with a spacer between the print and the plexi.
***Please note - If you will be hanging your art in a space with a lot of light and reflection, we recommend you upgrade the plexi to Optium Museum Acrylic anit-reflective. Please contact the shop for a custom order.
•
Shipping: Prints ship within 7 days. (Due to Covid ship times have lengthened, please allow extra time for delivery due to this unprecedented moment.) Framed pieces require a lead time of 2 weeks.
Note: Framed prints are only available for delivery to the USA. International shipping is available for unframed prints.
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The Story: Love And Tahini. By The Carton Tahini is more than a cooking ingredient – it’s a measure of love. Food teeters beyond the culinary sum of its parts to act as a vehicle for human experience. Until about a year ago, if you asked me to think about tahini, one childhood memory stood out: the day my parents gave me a spoonful of tahini to facilitate vomiting after I had consumed gone-off labneh*. Not pretty. But the years turned our sour relationship sweet and today, toasted sesame paste evokes a different feeling. Not only because I have acquired the taste and use it regularly to dress salads and sandwiches, but I now measure love in spoonfuls of tahini. It started with a pivotal fight about how to prepare ful*, an everyday dish of fava beans and chickpeas. “No, no, no, what are you doing?” "What do you mean?" "What are you doing with the tahini?" "I'm adding it to the ful" "Tahini is heavy – it’ll completely obliterate the beautiful tones of garlic and lemon" "I'll just put a little bit" "Please don’t” “Fine” Since I moved in with my girlfriend last year, we’ve locked horns over many matters, including: the proper way to serve ful. She is Palestinian and adamant on serving ful with a spoonful or two of tahini. I want my ful the Lebanese way – and only way I know – garnished with onions, parsley and olive oil. We squabbled about this so much that the only civilised resolution seems to be dividing the dish into two bowls. Now. tahini is our weapon in soft power and the breakfast table is our battleground / Just try it this time..." "Just one bite" The dispute heightens of course when we have guests and now our friends diplomatically choose to only come around for dinner. These light spats touch on something profound. Why is it so important to me that we like the same version of ful? What am afraid of? Part of me of course, is genuinely afraid that she is missing out on the best - and only - way to enjoy ful. But another part of me is afraid of something else. I’m afraid that difference makes us inherently different. I’m afraid because our contradictions don’t stop at tahini. Difference is something we have in spades is our relationship. Despite being both Arab, bushy and as stubborn as they come, we might as well have evolved from different species. She’s extroverted, commands attention and is going to change the world in a remarkable way. I’m introverted, usually happiest with a small group of friends and probably the biggest change I will achieve will involve some sort of internal transformation. I like to cook to the book; she improvises – we contradict each other constantly. Yet, it works. We are sickly in love. A magical magnetism surrounds us. It glues us together. Harmony in contradiction. Why can this relationship work despite the fact that we can’t agree on something as simple as how to serve ful? Because I love that she wants her ful with spoonfuls of tahini. Because we can co-exist. Because it doesn’t have to be one or the other – as long as we have two bowls at the ready.
•
Mat: The image has an option of a 2-4" white mat depending on image size. If you prefer a different mat for framing please contact the shop for a custom order.
•
Framing: Frames are exquisitely handmade of fine hardwoods and are works of art in themselves. Depending on the frame size, they have a 1/2" - 3/4" face and 1 1/4" - 2 1/4" frame depth. There are four finish options: Solid White, Solid Black, Natural or Walnut). Pieces are framed with museum grade 99% UV Plexi and framed in a style where the print is set to the back of the frame with a spacer between the print and the plexi.
***Please note - If you will be hanging your art in a space with a lot of light and reflection, we recommend you upgrade the plexi to Optium Museum Acrylic anit-reflective. Please contact the shop for a custom order.
•
Shipping: Prints ship within 7 days. (Due to Covid ship times have lengthened, please allow extra time for delivery due to this unprecedented moment.) Framed pieces require a lead time of 2 weeks.
Note: Framed prints are only available for delivery to the USA. International shipping is available for unframed prints.
•
The Story: Love And Tahini. By The Carton Tahini is more than a cooking ingredient – it’s a measure of love. Food teeters beyond the culinary sum of its parts to act as a vehicle for human experience. Until about a year ago, if you asked me to think about tahini, one childhood memory stood out: the day my parents gave me a spoonful of tahini to facilitate vomiting after I had consumed gone-off labneh*. Not pretty. But the years turned our sour relationship sweet and today, toasted sesame paste evokes a different feeling. Not only because I have acquired the taste and use it regularly to dress salads and sandwiches, but I now measure love in spoonfuls of tahini. It started with a pivotal fight about how to prepare ful*, an everyday dish of fava beans and chickpeas. “No, no, no, what are you doing?” "What do you mean?" "What are you doing with the tahini?" "I'm adding it to the ful" "Tahini is heavy – it’ll completely obliterate the beautiful tones of garlic and lemon" "I'll just put a little bit" "Please don’t” “Fine” Since I moved in with my girlfriend last year, we’ve locked horns over many matters, including: the proper way to serve ful. She is Palestinian and adamant on serving ful with a spoonful or two of tahini. I want my ful the Lebanese way – and only way I know – garnished with onions, parsley and olive oil. We squabbled about this so much that the only civilised resolution seems to be dividing the dish into two bowls. Now. tahini is our weapon in soft power and the breakfast table is our battleground / Just try it this time..." "Just one bite" The dispute heightens of course when we have guests and now our friends diplomatically choose to only come around for dinner. These light spats touch on something profound. Why is it so important to me that we like the same version of ful? What am afraid of? Part of me of course, is genuinely afraid that she is missing out on the best - and only - way to enjoy ful. But another part of me is afraid of something else. I’m afraid that difference makes us inherently different. I’m afraid because our contradictions don’t stop at tahini. Difference is something we have in spades is our relationship. Despite being both Arab, bushy and as stubborn as they come, we might as well have evolved from different species. She’s extroverted, commands attention and is going to change the world in a remarkable way. I’m introverted, usually happiest with a small group of friends and probably the biggest change I will achieve will involve some sort of internal transformation. I like to cook to the book; she improvises – we contradict each other constantly. Yet, it works. We are sickly in love. A magical magnetism surrounds us. It glues us together. Harmony in contradiction. Why can this relationship work despite the fact that we can’t agree on something as simple as how to serve ful? Because I love that she wants her ful with spoonfuls of tahini. Because we can co-exist. Because it doesn’t have to be one or the other – as long as we have two bowls at the ready.
