On Sourdough and Simplicity - and what that means for art and life.

I baked a loaf of sourdough bread today.

It’s not my first attempt at sourdough. In 2020, during the pandemic…well, who *wasn’t* experimenting with gnarly dough creatures either exploding all over their countertops or being sadly neglected in the backs of their refrigerators?

I had a habit of baking all the bread my little family ate in those days, and I had a close eye on the major supply shortages: milk, toilet paper, flour, and yeast. I had all these dreams of being able to bake perfect, crusty, tangy loaves, for myself, without needing to rely on somebody else. And I was determined to continue to keep my family fed.

I don’t know if you’ve ever wandered into the sourdough section of the internet, but it’s a deep, flour-dusted rabbit hole. Hydration levels, levains, wild starters, cold proofing—people were measuring their dough like scientists. It was overwhelming.

I thought I needed to feed that sucker daily, and discard half of it every time, which seemed like a tremendous waste of that precious flour, and then I started to forget….and my poor sourdough starter grew a layer of improbably edible grey yuck and eventually I gave up on the whole project.

On a whim this week, I decided to start again. I decided to consult the internet on the simplest possible way to do it, and then I made a small, simple starter and gave it a small dose of instant yeast to kickstart a culture of something desirable rather than questionably moldy and possibly dangerous.

You know what? It did just fine. More than fine, actually: it was rising predictably enough by day 4 that I decided to risk actually making a loaf of bread with my second round of discard rather than pitching it in the bin.

Real sourdough bakers would be horrified, I’m sure. “BUT IT’S NOT SAFE UNTIL AT LEAST DAY 13.726,” I can almost hear them shouting.

I looked at it. It had more than doubled between feedings. I sniffed it. Smelled fine - pleasant, in fact.

I didn’t weigh my ingredients. I didn’t worry about cold proofing. I substituted the starter for the appropriate amount of flour and water in my favorite recipe and tossed it into the bread machine on the sourdough cycle.

I will admit that I hovered. I was still worried that it wouldn’t rise enough - sourdough is SO FINICKY, you guys - and I interrupted the cycle to proof it a little longer. Not by much, though.

I am typing this from a coffee shop because I had to actually flee my house to stop myself from eating it all.

While it’s not the prettiest loaf of bread I’ve ever baked, it’s probably the most delicious: light, fluffy, with a mildly sweet crumb, a pleasantly crisp crust, and a tangy aftertaste. It’s the stuff that dreams are made of: nearly a modern-day manna, heaven on earth.

And it was simple.

So what’s my point?

We tend to overcomplicate things, don’t we? Do we really think that pioneers in covered wagons brought their state of the art kitchen scales with them on their long journeys? Or did they mix it by hand, by eye, by smell, and accept the outcome?

For me, it’s art. When I paint, I can overthink every decision—does this piece need more? Less? Did I take a shortcut? Would a 'real' artist approve? But the truth is, the most stunning paintings aren’t the ones that followed every rule. They’re the ones where I let go of perfection and trusted what felt right.

Or it might be business. Maybe I need a perfectly organized marketing schedule that has a detailed plan for every day for the next six months. Maybe I need a professional photographer to come take my pictures for me. Maybe I need to hire a lawyer, an accountant, a social media strategist, a publicist….oh wait, what’s the budget again?

Or maybe parenting. Was I gentle enough? Did I set enough limits? Did we have enough fun, but also did they eat enough vegetables, but what about their school work, and what about exercise, and screen time, and maybe I’m actually the best mom on the planet, or the worst, depending on the day.

I don’t know exactly what it is for you, but I’d be willing to bet you do it too on the things that matter to you. And my friend, it doesn’t need to be so hard.

Here’s what I know, since you’re here on an artist website and looking at art: art doesn’t need to be so complicated. Nor does the design of your home. If you look at a piece of art that stops you, that moves you, that you just like….then that one is yours. Simple enough. It doesn’t have to match the couch pillows precisely, although even that is easier than it sounds sometimes in the wild west of the internet, where everyone is selling you something.

Admittedly, I’m selling you something too: I have beautiful paintings that move me, and I’m excited to share them with you. If you like them, if they speak to you, then that’s enough. And I’m happy to send them along!  It doesn’t have to be so hard.

And your whole life is like that, too, by the way. Don’t let all the gatekeepers of all the different communities and professions and hobbies tell you otherwise.

That’s enough from me for today. I’m going to finish my coffee, close my laptop, and let the day be simple. And later tonight, I’ll have another slice of sourdough—imperfect, effortless, exactly enough.

Just like art. Just like life.

~Tara