Though summer doesn't truly start until the solstice, on or about the 22nd of December this year, in modern, rational Australia, it began on the 1st of this month. Unwilling as I am to surf the wave of expediency, it is, nonetheless, getting perspiringly hot here, in this southern corner of our known world...
Above, "Charles Rothschild in 1907 outside his father-in-law's house at Csetelek, Hungary."
Blue has come to designate melancholy, unrequited longing. This, despite its obvious allegiance to truth and clarity. No colour can be perfect. Does its detached, sky-reaching purity cultivate in the apprehension of those who apprehend it, a feeling of isolation? Down here, the heat radiates across the skin of us standing in it like a dream. It is a sort of purification. Can I stand on my hillside alone?
What is wrong then, with an unavoidable feeling of apart-ness? What is wrong is the ache of high summer, when the globe of the world, heated to extremity, arches high into the sky, leaving us as vestiges of ourselves.
Some years ago ( in 1997 ), I wrote off to Harley Books in Colchester, England, for a copy of this, a record of the nature reserves established, sponsored and supported by the Rothschilds. No little thing, this document of all they have done. "Rothschild's Reserves - Time and Fragile Nature" is a record of diligent responsibility, from a family who didn't have to have such diligence and responsibility, but did.
I was intending to posit myself as some sort of Blue Boy, but Gainsborough does it much better. He, the Blue Boy, is wearing his blue, the colour that once confessed, becomes invisible. I am becoming invisible myself, this summer, surreally.
Oh, yikes, is it Monet? No, it is "an old brickpit and reedbeds at Wicken Fen," one of the many blue-green spaces the Rothschilds saved. Perhaps the very humility of the space makes it more worth saving than a major work of art, being a major work of art itself. There's a glassy mirror there, but I can never drown, for it is forever summer and I am forever of a blueness:
or of a mauveness. The jacaranda outside my back door has come to life. Blue is suspected of being the colour of a languid or piercing sadness. Perhaps there's some truth in that assertion; sadness is a necessary part of life, without which we'd all be grinning riotously, all the time. But it's also the colour of hope, the one quality left after Pandora, it is claimed, had loosed upon the world every imaginable agony.
Blue is one of my very favorite colors; I don't think of sadness at all. There are so many beautiful blues in the world. Melancholia shouldn't be allowed to stake claim to such a beautiful hue.
ReplyDeleteBonnie, absolutely. What made me even think of it - I am not feeling "blue" myself - was the term "the blues," especially in relation to music. I don't quite get why sadness, expressed through song, should be tagged with a colour otherwise known for its encouraging peacefulness. Someone must know. The sky, the blue sky, is immense down here, but Australia is not normally thought of as an unhappy country. The blueness is actually liberating.
Deletethat's the second time I have bumped into Miriam Rothschild today.
ReplyDeleteDiana, I wonder where else you've bumped into Miriam Rothschild. I have enormous respect for her, for her work. She could have lived a life of utter irresponsibilty, but chose quite the opposite.
DeleteOf course the Rothschilds represent a wealth beyond normal human striving, but so many of them have been responsible, caring, intelligent, generous. These qualities seem to be their hallmark.
Beautiful blues, eloquently put. Lovely post. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteCarol, thankyou. The post was planned, initially, to highlight blue colours in my garden, but being the inept photographer I am, so many of the photos turned out badly, so I had to twist the angle. I've long been wanting to tell someone about this book, and really should have done a better-researched post. But thankyou for saying what you have.
DeleteLovely post.
ReplyDeleteThankyou Matthew. It took alot of engineering!
DeleteMaybe it's blue because of the colour of the sky & its clouds. Like the sky, nothing is constant, so even if we're feeling blue, the feeling won't last, so being blue is not a bad thing because there is always hope. Blue & its brother black are beautiful colours but they can't exist alone.
ReplyDeleteNgeun, you're right, the colour blue changes, as does the colour black. As do we all!
DeleteBlack is actually more positive a colour than people suppose...it represents acceptance and humility.
Besides, a bit of feeling blue is natural to me, not odd.
Old memories. I grew up with Blue Boy in a small oval frame in my parent's bedroom. An early window onto the world beyond my limited childhood place.
ReplyDeleteJames, we're lucky our forebears looked to art for a sense of peace in their lives. Is art so important now? ( I doubt it. Art is now a commodity. )
DeleteI too knew a limited childhood, but in a sense, every child knows limitation. It's what kicks you into finding a better reality.
I hope you'll post, one day, about where you've come from.
I relate sky blue to a sense of freedom. However, I can see the very dark blues as representing melancholy and heaviness.
ReplyDeleteIt is nice to hear of your heat while sitting here in the middle of America where it is presently 18 degrees F.
Rubye, hi. That's getting a bit cold, your 18 degrees F. You probably know we burn down here, in summer.
DeleteFreedom is what matters, and I'm glad to hear from you. The whole world, doesn't it, needs to be much freer?
Nice pictures.
ReplyDeleteThankyou Bob. It's a subjective post. The next will be, I'm intending, something more objective...if I can manage it.
ReplyDelete