It is that hour between night and morning, when the fabric of the house creaks and there is the just discernible sweet sound, that is not that of the fat swooping, pooping pigeons our well-meaning neighbour loves to feed. It is the hour when, if I am slumbering, I surf my thoughts.
Blue Mythologies, Carol Mavor’s voyage through the world of blue, is seeping into my very being. It is not the first. There was Chroma and Seven Days in the Art World, there was The Poetics of Spaces and Tim Ingold’s Lines, where a glimpse of what lay beyond was just visible, but this time I can actually see the stage and the players, and I am being beckoned through the curtain. Come here the water is warm…..
Blue Mythologies finishes with a quote from Colette, ‘Blue, spontaneous and fragile..’, which Mavor fails to reference, and a quick scan of her famous quotes, does not acknowledge, but ‘At sixty-three years of age, less a quarter, one still has plans. (Sidonie Gabrielle Colette)’, did catch my eye. I feel I have come full circle. My academic world began with Claudine a L’Ecole, many moons ago. I struggled with the text in English, the French was beyond me, and here I am back where I started. I order the book, (in English, I have enough challenges). Maybe this time I am ready.
But ready for what? I hear Mavor’s words, as if the dulcet tones of Eddie Mair on PM are screamed loud. I see the words WRIT LARGE. The world through the looking glass is spinning. References, informed by the loss of the age of innocence, where everything just is. Nothing is as it seems, as it is, as it was. This is the world of sensory overload. I hesitate. Will I be able to get back?