Blue 1
I have come to the beach again. In February it was plague blue and there were onions. I had the feeling that the world was telling me something.
I know that's a dangerous delusion.
Last night I walked up the hill and on Cain's Folly, in the sweat of the evening, a peregrine flashed over me, turned and cut its way to a standstill in the strong breeze over my head. It was an ice-skater, a sky-skier, a knife in butter icing, the swirl of a more.than.competent paintbrush. It stood over me, barred and hooked, instantly reminding me of some hooded saracen. Then it was a hillside away and then it was gone.
Two returned, glinting, tinselled, then they were dots and gone. They burnt no aviation fuel and required no teams to land them. They were telling me something.
I know that's a dangerous delusion.
Anyway, I have come to the beach and I have brought a blue cloth. I want to see what happens.
I know that's a dangerous delusion.
Last night I walked up the hill and on Cain's Folly, in the sweat of the evening, a peregrine flashed over me, turned and cut its way to a standstill in the strong breeze over my head. It was an ice-skater, a sky-skier, a knife in butter icing, the swirl of a more.than.competent paintbrush. It stood over me, barred and hooked, instantly reminding me of some hooded saracen. Then it was a hillside away and then it was gone.
Two returned, glinting, tinselled, then they were dots and gone. They burnt no aviation fuel and required no teams to land them. They were telling me something.
I know that's a dangerous delusion.
Anyway, I have come to the beach and I have brought a blue cloth. I want to see what happens.
Blue 2
It's fairly easy to tie the cloth to a dead tree. There is no end of dead trees. As they slide into the sea they seem to lose control of themselves and die. I imagine their roots are torn, soaked, parched, frosted, drowned again... until they give up.
The cloth looked vivid in the hall. Here it's a little lost. Something and nothing. You'd hardly notice it except that it's fluttering against the backdrop of a war zone. This is blue.on.havoc.
And, of course, there's a blue sky but that doesn't count somehow.
The cloth looked vivid in the hall. Here it's a little lost. Something and nothing. You'd hardly notice it except that it's fluttering against the backdrop of a war zone. This is blue.on.havoc.
And, of course, there's a blue sky but that doesn't count somehow.
Blue 3
Keeping the same perspective, I can manipulate my own perception. This is based on Sandra's suggestion. She says, 'change the perspective to change the perception'. Change the looking (spicio) to change the taking (capio). Changing the angle is one thing, but I can also just blur. Maybe this is how peregrines look, switching from sky to prey, smear of field to crack of torn spine, blood of muscle, rip of tendon, eruption of brain and gut.
Blue 3
Nearer, it's stronger. There is something about strength and impact. The success of the image seems to depend on its impact. It's related to 'special'. This must be no ordinary, dull cloth. This must startle. Conjure. Compose. Flash. Distill.
What does this blue say? Lawrence of Arabia's eyes? Some acid clarity. An imposition on a vandalised landscape. This ruin of dead trees could be any wasted rainforest waiting for coffee or peanut butter to grow.
There is a sort of deadly beauty.
What does this blue say? Lawrence of Arabia's eyes? Some acid clarity. An imposition on a vandalised landscape. This ruin of dead trees could be any wasted rainforest waiting for coffee or peanut butter to grow.
There is a sort of deadly beauty.
Even the sky seems ominous. What used to feel like a sheer blessing - blue skies - now feels far less reliable. In part it's the blue of climate frenzy but it's also the blue of equanimity. The blue of indifferent. It's a reminder that our blue planet is neutral; indifferent to its inhabitants; as unconcerned by the extinction of dinosaurs as it is by the extinction of present lives.
Blue 4
Perhaps the shadow cast by the pale blue cloth is a clue to something? Sky.blue casts no shadow, of course. Because sky.blue is behind the sun, while clouds pass in front of it. No, that can't be right. Surely sky.blue casts no shadow because sky.blue is nothing. Sky.blue is the absence of anything to block the passage of the sun's light. Whereas my.blue hangs locally, making an interruption between sun and earth, forcing the shadow. My.blue is ego.laden where sky.blue is ego.free. My.blue inhabits our everyday twoness world (as Jules has it); whereas sky.blue quite simply is oneness world (as Jules also has it). And the idea of barrenness and desolation, the idea of havoc - these ideas belong down here on the earth, under the unrelenting and remorseless eye of blue. So my.blue.on.havoc is a shadowed creation that sits beneath the broad sweep of god's cold blue... a cold.blue shorn of her anticipated compassion. |
Blue 5
As ever, I am drawn to perching, balancing and precarity. And it seems that a combination of tiny precision and a careful angling of the lens of perspective can create more impression with four wee pebbles than a bath of vivid cloth.
Who can say that these aren't Stonehenge? That they can or will not propitiate that blue deity?
Who can say that these aren't Stonehenge? That they can or will not propitiate that blue deity?
Particularly when they are placed against sky.blue. Set against sky.blue. I think it's pure set design. Interior decoration on a beach.
Who would say they're not a match for Golden Cap?
If I am pebble on pebble, is this how I inflate myself to the importance of Golden Cap or planet? And if I am Golden Cap, is this how I am reduced by the merest gesture?
Who would say they're not a match for Golden Cap?
If I am pebble on pebble, is this how I inflate myself to the importance of Golden Cap or planet? And if I am Golden Cap, is this how I am reduced by the merest gesture?
Blue 6
In any case, I seem determined to be creator today. Wanting to stand something up in defiance? In submission? In response? In acknowledgement?
Raising the barren trees to stand one more time on dead legs. Under that sky.
Raising the barren trees to stand one more time on dead legs. Under that sky.
Wanting to decorate the dying and the dead, wanting to decorate the skeleton trees with my cap, wanting to decorate the beach, to bring it somehow to life with this my.dead.blue.
Blue 7
So I am nearly there already. Not so much is needed. A pyramid of recovered tree.bodies, found dead on arrival. A dark blue cap. A my.blue cloth. A sea. A sky.
But something is missing. It's too dead. I want some stricken liveness, litheness for it. Perhaps the cloth needs to fly more. Like this? Up against the sea?
But something is missing. It's too dead. I want some stricken liveness, litheness for it. Perhaps the cloth needs to fly more. Like this? Up against the sea?
...or more, like this, clear of the beach?
...or more, straining, waiting, higher?
...it's the exhilaration of almost.flying achieved by wind and a change of perspective. Just a question of waiting.
There. Everything encapsulated in a moment...
There. Everything encapsulated in a moment...
...blue.on.havoc aloft.