Lessons in Blue: A History of Colour, Art, and You

the first lesson in blue is of wisdom

- to know things by simply feeling them.

there was no word for blue in Ancient Greece

and yet none denied its existence, the pull of it

as dark and deep as wine,

striking and intimate as the shade of their lover's eyes.

you learn this first lesson when you are a child.

there's a name for this;

for the way your heart trips over itself thinking about a boy in the book you're reading

and the way it does the same thing when your classmate smiles at you,

the sunrise in the curl of her mouth.

there's a name for this part of you;

you won't learn it until you're older but

learning it is merely a formality,

a confirmation, a comfort.

because just as Odysseus encountered a universe in the sapphire folds of the ocean,

spent his days swallowed by a cerulean sky,

spent his nights sung to sleep by the waves' velvet blue lullaby

without ever giving a name to the colour that eclipsed him,

you need not know the words

to know that how you feel is something worthy

something good

something real.

the second lesson is of testimony

- to live your truth and let the world bear witness.

the Ancient Egyptians found a way to immortalize blue:

azurite and malachite and limestone

a deliberate reaction, a recipe for magic.

in paintings and sculptures and statues,

in life, fertility, rebirth,

the blue screamed its existence

to archeologists that would still marvel at it millennia later.

the second lesson comes to you as naturally as breathing:

an itch to speak, if only to say aloud what you've known for years

a desire to be heard, if only to your own ears

a longing to crystallize your feelings, leave your mark, immortalize this precious part of you.

and so you do;

you shout, promising yourself that

you're here

you're alive

that this is your experience, your truth, your love

yours, yours, yours and it's

untouchable.

the third lesson is of reverence

- to admire the parts of yourself they tell you to hate.

lapis lazuli paints brought the world to its knees

with only the most holy conquests:

colouring the veil of Mother Mary a royal ultramarine that sang to the heavens

and driving artists to bankruptcy in a spellbound pursuit.

the third lesson is born out of a silence so whole it's almost pious.

quiet spite

quiet reflection

quiet devotion.

they tell you you're confused but, oh,

this is a clarity that transcends the bile spilling out of their mouths.

they tell you you're going to hell but, oh,

something as gentle as this could never be a sin.

there's a feeling unfurling from deep in your chest

and it's ultramarine, holy, priceless:

you're proud of yourself.

you think you now understand

how this shade of blue made all the poets weep.

the final lesson is--

the final lesson. it's a big one, you know.

something worthy, something good, something real.

the final lesson is of community

- to love and let yourself be loved.

indigo dyes slid into the lives of people everywhere

letting them be tucked in at night by a piece of the sky

and be adorned in textiles the shade of wonder.

a blue that in return let itself be shared

and let itself be adored

and let itself be celebrated.

the final lesson is a gradual process,

fragile if you're not careful,

lifelong if you're lucky.

you're cautious, at first,

when you let all your pieces stitch themselves together,

let your love slide and steep into the foundation of your life,

let the love of others do the same,

but it's seamless and tender and

you smile because

it fits just right.

your life melds before your eyes into a symphony of blue

playing on the tendons of your heart

and the shades, the saturation, the gradients all feel orchestral

- can you hear it?

blue for wisdom

for testimony

for reverence

for community

for the lessons that raised you, healed you.

you let the blue flood into your life

and it

feels

like

release.