Tuesday, March 4, 2008

On Seeing Blue - Claudia F. Manz

Dearest Ana,

I loved doing this! The panel just kind of sat on my writing desk for about 2-3 weeks. I'd look at it each morning and during my meditation I'd think "what do you want to be?" Right when I was moving out of my house in May, I broke a jar that was given to me by a dear family friend. I used to keep various bathroom things in it. The jar was from my friend's trip to somewhere far north: Norway or Sweden, I can't remember. The blue was the color of the coldest ice. In the mornings when I would remove the lid I could almost feel ice caving into the sea.

When I broke it only a few pieces remained and I took one to keep on my writing desk to remind me that even the endings of things can be luminous.

I'm sending you two pictures, use whichever you like better. The only difference between them is the placement of the blue shard. I've been reading various books about water and color and various places in the world where colors are especially vibrant. I read this amazing book called The Island of the Colorblind where, apparently, nearly all the inhabitants have a certain kind of congenital color blindness that allows them to only see variations in tones, textures and brightness, kind of a heightened sensation of "gray." And, yet, they live in a place in Micronesia where everything is bursting into blue and green. Apparently they often night-fish because light causes them pain. I can't stop thinking about this and how it relates to my mother, a painter for 40 years, who only has a sliver of her vision left. About 15 degrees worth in one eye. Do we crave more if we are more keenly aware of what we might lose?

These are the things that keep me up at night. The thought of not seeing color makes me want to be outside constantly. Or, perhaps, it is the call of spring. Today I saw my first purple crocus.

With love,


ScryptKeeper said...

wow. claudia. for a few moments there, you were my breath. in fact. in this moment now, you are my breath. thank you. ahh.

Senalka said...

Ok, Claudia, whoever you are. Your letter, along with this tile, has made me fall in love with you. My tummy is fluttering, my head is pillowy, my heart is growing within my chest. This, Pënz, is my formal declaration: