BLUE, BLUE, WHY is it when I think of you I see, not fathomless sea or sky, but a policeman, barring the way of my imagination? Why is it, when I look at the blue flames of the peacock’s tail that I think, not of illumination, but of advertising, and not just of the flaming fruits, flowers and feathers of nature but of inane billboards and radio jingles? How is it that this most cosmic of colors is inflected with everyday drudgery, so much so that I want to call this chapter about iridescence – peacocks, paua shells and glowworms – the unfairly pedestrian “Cops and Commercials?”
Posted on: Thu, 31 Jul 2014 22:00:00 +0000
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