I had a post all ready to go about the treasures of coming home… but alas I’m having issues with scanning the sketches into a format that I can upload.
I’ll try to sort them out, but for now here’s a short little entry:
They evoke different things for different people. For some it’s a hot and lazy summer day, when your clothing sticks to you in weird and unusual ways. For others it may be a brisk autumn day, the foliage of the trees shouting in beautiful contrast against the heavens. Or maybe to you it’s a wonderful spring afternoon, the sun shining, showering the earth with its unconditional love and life-giving light. Possibly even it may be a starkly cold winter morning, quiet and peaceful, snow blanketing the world in a shroud of coolness, hiding the harsh straight lines of our civilisation with the soft contours of unyielding nature.
To me “blue skies” always brings out one memory.
Madrid. The summer of 2003 (I think).
Brilliant blue, stretched from horizon to horizon. Unmarred by the white solemnity of clouds, or even the ugly haze of pollution. This was the sky our homo erectus ancestors must’ve seen.
Now, you might shrug and say to yourself “I can see that any time I look out the window… what’s so special about it?”
I’ll tell you something.
Not all skies are equal.
Well okay, I’m not too sure about everywhere else, but here in Australia, looking up really is different.
While we may have brilliant blue skies overhead, the blue lightens progressively as you reach the horizon. So while overhead, it could be a brilliant azure, near the horizon it’s almost white with only a faint echo of the blue it once was.
I have no idea what causes this, and if some sciencey girl or guy has any idea, please feel free to provide an explanation. (I’ve already discounted light pollution as this happens during the daytime and I’ve noticed the effect even from 2 hours drive away from any major city centres).
Or maybe I’m just remembering it wrong.
Maybe Madrid has the same skies as Canberra. Maybe Canberra skies look exactly like the skies over Toronto or London or Beijing.
I’d like to think I didn’t just imagine it though.
I’d like to think that there are these special places in the world, that you have to go and see. Maybe it’s not the sky that’s different. Maybe the water is wondrously, blindingly clear. Maybe the animals are decidedly unafraid. Maybe the roses are as big as your head. Whatever. And these places are so special that no amount of flowery words and purple prose should ever give you the feeling that you’ve been there yourself, they should make you want to go to visit them and experience them in your own way, nothing more.
And these special places exist for the sole reason that, once you discover them, they colour every other moment in your life. They change how you view the world. They change your reality.
That memory of that summer in Madrid, staring up at the blindingly blue firmament, wondering why and how that beautiful tint could possibly exist, changed me. I’m always looking up on clear days, trying to catch a glimpse of that hue, just one more time.
Trying to find that perfection of colour.
Trying to find a shade too beautiful for simple words to give it justice.
Trying to find, those brilliant blue skies.