TRUE BLUE
By Paul McLean
Source: Lefranc + Bourgeois
cerulean
blue-lit halo above his lapis lazuli dome, blue birds, western jays
nesting in hair dyed powder blue, listening to the blues, grooving
to Howlin’ Wolf and Johnny Winter “I’m a M-A-N!” dancing in bleu
robes of gallic franc royalty, crown of glittering gold + tavernier,
Virgin-powered, blue-blooded, 440—490 nanometre, face-painted
gorm ceilteach, targe in one hand, a claymore in the other
peering through American Windows in Chicago, I asked the artist
if he had a favorite blue hue, but there was no sound at all anymore.
pale blue eyes of the northern hunters, piercing the air like arrows,
gliding through the waves, blue gray dolphins dancing alongside
amongst the spouting breath of blue whales, yon smashing splashing
tail, listening rapt to the mourning, haunting Southside song
if Lennon’s round spectacles had blue lenses, not rose-colored ones
thinking of oceans & heavens, or the bottomless pool, porcelain glyphs, true
my boy, just old enough to string words into sentences, Lachlan
told us, before he came into his body, there, he was a blue orb
then arrived here on the liquid blue ball, like any child, wondering
Why is the sky Egyptian? Why not Savoyan or Argentinian? The blue
team prevails in the Civil War. Peacocks, periwinkles, sapphires.
Source: Lefranc + Bourgeois
ultramarine
blue, period. color keeps space between it or any name, without
question in the mind of the beholder, but which blue? Yves had his
Idea, not mine. On the job in LA, scooping with silver-plated spoon
leftovers, carefully transferred to clear plastic baggies, then applied
to canvas in Austin, asking her to come watch, while the paint was still
wet, so beautiful we wept, at the easel, her hand on my shoulder,
Radiohead on the CD player, soft in the perfect dusk Texas light.
She quit her job and became an artist
Inky Pthalo or Prussian blue. angels, zipping through the air. dappled
daubed, brushed, stroked, stained. it’s all in yer head Gorillaz sed.
covers up to his neck in the poochy futon bed, phone disconnected
he slips past the veil into dreaming, where everything tonight is azure.
superblue moon 2024, blue state convention, speaker on the floor.
signs of unrest, lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, mountains of ash,
civilization crumbles, no right to choose, the best always lose, police
form a blue line, kettling the crowd, clouds of gas and smoke, in neon.
Columbia blue, helmets, a party awash in cash, crashing, smashing
poets both romantic and suicidal, indulge blue reverie. the connection
is not coincidence. parallel fields of indigo and cornflower. my supply
comes in paste or gel. you hide yours between the sheets of a big
book, not on a screen, in a movie or film, where secrets disappear, only
to change, again, into nights, then dawn, as Time begins unraveling,
becoming clay, schools of fish, a heron, in harmony with tides, lovers.
neutral primary blue. rich and fulsome. rolled up & hugged to your breast,
a bruise, a teardrop, a glimpse of a moment long past, a tint of the skin,
unbreathing, unbound, a lost toy, never to be found, an idle fantasy,
or so she imagined, as she turned in the turquoise blue gown, glaring
at her blind mother in disgust, a shade in a shadow, whose tune
has no player, nor instrument, whose scent is rust, decay and dread,
the cage door ajar, a child calling to an empty house, yard and street,
no sax on the rooftop, not a care in the world, no meat and mutton
to eat, unframed & unfollowed, unfriended & ghosted, today’s NPC.
Source: Lefranc + Bourgeois
cobalt
blue chip. who doesnt love Pantone swatches, millions of colors
in Photoshop, web-ready blues? I know I do. the optics, the science,
chemistry, physics of blue. psychological preferences on the spectrum
of the visible. infinite blue. natural, never-the-same twice or ever. we
experience blue, the effect of blue, perceptual, sensual. designer,
artificial blues, the eliciting of emotion, quantified blue, the blues
of many names, belonging to place, people, to things. blue pills.
personal blue. you imagine the world all one, made of many blues.
it can never be so. maybe another planet, with a different history,
similar but not, subtly different memories, the tones off just a bit.
we dont inhabit a blue machine, a fabricator of blue content, dusky
or deep, enveloped by blue context, unfolding in its peculiar
frequencies, absent red, yellow influence, never quite black or
white, not bewildered or besmirched by greens, oranges or purple.
the gels in the cans above the stage for this performance are not
exclusively blue. the chorus sings tunes besides the blue ones.
cool blue, soothing, calm. harmonious blue. underwater breathing.
a guitar player, yes, but the melody is starry night. i have loved
Vincent’s blues, and also Miro’s. Rothko knew about blue. Blue
is not easy to paint, which is why YK blue is a good answer for
the 20th century. the logic of blue is itself, not anything else, a
thing of which every child is aware, every baby born who first
looks upon life’s reality with blue-tinted eyes, freshly minted,
heaven-sent, a gift, like water, like air, not crying yet, just here.
“Meta-Elements Objects Series (Blue)” Sym Pattern | 1200px x 1200px