It will come as no surprise to learn that my favorite colour is blue. When I first started painting, I went through tube after tube of Ultramarine Blue for paintings like "Beach Finds" (copyright 2003):--
Before long, I learned that historically, Ultramarine Blue was compiled from the semi-precious stone lapis lazuli. Today, fine artist-grade "UB" is commonly derived from a chemical pigment blended with various media to produce all kinds (a plethora?) of artists' materials -- oil paints, watercolour, gouache, inks, pastels, acrylics. A small decade-old jar of liquid acrylic UB (not nearly as large as it looks here!) is still going strong for me -- and the UB pigment in a watercolour tube that dried out is still usable when diluted with water or acrylic medium.
In the early 1980s, Seattle's Daniel Smith Inks was my favourite art supply store (later, as Vancouver's Opus Framing expanded its line, I switched my allegiance). Just as magna-ficent Opus started modestly as a frame shop, the fabulous Dan Smith enterprise began as a small hand-manufacturer of fine-arts printing inks. Before long, Dan (yes, we all called him "Dan" in those days; he was that kind of guy) was making his own very wonderful fine-arts paints in various media -- and selling the original dry chemical pigment, too.
Not long after I connected with Dan, he became one of the first paint makers to offer Ultramarine Blue watercolour paint made from actual lapis lazuli. Of course, I had to have some -- even at the princely price of $18 (1980s dollars) for a 15 ml tube, compared to maybe $3 then for the chemical pigment variety.
I was always thrilled with the arrival of a Dan Smith mail-order catalog -- and better yet, my packaged order -- but this time I was rather disappointed that the blue tended toward grey (shown below, right) rather than the deep heavenly blue I love. It was then that I realized that lapis, like many other precious stones -- jade, garnet, opal, even the Certified Organic amber, -- comes in a whole range of tones and degrees of opacity.
But no matter. I now had not only my authentic though blue-grey lapis lazuli watercolour, but more lasting, my own small chunk of lapis in just the right blue shade. Having learned lapis lore with me, JT wanted to give me a ring. My birthday was coming around, and he surprised me with the gift of a loose stone -- the perfect colour, the perfect size, and the perfect cabochon cut (a domed oval), just as I'd described my wishes. At Vancouver's Circle Craft Co-op, we found a silversmith who took it from there, creating my vision of the perfect ring: The simplest setting with a medium-wide band fitted for my middle right finger.
I wore this ring virtually every day for probably 20 years -- until it would no longer fit over what had become a knobby arthritic knuckle. I've missed wearing it and as my 70th birthday approached, I thought..."Well, why not!? I could have it re-sized." We were cautioned there was a small risk the stone could crack when the silver was heated, but my magic ring -- my special 70th birthday present -- came through perfectly. I'm happily wearing it again on its customary finger, knobby knuckle or not.
Now you've read the lapis lazuli story. And you've read the birthday ring story. And this has been a rather long post. But from the blue realm of memory, there's another story of an odd adventure involving my special ring. Read on, if you're interested in Paris (the blue in my t-shirt is no surprise) and synchronicities...
The year was 1991 when JT and I made our third trip to France. We'd decided I would claim all my vacation allowance at once, and we would spend the full month living on the cheap in Paris, moving each week from one neighbourhood to another. That trip was the first time we'd seen neo-Nazi skinheads, and they were a scary bunch hanging around Metro (hey! what happened to my French accent marks?) stations with their shaved tattooed heads, scars, kick-'em-while-they're-down boots, tattered jeans and studded leather.
One day, we took the suburban train to Monet's Giverny. We'd barely settled in our seats when along came a guy in studded leather, big boots, bandolier across his chest. He sat down across from me in the double seat that faced us and began looking harmlessly out the window. The train started, and it was then that I saw that on the middle finger of his right hand, he wore......a ring identical to mine. I realize, of course, that there's nothing unique about mine -- the classic lapis colour, the classic cabochon cut, the simple classic setting. But when I say "identical", I mean just that -- the stones were perfect matches in colour and size; the style and dimensions of the silverwork were exactly the same.They could have been made on the same day by the same silversmith.
I can't account for my feelings, but I was somewhat afraid. What would this skinhead think and do if he realized "his" ring was duplicated on the hand of a middle-aged female tourist? I kept absolutely still, not even moving my hand from where it rested on my knee, hoping that he wouldn't turn from the window and notice. And as I sat silently watching him, I saw that this young man was a skinhead only in the World of Let's Pretend. He had beautiful, sensitive Arabic features, and his tough-guy get-up was just too new and shiny. He was still a boy, really, taking courage from wearing the "right" clothes.
This interlude couldn't have lasted more than five minutes when, ever sensitive to atmospheres, JT asked me, "What's wrong?" "Um, nothing," I said. But he had taken it all in -- the boy, the ring -- and said quietly, "La meme chose!" ("The same thing.") At this, the sensitive young man turned from the window, looked down and saw my ring, looked us each directly in the eye, then turned again to look out the window. The train reached its next stop, and the young man left us.
Now, so many years later. What has become of the characters in this mini-drama? Two different rings, two different life stories...stories from out of the blue.
