I had another art school dream. You know, that recurring one where I spend the entire dream struggling to get back to Berlin? The one where, for so many reasons, there’s no way I’m gonna make my flight and I never do. Well, guess what? I made it. I finally made it.
Only it’s not in Berlin, actually. Turns out London is where the art party’s at. I arrive at a big, softly-lit, loft space and join a bunch of old friends and new acquaintances. We lounge around on pillows. We talk and laugh and flirt. We celebrate our collective joy by toasting with blue wine. Well, only the women drink the blue wine, actually.
Oh, you haven’t heard of blue wine? Well I hadn’t either but my subconscious brought it up and it’s a real thing apparently. Created by a group of Spanish entrepreneurs in 2016, white grapes undergo a special maceration technique combining the grape juice with a plant-based pigment from red grapes called anthocyanin. And voilà!
This dreamed up scene is lighthearted and fun but don’t let that fool you. It is highly significant. This is next level. Somehow, subconsciously speaking, I’ve made it. I’ve arrived. For the first time, in my life, I’m no longer trying so hard to get there and repeatedly failing. Sacrebleu! Well, cheers to that!
Is there deeper symbolism to this blue wine? Have I become a sang bleu, joining the arty gang in London and finally achieved artistic aristocracy? Yes. Or am I drinking the vin bleu, perhaps, because I am a fleur bleue, a naive, sentimental and romantic person? Well, that too. A scarred fleur bleu, in fact, one who takes refuge in the company of women. Note that we are the only ones who drink it.
French post-impressionist painter Paul Gaugin once said: “Si vous voyez un arbre comme bleu, alors faites-le bleu.” “If you see a tree as blue, then make it blue.” Maybe I’ve simply arrived at the moment in my life when I’ll make things just as I see them. Cheers to leaving my old doubts behind.
