A fabulous article! The blue of lapis lazuli is one of my favorite colors in art. The way different civilizational spheres place a differing, sometimes opposing value upon different substances is always fascinating as well. An extreme example of that is the Spanish deeply cherishing gold vs. the Aztecs and Incas being less obsessed apart from valuing its decorative qualities. I guess lapis lazuli is another example of that, but without the financial dimensions of gold.
Great article. It boggles my mind how this process was thought of in the first place. I wonder what the mineral composition differences are between the Afghanistan and the other lapis sources (I think you said Siberia and Chile?) are to make a color difference in the final product.
I’m always fascinated to wonder how people figured this out in the first place. So cool that you got to get your hands dirty with the actual process. Did it stain your hands blue?
What a beautiful article. I’d learned about the process in college but had never really been able to imagine it until now. After reading this with the comments, I now wonder if it had special associations in other cultures as well. For instance, there is a regional and time-specific style of interior design in Japan that favored ultramarine, which is highly unusual everywhere else. (http://www.seisonkaku.com/en/midokoro/shoken-no-ma.html). In my tea studies (Urasenke) we have discussed different interpretations of “wabi” aesthetics, like how Rikyu’s all-gold tea room still fits within that style, and how these colorful ultramarine rooms still evoke a sense of humble tranquility despite their richness and nobility. (I’m also curious about the idea that so many people accidentally confuse ultramarine with aquamarine, which happens very frequently with these Japanese rooms. Perhaps it’s a translation issue.)
I especially love your comparison between techniques, and the way you describe true ultramarine to be so vivid it seems self-replenishing. That’s a beautiful idea. Thank you so much for everything you shared here.
So interesting, thanks! Wonderful to see that glorious blue appear from the process, and interesting to reflect on the traditional view of elements as compared the modern: both seem to have their strengths and weaknesses, not to mention mythologies. Some of the strengths of the traditional one is that is unitive instead of fragmentary, democratic instead of siloed away by increasingly specialised professions, and that it’s weird and cool and interesting where chemistry is sterile and abstract. Nothing against chemistry per se, but *all* language is metaphor, and the language of fire, earth, water, air and their appetites and habits is much more approachable than the language of hyper-quantification and hyper-precision that science worships.
Both systems are ‘science,’ in fact, and in the etymological sense of paths to knowledge.
I long for the day when we’re able to embrace the mystery and shadows of the traditional view as well as the glaring white light of modern science. I think the world will be a nicer place for it.
I recall a BBC Four documentary series about colours in art history (https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00wskdk), there was a bit about lapis preparation in the Blue episode, but nothing as detailed as this. Thanks!
A fabulous article! The blue of lapis lazuli is one of my favorite colors in art. The way different civilizational spheres place a differing, sometimes opposing value upon different substances is always fascinating as well. An extreme example of that is the Spanish deeply cherishing gold vs. the Aztecs and Incas being less obsessed apart from valuing its decorative qualities. I guess lapis lazuli is another example of that, but without the financial dimensions of gold.
Great article. It boggles my mind how this process was thought of in the first place. I wonder what the mineral composition differences are between the Afghanistan and the other lapis sources (I think you said Siberia and Chile?) are to make a color difference in the final product.
I’m always fascinated to wonder how people figured this out in the first place. So cool that you got to get your hands dirty with the actual process. Did it stain your hands blue?
What a beautiful article. I’d learned about the process in college but had never really been able to imagine it until now. After reading this with the comments, I now wonder if it had special associations in other cultures as well. For instance, there is a regional and time-specific style of interior design in Japan that favored ultramarine, which is highly unusual everywhere else. (http://www.seisonkaku.com/en/midokoro/shoken-no-ma.html). In my tea studies (Urasenke) we have discussed different interpretations of “wabi” aesthetics, like how Rikyu’s all-gold tea room still fits within that style, and how these colorful ultramarine rooms still evoke a sense of humble tranquility despite their richness and nobility. (I’m also curious about the idea that so many people accidentally confuse ultramarine with aquamarine, which happens very frequently with these Japanese rooms. Perhaps it’s a translation issue.)
I especially love your comparison between techniques, and the way you describe true ultramarine to be so vivid it seems self-replenishing. That’s a beautiful idea. Thank you so much for everything you shared here.
So interesting, thanks! Wonderful to see that glorious blue appear from the process, and interesting to reflect on the traditional view of elements as compared the modern: both seem to have their strengths and weaknesses, not to mention mythologies. Some of the strengths of the traditional one is that is unitive instead of fragmentary, democratic instead of siloed away by increasingly specialised professions, and that it’s weird and cool and interesting where chemistry is sterile and abstract. Nothing against chemistry per se, but *all* language is metaphor, and the language of fire, earth, water, air and their appetites and habits is much more approachable than the language of hyper-quantification and hyper-precision that science worships.
Both systems are ‘science,’ in fact, and in the etymological sense of paths to knowledge.
I long for the day when we’re able to embrace the mystery and shadows of the traditional view as well as the glaring white light of modern science. I think the world will be a nicer place for it.
Humans thrive in the shadows.
I recall a BBC Four documentary series about colours in art history (https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00wskdk), there was a bit about lapis preparation in the Blue episode, but nothing as detailed as this. Thanks!