gemini://gemini.estradiol.cloud/~rumblestrips/journal/2024/2024-05-04-basking-in-puce.gmi

> polished metals and precious stones are so intrinsically transporting that even a victorian, even an art nouveau jewel is a thing of power. and when to this natural magic of glinting metal and self-luminous stone is added the other magic of noble forms and colours artfully blended, we find ourselves in the presence of a genuine talisman. [0]

amid a bit of uncertainty in my life i have been holding on to certain experiences tight as a way to savor them for longer than i'd be able to. perhaps i'd be better served by the ephemerality of some of these experiences, but i am entranced by the way they catch the light: they glimmer and fracture beams as a collection of prisms. i film these experiences in a way that feels timeless, or, more correctly, "out of time." and perhaps it's intentional, but these are exactly the experiences i chase, craving them both for novelty and timelessness as a kind of transcendence. maybe i can't reproduce them, but i can try reproduce the feeling as a way to relish those memories - to make them out of time, out of place, and perhaps even positively anachronistic.

the latest instance of this was having an extremely extravagant fine dining experience earlier this week for my birthday. i was accompanied by someone for whom i have a great deal of affection. the restaurant itself is architecturally a crown jewel of northwestern 1950s modernism. as we sat in the lounge for a predinner beverage, my companion pointed out a gentle incongruity — the interiors felt different, very 1970s. i looked around as i sat on a banquette of dark puce velvet and noticed the fibers shimmering while we both mused about how we grew up in 1970s era houses. while nowhere near as fancy as where we found ourselves, we were warmed by the memories of lush carpet, exposed cedar beams, and river stone masonry work that helped rear us.

the rest of the dining experience was similarly timeless, with a stunning array of six courses that brought us to another plane of existence. the evening melted away while we took in beautiful views of water, trees, and bridges, and felt out of time. the light itself here was stunning: the approach of twilight, the boats and piers along the ship canal after night descended, and how each morsel on our plates, our place settings, and glassware winked us and seduced us into engagement. the first large course's muted colors stuck out to me as well, as a small purse of cabbage and sablefish laid upon a puce-colored bed of mushroom and hazelnut puree. even departing the restaurant was an experience of light, with the muted glow of the the sign next to the entrance and valet carport beckoning us back as a slowly fading hearth might – possibly whispering a longing "don't forget about us." and really, how could i?

as i was lost in my thoughts yesterday, i remembered that some film makes me feel this way, and i remembered an eternal favorite: kenneth anger's "puce moment." [1] while only a mere six minutes, this was a film that i've clung to as if my life depended to it. i was in my early 20s when i watched yvonne marquis, anger's seemingly timeless starlet, smile widely, flirt and envelop herself in sequins, apply perfume from an absurdly large emerald green bottle, lounge peacefully, and walk a pack of borzois. it was intoxicatingly out of time on its own: "a film that /feels/ like something from the 1960's, produced in the late 1940's, looking back to the 1920's." [2] as a mildly clueless college student it was exactly what i was looking for: the exotic without exoticizing, ecstatic in ways that i would be unable to describe for anyone else. i was being invited into a world i couldn't have experienced otherwise without that invitation.

my inclination, as always, was to find more ways to cling to these puce moments: in writing [3] and in a playlist [4]. each is different, each intersect one another. the words recall how we can mark time through rhythm and serve to /refract/ the experience rather than reflect it. the playlist approaches this similarly. with these two things in mind i want to encourage us to open ourselves up for a litany of reasons. can we refract the feeling through sound? can we make things boundless enough so that we allow ourselves to become awash in the wonder of having an experience with someone where time itself becomes a fiction - where we bathe in huxley's preternatural light to "evoke, from the boundless chaos of night, rich island universes ... the glitter of metal and gems, [and] the sumptuous glow of velvets and brocades"? [0] that, my friends, is where i cast my eyes - the place where i can weave everything together into an ecstatic celestial tapestry.

basking in puce