The meaning of blue

One of our assignments was to write an essay on a color that has a particular cultural, social or political resonance. I chose blue.





10 years ago, I would have found it difficult to imagine that a color could bring about sheer terror, palpable fear and paralyzing sadness. The color of the most perfect blue sky that ever was, now does this to me. Its beauty was defined by a combination of pleasantly cool temperatures, an unnatural cloudlessness, a lack of color gradation from horizon to horizon, and a quality of blue that held depth. It espoused calm. Azure is the name that most closely describes this hue and it was the color of the sky on the morning of September 11th, 2001. Fortunately I have rarely seen that exact blue again. When I do, it brings me to my knees. My experience of that particular shade of blue and its subsequent meaning has forever changed.

Blue is a color that has as many cultural associations as it does pigment gradients. In the English language “being blue” is associated with sadness





but the notion is so firmly ingrained in our language that we hardly think of color when making the reference. It is considered a calm and restful color. While not proven, it is thought that people are more productive in a blue room because they are more focused. Blue is the color of tranquility as experienced when floating in Caribbean waters. It is associated with liberal causes in the United States. It represents steadfastness, dependability and loyalty as evidenced by the frequent use of blue in American uniforms. Blue is the color of the sapphire in Princess Diana’s (now Kate Middleton’s) engagement ring; it is the color of royalty. Nowadays, blue represents baby boys. Robin’s eggs blue is the color of the Tiffany’s box; so that must mean something good.




Much of the world is blue.

For the most part blue represents happiness and optimism. Those are the feelings one is meant to feel when looking at a clear blue sky.


I was walking my dogs on Great Jones Street when the first plane flew overhead and behind me; as it navigated its way down Broadway toward the towers. There was a terrible sound. When I walked back toward Lafayette Street and saw the gaping hole in the first tower juxtaposed with the perfect sky, the cruelty felt even more pronounced. Walking around downtown that day, dazed, not understanding anything really, I wanted that color to go away. I wanted something appropriate like dark gray thunderclouds. The sky was being disrespectful, it was insensitive and disdainful. It didn’t know what had happened, it didn’t care.




In the same way, that for many years, airplanes looked like bombs to me, this pure color looks like death and it breaks my heart.

(the top swatch of color is a lift from one the pictures of the sky that day)