For more than three years, I kept jars of what looked like dark blue sludge.
They moved house with me.
More than once.
Most people who saw them had roughly the same reaction:
Why are you keeping this?
Fair question.
The jars contained an old indigo vat. Something I had once made, used, closed up and apparently couldn’t bring myself to throw away.
So I kept it.
Not because I had a plan for it.
I didn’t.
I just didn’t want to throw it away.
Yesterday, while unpacking yet another collection of boxes, I found my indigo supplies again.
And instead of sitting behind my laptop, I decided to see if the old vat was still alive.
It was.
THE STRANGE MAGIC OF INDIGO
There is something slightly ridiculous about indigo.
The process doesn’t behave the way you expect colour to behave.
Fabric goes into a strange yellow-green liquid and comes out looking almost disappointing.
Then oxygen hits it.
Green becomes turquoise.
Turquoise becomes blue.
And slowly, right in front of you, the colour appears.
Every time it happens, it still feels a little bit like magic.
Deep, imperfect, impossible blue.
Blue gold.
Of course, yesterday’s resurrection wasn’t entirely graceful.
There was a minor explosion involving hot water and a mixing bottle.
There were blue stains on my hands.
My nails acquired an accidental indigo French manicure.
And a linen blouse I decided to sacrifice to the experiment came out wildly uneven.
I thought I’d ruined it.
Then I hung it outside.
As it dried, the colour began to change. The light came through the linen and suddenly all those uneven patches started doing something beautiful. Navy became smoky blue. Some parts almost violet. Creases and seams caught the colour differently from the rest.
By the next morning, the blouse I thought I’d ruined had become my favourite thing from the whole experiment.
It wasn’t perfect.
Which, apparently, is exactly why I liked it.
SOME THINGS ARE WORTH KEEPING
Maybe that’s why those ridiculous jars survived three years.
I have always had a thing for objects and materials that show what has happened to them.
Old silver.
Worn leather.
Faded fabric.
Scratches.
Patina.
Things made by hand.
Things that carry evidence of life.
Indigo belongs somewhere in that world.
It changes with the material, the vat, the number of dips, the temperature, the air, and probably the mood of the indigo gods that particular afternoon.
You can guide it.
You can’t completely control it.
And perhaps that’s part of the appeal.
So no, I don’t know what I’m going to make with indigo next.
Yesterday I didn’t need to.
I spent an afternoon outside with my hands in blue dye, watching pieces of fabric change colour in the air.
And those three-year-old jars of mysterious blue sludge?
Turns out I was right to keep them.
Some things are worth keeping.
Even when you don’t know why yet.
<3 Anne