I have a Tiffany lamp, ok it’s not a “Tiffany” lamp, but one in the style ubiquitously associated with the company of breakfast at fame. Lamps generally have a primary role, to provide light, an article of utility. My lamp functions in another way as well, as a color object. In the daylight the lamp is a thing of pure color, the glass pieces as hard and impenetrable as jewels. Striations of opal visible among the peacock, leaf and azure chips, made bolder in shade by the licorice black bands that encase the tiles. At night color and light function together, there are two small, clear light bulbs that work separately from one another. You can light one or both bulbs, one pull causes the shade to glow softly, and the chips of glass seem almost amorphous, mobile, the once distinct panes blend into a solid mass, run through with strands of dark, pulsing, shadow.
Full power, the glass is no longer a physical object, but clean, colored, light. No subtleties to be found only jello segments, wet and glossy, pure, without nuance. Held confined in outer-space black iron cells. Somehow looking as if a cell wall were to be breached, the color would break free in an instant, a mushroom cloud, a title wave of leaf green or azure blue would spill out and cover everything in its syrupy glow, one color to rule them all!
However the magic lamp has one more trick aside from holding color fascism at bay or transforming into an object of soft, zen, contemplation. Looking up, the twining iron branches crossover the top of the shade, clear lamplight breaking through the openings; the light arranging itself into shapes, patterns, a language? I’m sure the contours have significance, I think if I stare long enough they might arrange themselves into meaning, if I’m patient enough, and willing to learn to see ,I will discover how to read them, watch this space, if it happens ,you will hear it here first!
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