Lately I have adopted Word from Wormingford by Ronald Blythe as a bedside book. Composed of weekly bulletins from a Suffolk village, it combines observations on the countryside with reports on the spiritual welfare of Blythe’s parish. In its gentleness and generosity, it is the perfect antidote to the strain of London life, and cools the mind after anxiety-ridden days. (In this, it has the same welcome effect as the glorious novels of Alexander McCall Smith.) Cools the mind but doesn’t dim it, for Blythe mixes in comments from his wide reading with a deft hand, and leavens the brew with the wisdom garnered from a long life devoted to looking and pondering.
Here he is, writing about light:
There has never been so much light in the world as we have now, such instant dismissals of darkness. As for half-light, gloaming, we are not allowed to know what it is. This was when we used to do our thinking.
Someone who has thought long and intently about the psychological significance of light is the leading contemporary artist James Turrell (born 1943), who makes sculptures and installations which engage directly with our perceptions of light.
Turrell is an American and a Quaker who has been making light-works since 1962, and who has the distinction of having worked on the light effects of such films as 2001: A Space Odyssey and Star Wars. He is also a keen aviator, and much of his work is informed by his experiences of flying. (He gained his pilot’s licence at the age of 16 and has flown for the CIA, taking high-level photographs above China and Russia. The wonder of his descent through the Northern Lights continues to delight and inspire him.)
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