Purple Insight: Tyrian Purple

Known by a number of variants such as Royal Purple and Imperial Purple, Tyrian Purple remains the most expensive paint since the beginning of time. This paint has enticed historians and artists for generations together with its vibrant history.

Mentioned in texts dated about 1600 BC, Tyrian Purple originated in the ancient city of Trye of the Ancient Phoenician civilization along the Mediterranean coastline. Named after its site of origin, it is aptly called Tyrian Purple. The oldest archaeological evidence was found during excavations in the island of Santorini, Greece, which revealed wall paintings; that on analysis suggested that an organic dye similar to the organic composition of Tyrian Purple was used almost 3600 years ago.

Tyrian Purple is made from a Mediterranean sea mollusk. The hypochondrial glands of this mollusk called Murex Brandaris and Murex Trunculus, produced a pale white or yellow discharge that turns blue and consequently purple when exposed to sunlight.

Sea mollusk Murex.

'Pliny The Elder', a Roman historian described the production of this paint in his Natural History. First, vats were lowered into the sea to catch these sea snails using frog and mussels as bait. Second, the vein containing the discharge was severed and the liquid was collected and salted in in huge vats. This was then fermented for about 10 days after a steady boil. Finally, the dye produced was harvested. The fermentation process produces a sick, unbearable odour due to the breakdown of the organic substances. It was believed that 12,000 of these sea snails were required to make a mere 1.4 grams of this paint.

Historian Theopompus said "Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver." Emperors of Byzantium formulated laws that restricted the use of clothes that were dyed with Tyrian Purple to royalty and anyone who transgressed was punished with death. As a result, purple clothes made from this dye became a status symbol and were worn only by noblemen and kings, marking it the colour of supremacy. This gave birth to the expression "Born in the purple." Research also suggests that usage of this paint was present even during the time of Caesar and Cleopatra.

A Roman painting of Pompeii showing women clad in clothes dyed with Tyrian Purple.

As time progressed, the exact process and formation of this exquisite dye was lost. The advent of cheaper synthetic dyes such as Lichen Purple and Madder in the 1800s marked its decline as well. Contradicting popular premises, the use of this paint declined with the fall of the Roman Empire and not due to overfishing. However, in 1909, Paul Friedlander was able to discover the chemical structure of this dye. Inge Boesken Kanold, French artist with special interest in ancient and forgotten colours, along with retired engineer John Edmonds rediscovered a structurally similar dye in 2003. Inge Kanold comments "My fascination with purple has to do with the mystery of its past, with its provident transformation entirely linked to air and sunlight....."

An unusual aspect of this paint is that it is blue in solution and purple in amorphous form. Unlike normal paint which fades when exposed to sunlight, Tyrian Purple becomes darker. This paint comes in a vibrant shade of purple- as the name suggests- but some texts also describe it as 'scarlet' or 'maroon'.

Tyrian Purple in amorphous form.

 John Edmonds says "...This is the most prestigious dye in the world in fact...." and not unlike its past, this continues to be highly expensive- a mere 1 gram is valued at 3900 US dollars and that would roughly equate to 2,13,000 Indian rupees. Owing to its exorbitant price, natural Tyrian Purple is used only to restore art work. These days, an alternative form of this paint is synthesized from sea slugs that also produce a purple discharge. This discharge is harvested without causing harm to the animal, which is then released into the ocean.

Alternative form of sea slug that also produces a purple discharge.

Murex, the sea snail from which this paint is produced from, is pretty hard to come by but, it is not completely impossible to chance upon one if you were to scuba dive along the Mediterranean and Atlantic Coast of Europe and Africa!

The Wolf Who Could Fly

He walked all day and all night
Crossing barren plains and lush green forests.
He would spend some time looking up at the starry sky
He was the wolf who could fly.

He ventured deeper into undiscovered ground,
Looking for something of value.
When disappointment struck, he did issue an outcry
He was the wolf who could fly.

He had abandoned his bittersweet home
As he was all alone.
The thought made tears fill his eye;
He was the wolf who could fly.

He broke his journey at a green copse
For he heard familiar howls.
He hid and turned a vigilant spy
He was the wolf who could fly.

Perfectly blended in with his background,
He saw a pack of unknown capering comrades
But, was too dangerously shy;
He was the wolf that could fly.

Their beaming howls appeared strange and distant,
He was overcome by doubt and confusion.
He slowly retreated issuing a mournful sigh
He was the wolf who could fly.

His furry paws took him to the edge of land
And there he was greeted by a glinting emerald sea.
His lonely soul was no longer dry
He was the wolf who would fly.

He tread the cool, soothing water
And pondered about his life;
His past seemed cold and wry-
He was the wolf who could fly.

Everything was a vivid, taunting blur,
Every sight, every feeling, every smell.
He ruminated, wondering if he had been living a lie;
He was the wolf who could fly.

Overcome by a roaring epiphany
Which marshaled him toward the light;
He dispensed of his old ways and did comply-
He was the wolf who could fly.

Slowly and tenderly, happiness imbued his soul
Cleansing his anguished substance.
He prepared to soar the nebulous sky,
He was the wolf who could fly.

The glacial and celestial wind
Made him feel divine.
Alas, he had found what he yearned for and reality did he defy,
For he was the wolf who did fly.

An Epidemic Case Of 'Self Love' Which I Cannot Seem To Explain

Social networking websites(Facebook, that's the first thing that comes to my mind; sorry fellow Twitterers and the archaic Orkuters). We all know what they are, hell! some of us practically LIVE in it during the wee hours of some days(kudos to you, fellow idler!). They keep our heart pumping and our brain's juices and blood flowing into all the right nooks and crannies. For some of us it probably does even more, who knows(No, no no. I am not hinting at any aberrant activity one might engage in at their leisure time here. That's not my intention, not at all).

So, social networking websites. Before the celebrated arrival of  Facebook, friends of friends were strangers, relatives of friends were strangers and strangers were strangers. But times change and so has the function of social networking websites.

They do just so much for us all. We keep in touch with that one distant friend who is constantly belittling everyone else while rating his or her own popularity based on asinine internet polls , we do the same with that distant relative who we don't really care about but keep in touch because we never really took them off our friend list.  With the advent of these well developed websites, family ties and friendships have becomes more closely knit in some cases while the exact opposite has occurred in others. Conversely, a negligible portion has becomes famous while another sizable portion has embroiled itself into some particularly deep shit but, let's not go into that(excuse the language; sometimes the censorship button in my brain turns off).

Yes, now to my point(which is gradually taking a detectable form): Facebook has somehow triggered our narcissistic trait, and has accordingly introduced us to our own narcissistic side- that has so far been masked by a humble facade- which just loves to revel in recognition and appreciation. Taking photos has managed to accomplish this.

We all like taking pictures of ourselves(and occasionally others in our company) and secretly relish the fact that others see them however, no one likes to admit it. We can't help it now, can we? After all the option only exists FOR this purpose. So, we take pictures, subject it to a multitude of editing that morphs its humble, original content into something that resembles grandiosity in our heads. Then we upload it and wait for the mundane, yet arduously expected banality to begin. I am not going to restrict this act to just young girls, no; gender is almost immaterial in this case. Boys are just as indulgent in this in every bit.

 I am not saying this is wrong, I am not saying it's a crime and I am not accusing anyone of anything because if I did I'd be a 'dissembler' who reeks of sardonicism. Why be a 'dissembler' who reeks of sardonicism when I can be a relatively normal person(well, as normal one can BE in this heterogeneous world) who reeks of sardonicism?

So, narcissism. Now I am not going to go all Freud on you and quote the scientifically accepted 'definition' of that word because, let us face, you are going to get bored and use it as an excuse to stop reading this and I will end up looking like a prude(IF I haven't already). Instead, I am going to give you less fervent synonyms that don't make it sound like we have some serious medical condition: vanity, conceitedness, self-love. So, WHY is there is this sudden wave of narcissism, nay forgive me, 'self-love' that is manifesting itself in this manner? Why do we even have this side?

Well, I honestly don't know. I'll get back to you when I do.

A misanthropist is a self-loathing cynic.

Crimson Dreams

White smoke rises
In a sundry of shapes and sizes.
Th ascent ends only as soon as it had begun;
A musty, acrid smell is all that hung.
Below the wisps of white,
Shades of red and yellow come to sight.
The flames are but fluid in nature
Marking their foreboding departure.
The crimson inferno sardonically dances about,
All we can do is lament and shout.
Our stomachs churn
As they torridly burn.
Oh! how do we save them?
Can we not live up to them?
What does this mean?
Who brought forth this fiendish blaze?
We break our journey to stop and stare at
The vermillion display that resembles our darkest nightmare.
Our dreams are on fire;
The future seems abject and dire.
They burn not with passion
For  they have been stolen and put to decimation.