Carol Mavor

I feel like I should preface this with the fact I was actually able to meet the author and view some original Anna Atkins cyanotypes at the Getty at a talk with her book. I was late and only caught the last of her presentation, but beyond the 10 or so of us in there Mavor’s passion for the art described in her book was palpable.

After prying it from my aunt’s unread hands, I was finally able to read it. What I got was at times beautiful, at times frustrating “essay poem” on art involving the color blue. Fever dream it was—I can tell you with certainty I was glad when it was over.

Mavor strings each chapter together with a small unifying theme, connecting threads that are (as I even said earlier) sometimes apparent and gorgeous, to downright superficial and contrived. Heavy on the À la recherche du temps perdu and Giotto’s Chapel, I can’t say I was totally lost, but the insistence in weaving them and other common art pieces together seemed ceaseless by the end (“Proust, again??”).

At the end of the day, this book felt like it was made by Mavor for Mavor, and I think I’m just not on her train on thought to appreciate it. I didn’t particularly learn much, and instead, I felt whisked into her musings on the most esoteric of films and art. It was ultimately her playground of the obscure and I just wasn't there for the ride.… (meer)