Some weeks seem to have a theme. Last week, for example, I kept running into water. It began when I visited the Musée du Quai Branly to see «La pluie». My wife thought it was typical of an Englishman to be attracted to an exhibition about the rain, and I admit I secretly enjoy wet weather. There’s something effortlessly poetic about rain: the way it taps on the window while you read, or sets up a hollow drumming on the roof. The smell of the earth after rain. During the exhibition I saw bells and flutes associated with rain dances and magic stones said to be the materialisation of rain: misty jade and silvery flint. There were Japanese umbrellas in waxed paper and dragon rain gods.
A couple of days later, an advertising agency asked me to write some copy for a new fragrance. I can’t tell you its name, but it was closely linked with… water. Perhaps this concern with water is part of a new trend. It’s hardly surprising: in England, believe it or not, there is currently a shortage of water. Here in France, we can expect another summer of sécheresse. Fresh water is the ultimate precious substance, and thanks to pollution its future looks increasingly fragile. Or maybe it’s the elemental aspect of water that appeals. We’re becoming bored of mass consumption, tired of a life spent tied to multiple screens. The very thought of water – clear, pure, simple – is refreshing.
