Leon, who has rented an Airbnb, standing in front of a row of blue vases on a shelf, staring at the second from the right.
LEON (mutters to himself): Why is that shade of blue so insanely beautiful?
Silence.
LEON: I mean, fuck the vase—it’s the blue!
As he stares, a figure becomes visible next to him, likewise fixated on the vase. The figure is naked, his proportions like those of ‘The Thinker’, his skin a pale blue. Leon is startled and jumps back.
FIGURE: Oh, you see me. All right. So that happened.
LEON: Get out of here!
FIGURE: Yes, yes. Calm down. I don’t want to leave, so I’m going to explain. I don’t know if you’ll believe me.
LEON: I’m just a guest, not really here. Please.
FIGURE: Give me a second. Open your mind. Now. Look at the vase. It’s okay. Look at the vase like you were.
Leon stares at the figure who smiles and shows his hands in a peaceful gesture. Slowly, fighting his instincts, Leon takes his eyes off the figure and looks again at the vase.
FIGURE: Now: I was once that shade of Cerulean, and I will be again someday, I hope.
LEON: Your skin was once that color?
FIGURE: No. I was that color. (Pointing to the vase). I was right there. But they move us through the blue spectrum. To keep us fresh, I guess. Because we each, in sustaining the exact hue, the archetype, are like Atlas holding up the world.
LEON: This is…?
FIGURE: How things work. I’ve been midnight blue, and indigo, and now they’ve got me as robin’s egg. I see the trend—getting paler and paler. But I was happiest as Cerulean, most at home, so I still come back sometimes and, I don’t know…
LEON: You’re the genie of the vase?
FIGURE: Wow, you are…Fuck the vase! The vase doesn’t matter. I could be a roll of blue masking tape. What matters is the archetype! And the archetypal Cerulean happens to be that glaze, a few molecules thick.
LEON: So you’re kind of reminiscing, like, reliving…?
FIGURE: I mean, I’m not proud of this behavior. They tell us that every shade is beautiful, don’t look back, be in the moment…
He lowers his head and thinks.
FIGURE: But yes, I’m skiving off, because the ideal robin’s egg is the paint on a car inside a garage with the whole family away. ‘Robin’s egg’–more like corpse blue.
He smacks his own cheek, and recites as if indoctrinated:
FIGURE: No, every shade is beautiful!
LEON: Why do you think you were happiest as Cerulean?
FIGURE: I could feel I was vibrating at the perfect speed. When I shone out from that vase.
LEON: Huh. And did it matter to you if someone was looking? Was it different in any way?
FIGURE: Absolutely not. I took in some of the light, and gave most of it away. Just outward, outward in general.
LEON: How do you feel as the other blues?
FIGURE: Not quite myself. Either hyper, almost out of control. Or else weak, like my blood’s turned to water. Now let me ask you a question. How did I make you feel?
LEON: I don’t know if I was here for you.
FIGURE: That’s right, you all change too.
LEON: But as far as the color…. These things are hard to talk about face-to-face. (Pause.) There’s something about this exact shade that’s perfect for me. Maybe it’s slightly darker than the others, I’m not sure. For me, it has more power, more…
The Figure thinks about this.
LEON: Do you know who’s taking your place in there? I mean, on there.
FIGURE: Some dunce, some doofus. I’m kidding, it’s one of my colleagues, I don’t know which, but I have nothing but respect.
LEON: It’s got to be tough to see that.
The figure shrugs. Silence.
LEON: They say orange is your complementary color. Any truth to that?
The Figure gets an erection, which he quickly covers.
FIGURE: I’m sorry.
LEON: Well, this has been great…
FIGURE: Give me a second. Okay? Please. Just look over there.
Leon turns his back and stares into the far corner of the room. The Figure talks strictly to his penis, which eventually deflates.
FIGURE: Okay. Forget that happened. We’re good.
Awkwardly now, the two stand side by side again, looking at the vase. The figure sighs.
FIGURE: What I said about the viewer not mattering. There was one exception. Isaac Newton. Our most passionate disciple. We all loved him. Many a time I shone directly into the face of Sir Isaac Newton. Into those retinas, into the blue receptors, and the even subtler ones that were like champagne flutes for what I had to offer. (Pause). I remember the fervor of Isaac Newton–peering, straining his eyes, and smiling, even laughing.
LEON: Sometimes I stand here and I want to go crazy. I don’t know what to do beyond seeing. How do I get closer to that color? What do I do with it?
FIGURE: I’m not the one to ask. I don’t know that separation.
LEON: What about now?
FIGURE: True. You’re right. There is a…helplessness.
LEON: Sometimes you can see something from a distance, and then walk into it. Like the ocean. Or the woods. But not here.
FIGURE: No, not here. (Pause). I don’t know if I’ll ever come back to Cerulean, or just keep moving forward, into the green, the yellow…
LEON (hanging his head): I guess I can’t keep haunting this.
FIGURE: Well, how long do you stay here?
LEON: Another week.
FIGURE: You’re lucky. Most views are fleeting.
LEON: You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’ll have three weeks total.
He looks from the figure to the vase and back again.
LEON: Listen. Every shade is beautiful. I really do believe that.
FIGURE: So do I. I gotta say, the blue in the center…has something. All right. Take care. Nice meeting you.
LEON: Nice meeting you too! Take care!
The Figure fades, growing paler and paler, but the after-image is Cerulean.