(This is the latest in my series of reflections, As If For the First Time,
describing the most commonplace of experiences through a fresh lens,
one of innocence and wonder.)
When I was a kid, I loved to play with the Prell shampoo. The clear,
emerald-green stuff came in a transparent tube. I adored the depth of
that color. More than that, I loved the pocket of air. When I turned the
tube upside down it would start rising slowly through the honey-thick
goo, taking on the typical globular shape of a bubble—but with one
difference: because the medium was so thick, its trailing edge was drawn
out into a point, like a water drop just before it breaks free, only
inverted.
How amazing, I thought, that Prell could make not just the
wispy, ephemeral bubbles we expect from soap, but these thick, plodding,
ponderable
ones too.
I also remember staring
into my dad's beer glass, transfixed by those little strings of bubbles
that appeared out of nowhere and danced around through the amber. I'm
still fascinated.
Is
there any one of Nature's little wonders more sublime than a bubble?
Think of the soapy kind kids blow with those little plastic wands. Like
sheer 3-D kaleidoscopes, their colors shimmer and flow. And have you
ever made a really big bubble hoop out of rope or a coat hanger? Once
you figure out how to get the right amount and rate of air to balloon
the soapy film without breaking it, you can produce bubbles so big they
undulate as they drift away, writhing to find their roundness.
...you can produce bubbles so big they undulate as they drift away, writhing to find their roundness.
Not
all bubbles are so whimsical; just ask divers. If they ascend too fast,
the nitrogen dissolved in their blood can bubble up just like the
carbon dioxide in a quickly uncapped bottle of soda.
I'm
visited by an uncomfortable little bubble every once in a while. I
don't know where it comes from, but it feels like a tiny holdout from a
burp, a bubble that finds its way into some little nook in my chest,
where it presses on something that doesn't appreciate it. It used to
scare me—I thought I was having a heart attack—but now I just wait until
it eventually finds its way out the way it was headed in the first
place.
Bubbles have a sneaky side too. Nestle knew it
back in 1938...
Think
of all the bubbles we just take for granted. Bread—yes, how do you
think it gets that texture? Foam rubber. A wine glass. Rice Crispies.
There are even bubbles so small we can't see them. Paints and plastics,
as well as lots of other materials, contain millions of microscopic
glass bubbles added to extend volume, reduce weight, add strength,
resist abrasion and improve flow quality. Bubbles are used in inkjet
printing, mining, environmental engineering, medicine, oil production,
food science and any number of other industries.
Bubbles have a sneaky side too. Nestle knew it back in 1938 when they figured out a way to provide less actual chocolate in their bars than it appeared by adding puffed crisps—essentially bubbles—to the mix. And now, alas, Hershey has pulled an even more devious trick with their Air Delight chocolate bar, somehow making it sound like you're getting more, not less.
 |
| Hombre Viendo al Cielo - Fernando Garrido 2005 |
My friend, the fine contemporary Mexican painter,
Fernando Garrido, uses bubbles as a sort of signature element in his
eccentric, magical-realist portrayals of warriors, sages, alchemists,
oracles and mystics. The bubbles emerge, in astounding, dripping detail,
from the characters’ mouths, through vents in their outlandish
headdresses, and sometimes, like those little beer bubbles, from no
apparent source. Catching reflections of neon lights or an always-unseen
sun, they float through Garrido's scenes, reminding us of the tenuous
balance between life's shimmering fullness and its utter impermanence.
How and where do you see bubbles?
"A
soap bubble is the most beautiful, most exquisite thing in nature. I
wonder how much it would cost to buy a soap bubble, if there were only
one in the world?"
MARK TWAIN
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