The Meaning of the Colour Cyan
Introduction
When we think of cyan, we often think of the colour turquoise, which gets its name from the mineral turquoise. Turquoise is a shade of cyan and an example of cyan appearing in the natural world. Cyan itself is the colour between blue and green, and its shades cover a wide range of colours between the two. These shades include the colours: teal, celeste, also known as sky-blue, electric blue, aquamarine and more. Of course, colour naming conventions are subjective, and many shades of cyan are thus named blue or referred to as either green or blue colours.
In most languages, the word ‘cyan’ is not a fundamental colour term, and the blue-green distinction in these languages is more ambiguous. The two colours are often colexified, meaning the same word can be used to express something different. The portmanteau: grue is sometimes used in English to showcase this linguistic ambiguity. Single words for blue/green are found in Mayan languages, e.g in Yucatec, where the word yax is both green and blue. Some languages distinguish between blue and green but use a single word for both if the colour is dark or light. In Old Norse, the word blár “blue” was also used to describe the colour black, and this lives on in other European languages where a variation of ‘blau’ denotes a darker blue, while the azul, borrowed from Arabic, often denotes a brighter blue. The name cyan is derived from the Ancient Greek word kyanos, and its first recorded use as a colour name in English was in 1879. Two centuries before that, English speakers began using the term turquoise to describe the colour of the previously mentioned mineral.
Cyan is a complementary colour of red - meaning when combined, the two colours cancel each other out and create a grayscale colour like black or white. The right light of both colours, when mixed at the right intensity, will make white light. The colour appears in the natural world and is commonly seen on a bright, sunny day in the sky. Other examples include shallow water in certain parts of the world, oxidised copper, where the mineral turquoise gets its hue from. Cyan in its purest form rarely appears in flowers and animals, but hues of it do, like teal and either more blue or greenish hues.
For me, cyan evokes memories of home, as it reminds me of both the Northern Lights and the Northern sky. A lighter blue colour is often found in folk art where I’m from, and it’s often, perhaps, unusually paired with pink. The two colours as a combination do appear in the sky at certain times of the year, and the two complementary colours work well together. Additionally, cyan, as well as this pairing, has come to hold a very special place in my heart. Historically, the colour has played an important role in the arts, religion and culture all around the world.
In Culture
The mineral turquoise has been highly valued for its aesthetic appeal and has historically been viewed in high regard as a precious gem, and has been a part of art for thousands of years. It’s been used in jewellery, decoration and has also served a symbolic purpose for many cultures. The Aztecs often used the gemstone in colour and vibrant frescoes, and they revered the colour, associating it with the heavens and sacredness. Ancient Egyptians interpreted cyan hues as representing faith and truth had a specific word, wadjet, that covered the entire range between blue, grue and green. The word itself is the name of an Egyptian deity represented as a cobra, or as the eye of Horus, also known as the “left wedjat eye”, and the word was also used for the colour Egyptian blue in faience ceramics. The eye of Horus would often be made into amulets or decorations and symbolised protection, healing and well-being. These depictions of the mythological eye would often be blue or cyan. The colour has also been important in Tibet and is often featured in Buddhist religious art, where the colour is often viewed as a symbol of infinity.
In the 1870s, a French sculptor known as Frédéric Bartholdi began work on a sculpture that would later become the Statue of Liberty, a copper-clad statue which was a gift to the United States from the people of France. Over the years, exposure to the elements has caused the copper to develop its distinctive patina, which has given it its iconic cyan colour. Following this, there was a significant interest and advancement in the use of cyan during the 19th and 20th centuries.
Impressionists like Claude Monet began popularising the incorporation of cyan hues into their work and did so effortlessly. The colour is abundant in his series Water Lilies, featuring approximately 250 oil paintings, and was the main focus of his art during his last 31 years of life. Cyan’s connection to water and tranquillity is apparent, and the colour’s resemblance to clear and calm waters is used to evoke feelings of serenity and peace. This leads to the interpretations that cyan can stimulate creativity and mental clarity, as well as being a rejuvenating colour and is often found in bathhouses, spas and so on. Before doing my research for this text, I was under the impression that I had a pretty unique perspective on cyan.
However, I realise now that there’s not much new thought I’ve added. While I haven’t pondered too deeply about the world’s relation to one of the most prominent colours in my work, I have thought extensively about its place in my work.
In My Work
Cyan was initially one of my least favourite colours. I for a long time held very negative feelings towards blues, and especially bright blues. I never cared much for green, and so the in-between with a light hue never appealed to me. I can’t say when the change occurred or even how it did, but I just found myself one day obsessing over it and its beautiful contrast to black - the colour I, for the longest time, called my favourite. Cyan is now all over my work.
It’s an integral part of the design and branding of this website and my digital presence.
The colour began appearing consistently in my work around 2019, and most notably was part of the very first leather jacket I painted, where it was paired with the pink, referencing the skies I grew up watching as a child. This was around the time I moved to Gothenburg, and as they say, with distance, the heart grows fonder, and perhaps the occurrence of the colour in my paintings was a pining for those Northern skies. My time in Gothenburg was also a spiritually significant time for my life, and this is how I relate to the colour the most these days.
There is a sacredness and reverence to the colour, and the idea that it invokes feelings of the sky and tranquillity only adds to this idea of it as a heavenly colour. It’s bright and mystical and more than just white light; it affirms the idea of the human soul as a drop of water from an ocean of consciousness. While the colour is occurring in nature, it’s often rare and in different hues, this bright neon-like turquoise, which I often paint with, has an otherworldly quality which is surprisingly warm and cold at the same time. As a light source, it’s unnatural, fantastical and even sci-fi-esque.
The spiritual side of cyan is that of Light, Good and Truth, and in my work it’s often used to signify these things. It’s a guiding light, which leads through scenes, crossroads and pictures towards the same; Unity. There may be darkness, and there might be bad things around, but following that vibrant cyan light, the destination is always Good. The colour to me then is the Highest Good, it’s spirit, and it’s deeply rooted in not only something completely opposite of dark, but distinct and different yet always Light. It’s not too cold, it’s not too warm, it’s perfectly tempered water. Soothing and healing.
In some languages where cyan doesn’t exist as a concept, but the sky and grass can be described by a similar or even the same term. This line between green and blue is the perfect symbol for humanity as something that exists between heaven and earth. It’s a colour deeply rooted in Elysium with green fields and clear blue skies. It’s the colour of the soul’s true north. It’s the colour of home.
