The Indigo Studio – Part 1: Blue Hands

"Don't look at it," said Anneke. "Don't poke it. Just wait."

"It's green."

"It is oxidising. In sixty seconds it will be blue."

Sofia held the dripping length of white cotton above the vat and watched. The indigo bath was a deep, copper-coloured pool of liquid with a faint coppery shimmer. The cloth, drawn out, was a startling yellow-green. Slowly, as air touched it, the colour deepened to teal, then cobalt, then a glorious dark blue.

"Oh," breathed Sofia.

"Always," said Anneke. "Every time. Still magic."

The studio was a sunny loft in an old factory on the hills above Lisbon, with long drying lines of blue cloth hanging in the sun, huge steel vats, and tall windows that looked down across the red rooftops to the river. The air smelled of wet earth and sweet fermented leaves. A radio played soft fado from a shelf.

Sofia, thirty-eight, a textile designer from Porto, had signed up for a weekend workshop out of professional curiosity. Anneke, thirty-four, a Dutch artist who had moved to Lisbon five years earlier, ran it with warmth and a dry, easy humour. Her hands were permanently stained blue to the wrist. So, Sofia noticed, was the tip of her nose.

"You've got a spot," said Sofia, on Sunday.

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Anneke laughed. Sofia reached out and, without thinking, wiped the dot from her nose. Her fingers came away blue. They stood there, in the bright loft, among the hanging cloths that swayed in the breeze like flags.

"I'm supposed to be teaching," said Anneke.

"I'm supposed to be learning."

"I think we've both gone off the syllabus."

"Probably." Sofia smiled. "Anneke, would you have dinner with me? When the vats are covered?"

"Yes," said Anneke. "And I would like to kiss you. At some point. If you would like that."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Second Dip.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Second Dip.