The Art of the Liminal

I’ve always been attracted to the idea of the liminal.

The word comes from Latin - ‘limen’ means threshold, and so ‘liminal’ is an adjective that refers to anything transitory; that exists in the gap between one thing and another.

I think I was first seduced by the idea when a sixth form English teacher told me that ravens and crows were believed to be interstitial birds by ancient peoples around the world: creatures that could occupy the liminal space between life and death, flitting darkly between realms.

It’s something I’ve always loved about the Matrix Trilogy, too.

Amidst the dystopian reality and the virtual simulation the characters travel between there are these strange locations left abandoned in the software - subway stations, phone boxes and elevators - that bridge the two parallel universes.

There’s something liberating about the idea of a liminal space.

It can be alive with unmanifest potential; a place where established rules feel somehow suspended.

It isn’t just me: liminal spaces are also proving to be a hit on social media.

School corridors, fire escapes, car parks and bus depots - always vacant and abandoned - are photographed and set to disconcerting background music for strange doom-scrollers like me to find.

All are places we use to move from one thing to another and, as such, can be very eerie when they’re emptied of people.

I suppose it’s because the only thing that gives any meaning to a liminal space is the fact that people pass through it.

Without people, they become somehow uncanny and unnatural.

I bring this up because I’m currently sitting in a liminal space of my own - not physical, but temporal.

To fund my financially and psychologically ruinous journey into original music, I work as a wedding singer, Adam Sandler style.

And weddings are full of liminal periods.

For my non-British subscribers (and, in a state of affairs perpetually surprising to me, there are quite a few of you now), a British wedding is a long old day.

It usually begins with a ceremony around noon, followed by copious amounts of small talk, even more copious amounts of drinking, never enough food, and some questionable dancing.

Having been to hundreds of them as a paid performer and, occasionally (when I have absolutely no choice) a guest, it’s remarkable to me how they all seem to take on the same processional rhythm.

Though all couples believe that their wedding is uniquely idiosyncratic and reflects their personalities in some meaningful way, I’m here to quietly point out that it isn’t and it doesn’t.

(I’m not actually - I’m here to sing Neil Diamond and keep my opinions to myself, so I’m inflicting them on you instead).

It goes: ceremony - drinks, canapés, and photos - meal - speeches - cake cutting - first dance - band - DJ - taxis.

Every time.

And between all of those things are these liminal periods where people mill in a state of gentle hunger and growing fatigue, unsure about where to be and how to look.

Drifting from one corner of the venue to another, imprisoned by their own invitations in a matrimonial Hotel California (a song I actually sang for them about 25 minutes ago).

I’m always reminded at weddings how uncomfortable liminality can be.

As people, we like to feel some sense that we’re where we’re meant to be.

In the broader context of our lives, liminal periods can be unsettling.

Those awkward pre-teen, post-child years; that strange summer before university; a brief bout of unemployment between jobs.

Of course, it’s possible to make the argument that life is one long liminal space; one perpetual transition.

As Dylan put it, those not busy being born are busy dying.

We’re all traveling from one dependable state of non-existence to another (or not; who knows?).

The only thing that’s truly permanent is change.

There’s probably a Shakespearean analogy to draw between the wedding day and one’s life somewhere.

A little like his Seven Ages of Man speech from As You Like It, but involving more cake.

Thinking about it now, I’ve seen quite a few wedding guests that appear to end up around 1am ‘sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything’.

I won’t get too bogged down in it now though - I’m about to be served some leftover roast beef and the band are arriving soon.

Another liminal period slowly becoming something else…

… Something else that involves me singing Neil Diamond.

Keep dreaming,

Rob