A Fusion of Senses

A cacophony of shadows, and all I feel is fear, fear of synaesthesia—that “cacophony” (sound) of “shadows” (vision). Not since J.K. Huysmans’ mouth organ played a symphony of liquors, in 1884, has synaesthesia been so alluring. Even I wish I were a synaesthete. So many great artists were: Poe and Nabokov, Beethoven and Hendrix, Gauguin and Gaga, to name but a few. But I’m probably not weird enough. I can dig a symphony of smells or an “icy heat,” the oxymoron Keats created for one of his poems. But to live synaesthetically every waking hour . . .

At first, it might be enticing, but then it might grow terrifying. A poached egg might play Bach, a guitar might evoke visions of Andalusia, a movie might release odors . . . oh, it already has, when John Waters used Odorama in his 1982 film Polyester. He used scratch and sniff cards for the audience to activate when an odor cue appeared on screen. When a character stepped in dog poo, a scratch of the card released the unpleasant odor of shit. But the stunt was laughed at and followed to the trash-bin of history the earlier AromaRama (1959) and Smell-O-Vision, which Mike Todd, Jr., used to provide thirty different scents for his 1960 movie Scent of Mystery.

Still, the great synaesthetic artists elicit our admiration for their marvelous works. So what have I to fear? I can just live on the alert for examples of the aesthetically polymorphous experience called synaesthesia and, perceiving, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching it, allow it to delight me.