There is a monochromatic painting just above where I sit to type. A man and woman supposedly staring into each other's eyes. Hazy figures. I like black; I like white...to show that I am not so completely rigid, I like grey too.
But I play around with colours. It is interesting that what we did when we were young is still so appealing: giving the first thought that comes to mind when you think of a particular shade.
Black: power; white (white- you cannot see it!): pages; grey: moods; red: blood; blue: bruises; pink: floyd; green: branches; brown: soil; purple: prose; orange: sunset; yellow: egg yolk.
I cannot go on. I have not run out of colours. But I feel black and blue. I shall return to white. A fresh page.
Powerfully Bruised?
ReplyDeleteAlex: How wonderful to assume that bruises empower you. Or is it just that they are dressed in army fatigues?
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