When the feeling is there but you can't find a word to describe it you look for definitions, synonyms and substitutes for that word. But what do you do when the right colour is missing?
Here I am, sitting in front of my white canvas and looking for the right colour. I can see the image, it's there. It's clear and simple, but the colour... The colour is missing. Do I simply not see it? Is it only about the colour? What if there is something more?
I had all the colours I wanted right there in front of me. There was no colour missing, there was something missing inside me. And I could not figure out what it was. My palette was full of colours but my own colours where not there. How do you describe the emptiness of the colours? It can't be blank white, white is also a colour. It can't be darkness, the colour of the darkness is black. Everything we see, touch and even feel have their colours. But here I was with no single colour in me. Who was I in that case? What was I after all? Even my empty canvas was full of all the possible shades of white. My brushes were laying on the table as a palette themselves, with different colours. All those breathless things I was surrounded by had colours. And among all those shades I felt like an invisible statue with no point or meaning. I wanted to create an image, to give life to all those colours and make the blank canvas to come to life. But how could I do it when I myself had turned into an emptiness? I myself needed an artist who would bring me back to life, who would find my colours or at least give me new ones.
I was an artist trying to create a painting, who ended up looking for another artist who could restore her own image. I was an artist with no colours of my own.
© LiLit Ghazaryan
Here I am, sitting in front of my white canvas and looking for the right colour. I can see the image, it's there. It's clear and simple, but the colour... The colour is missing. Do I simply not see it? Is it only about the colour? What if there is something more?
I had all the colours I wanted right there in front of me. There was no colour missing, there was something missing inside me. And I could not figure out what it was. My palette was full of colours but my own colours where not there. How do you describe the emptiness of the colours? It can't be blank white, white is also a colour. It can't be darkness, the colour of the darkness is black. Everything we see, touch and even feel have their colours. But here I was with no single colour in me. Who was I in that case? What was I after all? Even my empty canvas was full of all the possible shades of white. My brushes were laying on the table as a palette themselves, with different colours. All those breathless things I was surrounded by had colours. And among all those shades I felt like an invisible statue with no point or meaning. I wanted to create an image, to give life to all those colours and make the blank canvas to come to life. But how could I do it when I myself had turned into an emptiness? I myself needed an artist who would bring me back to life, who would find my colours or at least give me new ones. I was an artist trying to create a painting, who ended up looking for another artist who could restore her own image. I was an artist with no colours of my own.
© LiLit Ghazaryan