when i was younger, my favorite color was black. i’m not quite sure why. i guess there is some sort of comfort that it gave. and it wasn’t a bold decision. i felt sad and struggling a lot of the time. my thoughts were grim and dark. perhaps i just identified with it.
i got a little bit older, and my favorite color was blue. i moved from non-feeling to a perpetual sadness. and blue reminded me of the ocean. i felt at peace in the ocean, so vast, so broad, so deep. i found comfort in staring at the horizon, watching the ocean stretch and reach out to the sky. it produced an idea of escapism. venture into the unknown. my friends found it scary, thinking about this immense, unknown body. but to me, thinking of returning out there, into the nothingness—that made it appealing. anywhere else, and it wouldn’t be here. that was it.
i now find a lot of the same comfort in brown. the only way that i can really think of describing is that it feels like home. like returning to dirt and letting myself grow roots.
the pristine nightmare of minimalism is that it portrays a life that has never been lived. a barren, abandoned slate.