Barbara Bloemink
Oh God, The weight of it all. To be able to let go, release, and rest; to sink down; indolent and lethargic, in undulating curves, as if boneless. Mindless and enervated, you seek the soothing tranquility of celadon-paneled chambers. But where your brain resided is now an endlessly deep, velvety-black wormhole that has sucked in all light and swallowed it whole. Headless and spineless, unwieldy and squat, your obsidian shape drapes over itself; your soul an endless darkness choked with the unknowable, the end of time.
Even as you sag, your sinuous settlement senses a new environment: scumbles of hot pink that minutely perforate your body. You become unexpectedly enveloped by a flood of “bright, impossible, impudent, becoming, life-giving…” shocking pink. Not the stereotypical sweetness of the usual pink, this color is bold, energetic, suffused with confidence, excitement, even provocation. Your limbs loosen and uncurl. Another color begins to saturate your limbs: a lambent, luminous, turquoise, the refreshing color of clarity, healing, renewal, growth, and creativity. You STRETCH…., reach out, and try again.
Elsa Schiaparelli, A Little History of Shocking Pink