Color and Time

"…Paint your palette blue and grey…Flaming flo’rs that brightly blaze…Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in Vincent’s eyes of China blue…You tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they’ll listen now." – Don Mclean

There is something about a vacation wherein the air seems fresher, the breeze cooler, the sounds more audible, the colors more vibrant. Choosing just the right shade of yellow for a dress I wanted to buy and agonized over during my recent vacation, I actually had the time to distinguish between shades of the same color – sunflower yellow, mustard yellow, butter yellow. That’s it. Time. Time allows the urban nomad (emphasis on the "mad") to pause and, quite literally, smell the flowers. Time is what the greatest artists of all time, like Vincent van Gogh, gave themselves to interpret their impressions sometimes taking a day’s sitting, others taking years, to complete. Time is also what artists like van Gogh DIDN’T have – for his works to be recognized and lauded the way they were until long after his death. For the rest of the world to notice genius it took too long for the values of many a master’s work to be appreciated. Go figure. Maybe it is the anesthetic effect of single-mindedness, of seeing things the only way we want to see, that preempt the possibility of appreciating things differently. And we hardly find the time to even notice we’re missing out. For only after graduating from insisting things as merely "black or white" do you discover there is such a thing as a rainbow. And as the student artist will notice his materials have now come to include a whole range of pastels with labels he never knew existed. Under violet is purple, lavender, magenta, periwinkle, yam… And, what do you know, each color represents not only tangible objects but interprets emotion, rekindles an experience… IF you have the time to look, close your eyes, open your heart and allow your imagination to run wild. How many colors define your life?

It’s been a while since I’d been away from Manila for a three-week vacation away from all forms of work. I’m not even sure if I’ve ever had such a break. Travel abroad usually meant an assignment. Staying in one place for an entire break, rather than touring to see three or four places in one trip, also rids you of fatigue that dulls the senses rather than invigorates them. And, guess what? – this vacation, I found the time to allow my skin to notice the difference between 55 and 60 degrees. The difference determines whether I wear my thermals or not. I allowed myself to taste and decide that the better croissant is at Hot and Crunchy – not Eli’s. I allowed myself to smell the difference between purple and yellow freesias. The yellow ones are more fragrant. I became conscious that while there are, maybe, 20 shades of any color I actually have favorites.

There are pinks – then there are pinks. Pink is the latest silk wool sweater blouse of Ralph Lauren. I held it long enough in the store to memorize the shade – only to let it go because I had to make a decision between one outrageous buy or the other. The site of two shades of cool pink cherry blossoms standing as backdrop to warm pink giant tulips along Park Avenue in late spring is to behold. By the fourth time crossing the wide street I stopped and parked myself literally in the middle of both directions of the avenue to notice. Pink reminds me of each of my three baby brothers’ feet and fingers when they were infants. Pink is the color of a girl in love.

I never thought I’d see green that is greener than the lush mountain slopes of Aklan. But I see the evenness of God’s Hand because the Central Park lawns of New York in May are as green as the rice fields of Bulacan as it is as green when you travel from London to Paris by train and look out the window in the daytime. Green is deep emerald. Since I can’t afford the precious gem – in a size that matters – I’ve settled for a beautiful emerald colored gown I’m saving for a special occasion to wear. Green reminds me of my latest trip to Vegas. I lost $50 to a slot machine and swore off gambling forever. Green is the emergency room. I will never forget the car accident I figured in, 1987 it was, and I was surrounded by strange looking men with masks and green outfits. A hint of green is how I feel towards US anchorwoman Katie Couric – who, after being highest paid TV host at US broadcast network NBC, is now pirated to anchor the CBS primetime news replacing the legendary Dan Rather. Her springboard’s gotten her to the challenge of her life – starting again at an age past 50. Way to go.

My favorite red lipstick is Mac’s Viva Glam. I don’t know if this is what she uses but I did tell Sam Eduque one time that she carries red lipstick like no one I know can. Red is the underrated sunset at Anilao, Batangas. You have to catch the sun at the right time. Keep one eye closed and hold your fingers away from you where you can see them between the sea and the sun. The sunset’s transformation is most beautiful starting when it is three fingers wide away from the sea level. And this getting-there-bright-red color lasts for not more than a minute until it quickly fades away… Red is power. Red is danger. Red is blood.

I never realized there are many powerful shades of blue that have been used to express different degrees of the same emotion. A trip to a museum should reacquaint anyone with how some of the greatest art masters have taken the time to define their lives with color. Passionate Norwegian expressionist Edvard Munch once found himself caught by despair and fear while he was crossing a bridge going home. The painting "Scream" describes this moment with shades of blue against a red sky that is as depressed as it is terrifying. The same feelings of isolation defined by blue was that of Vincent van Gogh who sold only one painting in his life and created "Starry Night" inside an asylum. Others see the yellow stars. I tend to see the blue night. Blue stirs mixed feelings. I wonder in awe at the azure of El Nido’s waters – the same deep that awes as it overwhelms.

Oh well... Back to work and running around as if some ghost were chasing me the world is again black or white. Right or wrong. Libel or freedom. I make it or I don’t. Friend or enemy. Win or lose. Most of us trapped in the black and white cages of our choice go through colorless lives because we lock ourselves in and throw away the key. I’ve since kept my mouth shut about people in Boracay who I used to sneer at for basking under sun and sea six months in a year. Given hours to stare at the same frame in the horizon everyday it might not be so unusual to create an obra maestra in one’s head. I, too, dream, about seeing color and all its possibilities. There is just never enough time. Except for maybe two months in every year looks like it’s not going to happen that easily for many of us. And because we choose what we allow into our hours, looks like there are no masterpieces to be created for now. At least not yet.

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(E-mail me at korina_abs@yahoo.com)