Today is the Blog Exchange … but I wasn’t able to connect with my exchangee in time. So, you get to read the post that I sent to her instead! [if I do get her post today, I’ll put it up – check back later in the day and you may get to see another take on orange or black]
Orange has always been one of those colours to love from afar. Until recently, it’s been too wild, too daring a colour for me to try on – in my clothes, in my house. Though in recent years I have played with the fringes of it: a couch whose colour is called paprika, prominently showing off an orange painting that was passed down to us, a burnished lampshade, cautiously acquiring an pumpkin coloured purse and using my daughter as the orange guinea pig. Now, we’re not talking traffic cone orange or orange soda orange, here. There are no violent assaults on the retina. Think deeper, worn shades.
But me? No, I stick to browns and greys and the occassional shot of blue for variety. I have had little daring and tried to find comfort in safety. And it’s not particularly uncomfortable, that safety…. but it’s just there. There’s no grand statement involved, just that uninspiring palette.
Orange can be that warm, rich, earthy, inviting tone that I aspire to while resigning – and assigning – myself to blander, drier things. Bright? Soemetimes. Flattering? Sure, I guess. But never orange.
But I’m starting to warm up to the idea that it’s okay – good, even – to put on that colour. That I can carry it. That it fits me. That I can be and that I am wood flames, earthenware, autumn and amber. It’s a bit of strange thing to have to convince yourself that you really already are what you want to be, but just need a little coaxing. A little coaching. A little confidence. But if I can get to that place where I feel as good in a colour as that colour makes me feel otherwise, then it will have been worth the work.