by Ciara Black
Colours had always been a source of great interest for Sienna. She was named after one, and she’d always had a deep curiosity as to why, of all the colours in the world, her parents had chosen that one to name her. Perhaps it had been because it was such a prominent colour in the paintings of the Renaissance – her parents were big fans of art. Or maybe it went further back than that, to the original artworks created by humans smearing earthy tones on rock walls by the light of a warm fire.
Even more interesting was the idea of the colour of emotion. Warmth, like fire, brings the colours of orange and yellow, while blues and whites send a shiver of cold up the spine. Anger could make people see red, the harshest form of warm, like the boiling blood within their veins. Tears of sadness mimic the frozen feeling deep inside of feeling entirely blue. The queasy feeling of green inside her stomach mimicked the tinge in her cheeks when she had eaten something too old.
To Sienna, black was the most interesting colour of all. The absence of colour, the absence of light, the mood of people when hope or happiness was extinguished. Yet also the colour that fuels the fire as coal, the colour that is flicked off the side in ash to remind you there once was light. In paint, the opposite of in light – all colours combined, blended together to make the darkest colour of all.
Sienna liked to think of black in terms of paint rather than light. If black were all colours, then she could see colour through more than her emotion, through more than her name.
In paint, the absence of light was the only light she could see.
Even more interesting was the idea of the colour of emotion. Warmth, like fire, brings the colours of orange and yellow, while blues and whites send a shiver of cold up the spine. Anger could make people see red, the harshest form of warm, like the boiling blood within their veins. Tears of sadness mimic the frozen feeling deep inside of feeling entirely blue. The queasy feeling of green inside her stomach mimicked the tinge in her cheeks when she had eaten something too old.
To Sienna, black was the most interesting colour of all. The absence of colour, the absence of light, the mood of people when hope or happiness was extinguished. Yet also the colour that fuels the fire as coal, the colour that is flicked off the side in ash to remind you there once was light. In paint, the opposite of in light – all colours combined, blended together to make the darkest colour of all.
Sienna liked to think of black in terms of paint rather than light. If black were all colours, then she could see colour through more than her emotion, through more than her name.
In paint, the absence of light was the only light she could see.