MY ORANGE
YOUR ORANGE

 

ORANGE

At my local thrift store, I found a copy of I send you this cadmium red..., an art work/art book reproducing correspondence between John Berger and John Christie. They send to each other colours and meditations about colour. Their book is about more than colour, it about the feelings and memories that colours evoke, and the construction of language about the visual. They do not discuss orange.

I have always been attracted to the colour orange. Nasturtium. Tangerine. Orange. Orange alone. Orange with red. Orange with deep grey. The evanescence of a Rothko orange. The fiery saffron of Christo/Jeanne Claude curtains, themselves derived from the saturation of the robes of Buddhist monks. The toxic shock of Agent Orange.

In my house, I have collected many orange objects. I wanted to feature orange in some of the rooms, a house of orange. But after collecting paint chips and trying to imagine orange walls or even orange patches against grey walls, I find that I cannot make this commitment. It feels too commercial, too graphical. Not alive. I need the orange to be vibrant and transient, like an accident or a surprise.

send me your orange...