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.
me your orange...