“Pink sadness … is the sadness of shame when you have done nothing wrong, pink sadness is not your fault and even though the slightest jolt can cause it, sadness is the vast bushy hill like the distant roots of the family tree. A giant squid with eyes the size of a soccer ball. “
A lot has been written about colors until now, we have read a lot about colors and the emotions of colors from the eyes of painters and musicians. Van Gogh's hysterical yellow, Fauvism's contradictory reds and greens, Yves Klein's peaceful blue… This month's subject is a poet. Mary Ruefle is an American poet and professor. The world order that he created with colors is very interesting and touching.
Poet Mary Ruefle's prose poems, thoughts, prophecies and determinations woven with naïveté form the color collection. He has created a rare, yet enthusiastic scale in which he paints his sorrows across the spectrum of colors.
Nearly two centuries after Goethe's reflection on the psychology of color and emotion, Ruefle's chromatic taxonomy of sadness broke our mind like an eggshell and filled it with great vitality. kaleidoscope it reveals. What emerges is something beyond the bounds of logic – as if sadness; It shows that our grief for life is not just the tip of the Atlantean-sized iceberg. The blazing fire of life presents the fundamental truth that without hope there is no disappointment, and without love there is no heartbreak. In the shadows where our existence leaves sadness on the platonic cave walls, the dream of life; Doesn't he create such a delusion himself?
In the pages that Ruefle wrote, he ascended to the hidden world of colors – he created a new world in which he lived with an astonishing knowledge that we could not see before, and created this world. "Kiss of the Sun"In , the author sums up his temperament perfectly: “Earth / I didn't know how to touch it, it was all so raw.”
It leaves us the following lines beyond imagination:
”Blue sadness; cut into strips with sweet scissors and then cut into small pieces with a knife, it is the melancholy of dreams and nostalgia: for example, it can be a memory of happiness that is now just a 'memory'. It's like a niche that can't be dusted because it's out of your reach; Blue sadness lies in your inability to dust it, creating a reality as inaccessible as the sky, reflecting the sadness of all realities. Blue sadness is the color of sadness that becomes what you want to forget but can't picture with absolute clarity a dust ball in a locker on the bus, a strange, unshared thought as blushing as a shy rose spreading over blue reality, creating a reality that can only be compared to an existing temple, yet To visit it, you have to go two thousand kilometers on snowshoes and dog sleds.”
In her stunning serenade to the color blue, bluets In her work, Maggie Nelson wrote: “I felt like a servant of sadness. I am still looking for the beauty in the sadness. Beauty may have escaped it because to be one one must look beyond the blue – to be the servant, even the master of sadness, it is only necessary to 'be'. "
This exciting and striking state that Ruefle opened with ecstatic sadness spectroscopy continues with purple:
“Purple sadness, the sadness of classical music. The beat of midnight is the human organs, the ports that are cut off at part of each year, the words with meaning, incense, insomnia and the crescent. It is the sadness of play money and icebergs seen from a raft. It is possible to dance with purple sadness, though as slow as digging a hole to hold a sleeping giant. Purple sadness is common and has the ability to go deeper than any of the world's largest nickel deposits or any sadness in the world. Warehouses of purple sadness and heels echoing down a long hallway is the sound of your mother closing the door at night and leaving you alone.”
“Gray sadness is the sadness of paper clips and rubber bands, of rain, of squirrels and gum trees, of wounds and ointments, of movie theaters. Gray sadness is the most common of all sorrows; The sadness of the sand in the desert and the sand on the beach is the sadness of the keys in a pocket, the tins on the shelf, the hair left in the comb, dry cleaning and raisins. Gray sadness is beautiful, but it should not be confused with the beauty of blue sadness, which is irreplaceable. It is sad to say, it can replace gray sadness, it can be changed every day, it is the sadness of a snowman melting in a blizzard.”
“Red is the secret of sadness. Red sadness never looks sad, it seems to float in the air, it is dark, appearing in unspeakable visions with a glow of passion, anger, fear, inspiration and courage.”
“Green sadness is sadness dressed up for graduation, the sadness of June, the smell of shiny toasters out of their boxes, a pre-party table, fresh strawberries about to be eaten, and dripping fries; it is the sadness of those who go unnoticed and therefore never felt and seldom expressed, except for the polka dancers and the little girls who, imitating their grandmothers, decide who will take their bunny when they die. Green sadness weighs no more than an unused handkerchief, it is the funeral silence of bones under a green carpet of evenly cut grass, where the bride and groom walk happily.
Brown sadness is simply sadness. It is the sadness of huge upright stones. This is everything. Simple. Large, upright stones envelop and protect other sorrows. A huge, upright circle of stones – who would have thought of that?
What makes Ruefle's taxonomy so powerful, so colorful and life-giving is that it explores the desolations that we live together but neglect, ignore and gnaw at.
“Pink sadness is the sadness of white anchovy. It is the sadness of having to swallow, deprivation, swallowing when your throat is not as big as an acupuncture needle; The sadness of mushrooms born with heads too big for their bodies, the sadness of having the soles of your feet sticking out of your single pair of shoes or your favorite pair, pink sadness cannot be measured by a game show host, such sadness of embarrassment when you have done nothing wrong, pink sadness is not your fault and the smallest Even though pain can cause it, sadness is the vast bushy hill of the family tree with distant roots like a gigantic squid with eyes.”
Ruefle Van Gogh's existential anxiety turned into self-mutilation From the Sorrowful Night the orange haunted, which he painted soon after Wrapped Ear In a passage that brings to mind his self-portrait, he writes:
“Orange sadness is the sadness of worry and worry, the sadness of an orange balloon drifting over snow-capped mountains, the sadness of wild goats, the sadness of counting, as if someone were worried that another thought post was about to arrive. On the day when the house, soufflé or Cessna will be sinless, the orange fog of a distant fox speaks the strange horned language of ghosts and dead batteries, that is the sadness of all that remains. Such an orange sadness, like its cause, disappears among us all together.”
“Yellow sadness is surprise sadness. Confectionery and eggs are the sadness of swan feathers, bag powder and wet wipes. Sorrow is the citrus, and everything round, whole and dying like the sun carries this sadness, which is sadness in the first place; It's the sadness of explosion and expansion, of a blast furnace towering above the night skyline in Duluth and reflected in the waters of Lake Superior, a supreme joy and a supreme sadness, that of revolving doors and turnstiles, the perplexing sadness of the never ending and lost, the clown in every card pack sadness, when a poet pointed to a flower what is to say is sadness. When she is a violet; yellow sadness is the ceiling fresco that Andrea Mantegna painted in the fifteenth century Castello di San Giorgio in Mantova, Italy, where we look up, we look down, we look with laughter and joy, the sadness of it.”
And then, in a tiny, dazzling author's note tucked into the neglected last paragraph of the book for the discovery of only the most devoted and sensitive readers, Ruefle describes the nameless destruction at the heart of the mind's color wheel:
In each of the color parts, happiness the word sadness instead of the word if you put , nothing changes.
Johann Wolfgang von Gothe, Color Theory Red Publications
Mary Ruefle, My Private Property