One of the chapters in The Artist’s Way is on recovering a sense of strength. One of the tasks is to pick a colour and describe myself in first person.
One of my most vivid childhood memories was getting school
supplies – more specifically a brand-new box crayons for the upcoming year. A bright, new, untouched, chisel-tipped rainbow
hidden beneath the flap – to this day I can still remember the smell when
opening the box. To get a box of 64
colours with a built in sharpener was better than winning any lottery. I would read the names with excitement, organizing
them from the best colours to the worst, then sort like with like. I spent hours sorting, drawing and colouring. So, with this week’s task of choosing a
colour, I immediately thought of a colour, then hemmed and hawed like the 7
year old girl with the big box of crayons. Atomic Tangerine, Hot Magenta, Ultra Red - so
many choices – but returned to my first choice.
I am Black. Black as
the closet. Filled with secrets, fear and monsters. The unknown hiding in among shadows.
I am Black. Black like
a ‘go-to’ outfit when feeling insecure. Basic.
Forgiving. Dependable. Trying to conceal imperfections.
I am Black. Black
like onyx. Strong. Sturdy. Shiny and opaque. Shielding any vulnerabilities from sight.
I am Black. Black as obsidian. Protective.
Useful. Aggressive. Powerful. Burgeoning
from a churning, challenging past.
I am Black. Black as ink.
Immeasurable. Fluid. Changing. Determined yet undefined. A future yet unwritten.
I am Black. Black as
night. Memories, moments twinkle in the dark.
Waiting to greet the sun and welcome a
tomorrow of opportunity.
