Color is a language.
Each color is a world. Vast, full of scenes and beings. Pregnant with potential. Each color has an inside.
Colors feel. You can feel colors. Each color has its own feeling, its own nature, its own being. Each one speaks.
Like a word, a color conveys. Unlike a word, what it conveys is found in its very appearance, by going into its appearance, and listening to it, letting that speak and convey itself.
It's amazing how completely colors speak to us. As if each one was quite familiar, as if each one found an echo, a response, a reflection in us.
It's as if colors put before our eyes the stuff of our own inner. As if each color brings a part of the soul into the visible spectrum.
Color is a language. Because color surely has a deep correspondence to the human soul. And that is surely one of the reasons people love to look at pictures.
I could say that my own art is largely grounded in the idea that the soul is color, an intangible drama of color. And that giving form to color on the paper can reveal something of the soul to itself.
Giving that "airy nothing," as Shakespeare said, "a local habitation and a name."