On the Color Black

On the Subject of Black

The color black and me, we get along famously.

Black is what it is. And I like to think, so am I.

Black is up front. It stands alone, solitary.

Black doesn’t play games. It doesn’t know how.

With black, there is no guessing at hues and shades. True black is what it is.

I prefer it when things are what they are. It’s easier, quicker. Time grows shorter and more precious. Black is usually the first color for which I reach these days. I can count on black to be black.

Black is what it is. And so, I like to think, am I.

With black, there is no need to speculate. There is no arguing over if it is or it isn’t. Black is just black. It’s black in the morning, and at night it’s still black. It can trusted to be what it is. All of the time.

It’s always black.

Black is unique in that it can be many things while still remaining black. It can be stark, somber, depressing, confining, sad, dismal, frightening, and gloomy. It can also be elegant, shiny, sleek, debonair, ceremonial, comfortable, satisfying, accommodating, and complimentary

It can be all of those things, or any one of those things, or it can just be.

But it will still be black.

No matter how many different shades and colors there are in the crayon box, no matter how many gradations of color in the spectrum, there is only one genuine black. It stands alone, solitary, proud in its uniqueness.

Bold, secretive, icy, steamy, mind-numbing, stimulating, appealing, repelling, obscuring, defining;
Black is what it is.

And so, I like black, am I.