Colorist

The most fleeting of encounters, she bustling down Pinckney Street to her work, me huffing up the street to the crest of the hill and then on to the gym to shower and suit up for mine. I remember her as compact with full-ish hair of perhaps reddish or black color. Nothing else about her.

What hangs in my mind like the afterimage after glimpsing the sun's disc was what she wore. Was it fashionable or gauche? I have no idea. But a powerful visual experience deserves comment.

It was simple. She wore a yellow brown canvas vest over a carmine knitted top with a full frothing scarf of lavender silk at her throat. I took it in at a glance and pondered it all the way back. Each item had a single saturated hue. Some textures were discernible: the matte weave on the vest, the ribs of the long-sleeved top, the luster of the scarf. But it wasn't any of the elements in the ensemble that hit me; it was the whole. What I wonder is: why?

The day before I'd seen a squashed bird on the street: khaki feathers and reddish brown pool. At the Public Garden, near the Washington statue, I'd seen a bank of blue, light purple intermixed and bordered by yellow flowers. These color combos were intriguing too, but hadn't burned me as Miss Pinckney's outfit did.

I'd be comforted to believe that certain color combinations satisfy because they represent, say, fall or remind us of, say, the palette of some visited place, but as I search myself, no analogies, no associations, no symbolisms spring to mind. The power of the impression seems single and direct.

I like learning of the background of works of art or music. I appreciate commentary. These add dimension to my pleasure, may even teach me how to take pleasure. But nothing is like shock of just seeing. The troika of colors seemed perfectly chosen and balanced to create a unique dazzle.

It's not about the woman who made the wardrobe choices, nor about the runner in the tunnel of brick and asphalt, the morning sun low in the sky aslant the street. In fact, I'm not sure what this post is about. Who's the You in this encounter, the Other? An moment of autonomous intensity? What can I learn? Need I learn anything?

Artists are sensitive to the power of color as I really am not. Was this experience an invitation to explore?