Color (n.) is a clock keeping track of the sun; the timings of color keep us from feeling confined to matter and prisoners of the atom.
Color (n.) is a sermon; light is a mass. Color is about light; light is about God.
Color (n.) creates a fourth dimension in space that gives an edge to the way our eyes encounter the environment, lending a supernatural touch to natural vision.
Color (n.) is action: the blue blues. The yellow yellow. The green greens. The red reddens.
Color (n.) is always using the sun to make decals which the fingers of the air print and reprint on the silky paper of the eye.
Color (n.) is an obstacle to use — The effect of fire on matter before attacking its substance is to “burn off color,” the way meat is cut into pieces the better to chew it. Before we can thoroughly use things, we have to eliminate their pigmentation to the point of anemia.
Color (n.) is light up close, the sun at its most myopic.
Color (n.) is the anvil of the sun on which the hammer of light rays keeps pounding every single second to forge and reforge form.
Color (n.) is the articulation of light. The sun leans towards us in bright light and bends its knees in glowing light as if it were going down on all fours over everything below.
Color (n.) is the fat of fabrics, texture is the cartilage.
Color (n.) is the luminous buoy in the ocean wastes of light, where the sun’s only horizon is the human eye.
Color (n.) is the measuring instrument of the look. The color blind can’t judge distances.
Color (n.) is the only clock that keeps track of the sun — the trailing of luminosity and the stages of sunlight are timed differently for each color, their overlapped shadings creating various lateral and horizontal perspectives far beyond the capacity of sunlight on its own.
Color (n.) is the solar alphabet artists write with, using the retina as a second palette for their pencil. Any artist who can’t form luminous sentences in his eyes has to make out the colors with his fingers, with the fingers of his pencil, like a firstgrader doing his letters from a speller.
Color (n.) is transformed by emotion — The anger that makes man “see red” turns colors blue.
Color (n.) is transformed by movement — Disturb green and it darkens into blue: green leaves turn bluish in the wind. Yellow that charges straight at you shows tints of green. Shake up blue and it deepens into ultramarine. Roughed-up red becomes garnet. The anger that makes man “see red” turns colors blue.