When form appears,
our awareness of things dispels the darkness.
Yet the moment light arrives,
the meanings of color—encoded and disciplined by cultural symbols—
become hazy, entrapping us once again.
Unless we reclaim power by granting it:
only through giving can we gain our own strength.

How do we become aware of whether our choices of color
have been denied by culture itself?
When we unconsciously retreat into black and white, or into shades of pink,
it may be a kind of moral timidity—
a fear of confronting courage.
By declaring that we belong to a color,
or that we love only one color,
we simply reinforce the stereotype that comforts us—
as if each hue had already been assigned
by certain events, by social roles,
or by the materials to which it seems bound.

But now that we have mastered the making of every color,
we can release its true power:
color that speaks with things,
that contains all variations within its dialogue.
Our strength lies in forming our own perception,
our own response to every calculation.

To construct an abstract, synchronous structure of color
is to let it exist beyond any single object—
to make it a bridge between consciousnesses,
a medium of description:

Did the Big Bang create white?
The red-eye test.
Love was once green.
“Blue makes other colors tremble.”
When did violet first appear in poetry?
Gray in life. Gray in the everyday.
Were their undergarments black?

To observe color not merely as a surface attribute,
but as a subject with its own voice—
it is a name, a narrative, an answer.
Color can become a thing;
and by moving upon it, we trace paths and destinations.
By delving into it,
we open an inner space where the self may freely wander.

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