#onecoloraday

Mary Ruefle My Private Property

What colour is our blood inside our bodies? Does it only become red when the blood meets with the oxygen in the air? I believe the blood inside our bodies is the colour of gold. Shiny, slow-moving rich. Molten. Filled with energy. Our life blood allows us to move through the world, thinking our useless thoughts. Unconcerned with the miracle happening inside us and inside everyone we meet—connecting us to each other like a river connects to the sea. Google the right answer if you want—I’m going with gold.

Blues

My Mother's name was Rose. She was a gardener and loved growing her roses in Alberta. The provincial flower for Alberta is the wild rose and she grew those—but she really loved the traditional roses. Conditions were harsh for growing these types of roses and she was proud of having a garden full of beautiful flowers. I have a photo of my mom, dad and me dressed up for my aunt’s wedding in the 60s. Mom is wearing her favourite dress, a knockout red number with a full skirt. It’s a beautiful dress.

Bill Blass

I live in Victoria Canada a city known for beautiful English inspired gardens. I especially like the pink rhododendrons. Big huge bushes bursting with amazing flowers in varies shades of pink, from a lightest pink—barely there—to a vibrant almost neon pink. Rhododendrons are the harbinger of spring, announcing new beginnings.

I’m trying to understand the rising of rebellion and resistance over doing a creative project or taking care of myself physically. I know intellectually doing the thing will give me joy and I’ll physically feel better if I would just do the thing. I feel like a toddler who's having an epic meltdown over my peas touching the potatoes. It's irrational and looks insignificant but it's deeply chaotic, felt in my very being. It’s a place where "I" as an individual being is consumed by a huge swirling place. I feel enraged that something so simple like putting watercolours on paper or writing words will give me joy. I don’t want the creative force to be that simple. I don’t want to be told what to do. I don’t really know where to start with something that feels so huge and chaotic.

I grew up on the prairies where there were lakes but no ocean. Nature wasn’t something we enjoyed in my family except in controlled spaces like a lawn or a garden. Also the prairies had bugs, mosquitos and black flies so being outside for any length of time, even in the city, wasn’t really fun. At the lake other families went camping or fishing or boating—well you get the idea—we did not. I think I saw most of the lakes either as a photo or through a car window, definitely not in person. So this colour is really a guess.