It feels just a bit like I’ve actually lived a Dickens novel in the last 10 days or so.
Triumph, tragedy, happiness and heartbreak, it was all here.
Joy, pain, accomplishment, failure, stress and peace were all in the sentences and paragraphs I’ve just lived through. I’ve been criticized, caused offense, been shown deep love and tenderness, mourned with those who lost a loved one, then rejoiced with friends about just being together. I’ve worked harder than I have in a long time, yet felt satisfied rather than depleted.
It was a week of contrasts to go along with my current art project about using just values of one color to tell the story.
Life is like that. We only have one life but by mixing in light or dark, whether by choice or circumstance, we end up with a million different tints and shades.
I learned this week that dark is stronger than light in terms of paint. It only takes the tiniest amount of black paint to make red change through the values from pure to brick to the strangest of almost-blacks.
Going the other way is a different story. You must start with a great deal of white, but only need to add the tiniest amount of red to make a hundred tints of pink. Light is easily colored by dark. I have to watch out for that.
So, when things seem Dickensian, keep lots of light on hand and dole out the dark sparingly. Just enough to give the light places the contrast they need to really bloom.
My Red Door Days 