The beginning of a new journal…a new world of words opens on the lined pages.
I decided to follow a tradition I have started with the last journal: the final page stays blank.
Watching a series of documentaries about the importance of colour, like golden, blue (which was once more expensive than gold) and white….ohhhh…white…the purity of antique marble statues, so many think…and the urge of the 18th century to keep skin white…virginity, enlightenment end elitism.
You could say white is my colour (despite that colour actually is no one’s possession). I am drawn rather to a white page than the black letter.
And I am not alone with my white, think of the painter Whistler with his ”Symphony in White” or Marcel Duchamp’s work ”Fountain”.
Some architects even believe that a certain white paint on your walls – or even a wash basin in your entrance hall – can cleanse your soul. Living in an 18th century building with a different colour in every room, mostly Georgian green, I cannot tell if that works.
[Against all odds, I am happy with most of my emotional dirt and with a distance to white I cannot get lost in it.]
White does not only clean your soul, it robs you of lots more than your colours, burdens, every emotion.
Here a short introduction to the architectural manifesto of Le Cobusier.