I decided that I’d do everything in my power to embrace ‘greyness’ this November as it’s a colour I’ve always disliked and associated with this eleventh month of the year, mugginess, flatness, boredom, downness and even depression.
I’ve spent the last week pretty much preoccupied by grey. It started with noticing the number of my kitcheny things that are grey ~ saucepans, whisks, cutlery, kettle. Then, there seemed to be grey cars everywhere, including mine, and it’s a symbol of freedom so I certainly don’t have any problem with that.
Lines of grey poetry came flashing into my mind and, much to my surprise, they all seemed to come from poems that I truly love, like W.B. Yeats’ When You Are Old, Patrick Kavanagh’s Stony Grey Soil, Alfred Lord Tennyson’s The Lady of Shallot. Absolutely nothing there to complain about either.
So, I decided to tackle greyness in nature. Grey hair jumped into my mind with a serious leap but was softened very quickly when I remembered my father’s lovely silvery hair of his later years and how he brushed it with such care with his old-fashioned square hairbrush with no handle.
I’ve devoted a week now to trying to take photographs of greyness in nature. The other day, I made a beeline for Garrarus Beach when it seemed like the day had forgotten to wake up and there were big grey clouds hanging low. But, even these clouds refused to be dull and brought all sorts of shades with them.
Before I knew it, this is what opened up before me:
It was hard not to think of childhood days messing around with poster paints as I watched the grey turn to white and, later on and further along the coast, it was the magical connections between white, black and silvery grey that came to mind:
Yes, you’ve guessed, grey has lost its doom and gloom to me. It’s forced me to think of things like shades and contrasts. It seems that grey, like some people, likes to play a background role and let other colours have the limelight.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about ‘grey’ and ‘greyness.’