I’m attracted to the word grey. Not necessarily the color, its really more about the spelling. Maybe its because it goes deeper than just a color. It implies so much more, almost like an experience. Grey seems more exotic than gray and not because there’s a popular show with it in its title. Gray just seems too cut and dry and boring. I think I will use it in its more European form today, just for a little holiday spice.

Emphatically grey was the theme one day this week. I was gazing out our bedroom window while I tried to nap. My glasses were off and everything was a blur of fuzzy shapes and undefined edges. The sky was grey and heavy with snow. . . at least that’s how it felt. What I saw was a big rectangle of bright grey, very minimalist. It was so fitting, considering the day had been filled with grey. I just felt grey inside. Nothing was black and white, everything was questionable, my attitude, the kids, indecision. . .no resounding yes! or no! came to mind, just grey and a blur of the lines. These days come every so often, sometimes they stay for a while. But we always seem to return to days of more contrast, black and white days, occasionally speckled with varying shades of greys. Kids seem to be more black and white, maybe they just haven’t been muddied by the grey days yet.

{ Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1: Portrait of the Artist’s Mother, c.1871 by James Whistler and Untitled(Black and Grey) by Mark Rothko}

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