I die for color. I don’t mean die as in dead; I mean die in the way the French call an orgasm la petit mort; the little death. Color causes my synapses to fire and creates internal fireworks. Color excites me. When I pass by a yarn store, it is the color of the yarn that will pull me in. Once I cross the threshold I try to take it all in. All the colors and shades – oranges so juicy I feel as if I’m absorbing vitamin C through my eyeballs; pinks so subtle, if I blinked I would miss the gentle hue and greys so steely I’m convinced to wear a vest in that color would transform me into a superhero; capable of deflecting bullets with my chest.
Color has the curb appeal to entice me to browse the store but, it’s touching the yarn; the texture of the yarn that seals the deal. Yarns such as boucle, chenille, eyelash, fuzzy, slub; even their names have texture you can feel on your lips, teeth and tongue. For this weeks challenge I only needed to close my eyes and reach into my yarn stash. What my fingertips “saw” was put into the frame.
Here’s my entry for this week’s photo challenge.