Written April 16, 2006
I bought some orange field tulips at the grocery store this afternoon and put them in my favorite vase. It's cobalt blue with an oval, nearly round belly and a narrow circular neck. The graceful stems crowd the neck and then arch out in all directions. Both deeply intense, the blue vase and almost radiant orange blossoms create a dynamic and striking harmony.
Facing off on the color wheel, blue and orange are called complementary colors by painters; they share no color in common. It appears in the natural world of color and light, these opposites attract. One cool, one warm. One primary, one a unique mixture of yellow and red. And because of the proximity of these two, each making bold statements on my unassuming white table cloth, you can't take your eyes from the dialogue.
The cobalt blue vase from Tiffany's is the most perfect gift I have ever been given.
Facing off on the color wheel, blue and orange are called complementary colors by painters; they share no color in common. It appears in the natural world of color and light, these opposites attract. One cool, one warm. One primary, one a unique mixture of yellow and red. And because of the proximity of these two, each making bold statements on my unassuming white table cloth, you can't take your eyes from the dialogue.
The cobalt blue vase from Tiffany's is the most perfect gift I have ever been given.
I've always like these two paragraphs. In my mind and heart, the orange and the cobalt blue represent me and Michael. Although I am tempted to claim the cobalt for myself, I think he is the deep, magical primary color. Odd that the vase is a feminine symbol. I broke that dear vase and was shocked and shaken by the shards of blue glass in the sink. Last year, for Christmas, Michael replaced the vase with two, new, used vases he found on e-bay. Both are larger and more impressive than the first. I like them very much and especially love the cobalt. I am very careful with them.
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