Achromatic Attention to Detail.

Achromatic Attention to Detail.

By Jeff Rodier

“Black and white ideas of time

Pen and ink live like caricatures

Simple shading made of lines

Life in general, but no real ventures

One step in front of the other, keep going don’t stray towards the gutter

If you’re your not going to wonder, at least have the courage to bother.”

In a monochromatic world, much resembling our own, black and white men and women go about their day. Wives rushing to the store in their shades of grey dress and make up. husbands collecting colorless cheques. Constant crossing guard confusion over traffic lights. Livid news programs on the television, with their dreary hosts, recounting the events of a ashen day.

A young boy, of not yet eight, would go about his picturesque life, sitting in-front of the black board, re-writing his teachers chalky words into his plain note book. Usually being treated to vanilla ice cream after his bland supper of potatoes, gravy and roast. Little did he know a small paint ser would set off a sparkle in the young mans eyes. Not for it’s grandeur or for his passion for art, but instead, for the first time in his life he would see a marvelous display of ; brilliant blues, everlasting yellows and gorgeous greens.

Every color imaginable, the kind that he had never even been able to imagine or come across in him average day to day, but alone in his room, he could find solace in, solar shades of orange and red. Majestic magentas of a sunset of a mountain. Deep hues of leafy forest green with hints of icy blossoming blues. Pearl highlights and porous pinks. They were all within his spectrum of enlightenment now. Solitarily covering his canvas, he took as much time as he needed to find his color. No matter how much mixing it would take him. Every minute detail would take hours out of his minutes.

He would spends days, covering canvas after canvas, never giving up, sparing only few moments to sleep. Using many a brushes and even more pallets, filling up his rooms with stretched fabrics, and entirely covered and fully finished paintings. Every part of his day was devoted to the art, shading and color charts spun around in his sleep, so that during the day he could apply the vibrant chromatic paints at will. Even once he had finished every last one of his canvases, he had little to contemplate. He picked up his brushes and continued on to the walls.

He painted a large mural, starting somewhere new everyday. A dragon sneaking into his window, a princess in a tower in the far end. A space ship fighting off aliens battled along the ceiling and multi-national peoples shook hands in the corners. The world as he had always seen it was developing everywhere around him with or without what some would call talent. When the mural was done and the landscape had been filled in. Countless stories from his earlier childhood sprawled along the inexistent boarders and leaped out directly from his memory.

While there were still a few drops to use he started giving his chair more lively hood, though he soon ran out. Noticing that his entire room, and most of the furnishing in it, had been transformed. Every part of his childhood had at least a spec of chromatism to it, but the world outside was still bleak and colorless. He felt so much shame and guilt for being so selfish. Every part of his being now set upon the task of showing this wonderful new agent of youth to the world.

He made his way down to the store once again, speeding up a little every time the excitement grew. Rushing into the store he asked the man about the paint set. He begged and pleaded with the clerk to get him some more of those wonderful colors. Pastels, inks, water color, oils, chalks. Anything, he howled, both tearful and angry that the clerk wouldn’t acknowledge his request.

The clerk simply smiles a tight smile and said with a hint of remorse, “I’m sorry son, we don’t have anything of that nature. I don’t think we’ve ever carried anything like that, and to tell you the truth, I’ve never heard of such thing as color.” He ended sadly. The boy couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He began to even question his own ideas of color.

Walking home his mind was filled with doubts and confusion. The clerk had to know what he was talking about, why he had been working non stop for what seemed to be weeks in the same clothes. He couldn’t be bothered in changing often. Once every few sleeps at least, though, even that didn’t happen to often. He must have been covered from head to toe. Glancing at his hands from every angle, under and over, and the sides too, he couldn’t see any trace of anything but gray’s. Not a speck of color could be found. Not a single different hue that was not a shade.

As fast as he could he ran towards the closest automobile, which, as popular as they where they were scarce. Peering into the looking glass he gazed in bewilderment at his own, spot less, black face. He was shocked, and his face was contorted. The face no longer held its features of youth, his eyes were sunken and wrinkles buried themselves in the trenches. His hair had faded, and his teeth had darkened. Even the once prominent twinkle of hope had dimmed and disappeared as the world of color shifts away with time till all that remains is a glimmer.