I do, really. I love pink. I love pink in its bubblegum and magenta states. I love pale baby pink and hot pink. Give it to me as blush, rose or watermelon and I'm happy as can be.
Where is this ode pink going you ask? Well, Thursday was my first day back to my proper studio and after a big cup of coffee and a long chat with my peeps, I went to the easel and directly for the pink like a thirsty man goes for beer. I jumped in and with great joy painted two paintings of pink flowers. I guess its the girlish whimsy and romance that I love about pink but also its power.
Where did this love originate? I was a regular Barbie loving little girl but I don't think it came from childhood except for maybe my brief near worship of Pinky Tuscadero and the Pinkettes. Is it my feminist upbringing? Could be. Is it a lady like fashion statement? No. I remember a pretty pink sweater I wore once, but I now favor dark colors that don't show stains. Could it have been Bruce Springsteen and his Pink Cadillac? No, I was more of a Rosalita girl. Is it because I am surrounded by men including the dog? Maybe. Is it because I am almost 46 and I am finally allowing myself to be who I am? Kind of. My love of pink seems to be at the root of my love affair with painting, that with color I can evoke emotion. And with pink I can explore all of the above and more.