The word “blue” is conventionally associated with sadness and despair. Feeling blue is feeling down, as many people put it. For some reason that I can’t seem to put my finger on, blue is the depressed, despondent member of the color family, the outcast that all of the other colors, like vibrant yellow and blazing red, seem to feel sorry for. Blue is the one with the sad reputation, as though it seems.
On my walk home, I strayed from my usual route through the West Village, past Bleecker and Hudson Street, and decided to explore the Meatpacking District. I’ve always been enamored by this area: a strip of dazzling land that hangs out on its own part of the island. As mundane as it is magical, this district has often served as a portal into the night for me. Today though, I saw the area in a different light – literally. The vivid reflections of nightclub marquee lights in puddles of rain and spilled beer were replaced by sunlit cobblestone and clear glass store windows. As I continued my walk, curiously aware of my surroundings (as I always am), I stopped in my steps, as I was face-to-face with this bright blue door, framed by warm bricks and dangling ivy – an image so charming, so beautifully blue, I had to stop my walk to take it in.
If I found something as ordinary as a door, a blue door nonetheless, pleasant to look at and even enchanting, why is blue tainted with our perceptions of the color as sad and down? Perhaps, the norms and clichés woven into the fabric of conventionality as we know it blind us from seeing and experiencing the true essences of different things and beings. Sometimes, the most beautiful things are blue, like closed doors waiting to be unlocked, opened, and walked through.
8 Little West 12th Street, New York, NY 10014
