I have what is called synesthesia. It is a "neurological phenomenon" in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (thanks, Wiki). It is "a union of the senses," and there are several ways these connections can come about. Some people see music, others taste words they read or hear, some see numbers/letters in specific points in space in front of them.
Mine is a combination of the most common forms, which are grapheme-color and chromesthesia; these both deal with colors. Letters of the alphabet, numbers, days of the week, and months of the year, all have an involuntarily subscribed color that is fixed and have all been present since I can remember.
A is red. B is blue. C is yellow. D is green.
1 is blue. 2 is emerald green. 3 is yellow. 4 is purple.
Monday is red. Tuesday is blue. Wednesday is orange. Thursday is green.
(see how they coincide with letters? Who knows why!)
January is blue/white. February is brown/yellow. March is pink.
So on and so forth. They never change in essence (sometimes in hue or shade). There was a study done on a blind man (he eventually lost his sight, he wasn't born blind) who had this form of synesthesia, and the electrodes used for the study showed his brain lighting up with activity in the visual cortex when hearing words like "Monday" or "November." He could see without sight.
Chromesthesia deals with sounds and colors...cars honking, doors opening, everyday sounds that are recurring through life. This includes music as well. There are PUH-LENTY of synesthetic musicians out there, guaranteed. I generally decide how I feel about music based on the color schemes the song stirs up in me.
I'm also starting to think that this is why I am drawn to clothes and home decor that are neutral or muted colors. Highly colorful outfits and rooms feel like sensory overload and are exhausting. I'm already experiencing a hundred colors a minute. Every word I type here equals a burst of color I wish you could experience with me.
Ahhhh, so peaceful.
This is all fine and dandy, and it makes for a fun conversation with new friends.
But something happened about five years ago that has finally caught up with me.
I decided to select a few close friends to be the receivers of a unique Christmas gift from me; I bought small canvases, acrylic paints and brushes, and painted each of them what their name looks like in my mind when I hear it or read it or think about them. Names do a funny thing with me...they start off roughly based on what the individual letters in the name are colored and shift from there as I get to know the person. Some people's don't change much, and others change drastically. There is no simple, linear explanation as to why someone's name results in the colors it does, and I kind of prefer it that way. So I "painted the names" of my friends, including an individualized letter on the back of each canvas explaining the painting, and gave them out thinking it was a fun little gift and nothing more.
...uh. It was definitely more.
More than one of them cried. More than one of them sat me down and told me how much it meant to them. More than one of them still have their paintings and text me pictures of it if it catches their eye during the day. Mind you, these were nothing museum-worthy or even high-school-art-gallery-worthy. My technique has significantly improved since then, and even today it's amateur. But my friends have treasured those pieces more than I could have ever imagined they would, and I'm beginning to understand why.
I'm a high-functioning introvert. I deeply enjoy humans, and I especially enjoy my chosen tribe of humans.
But when I love, I love quietly. And quiet love can take some time to understand from the outside.
I think when I painted my friends' names, when I shared the colors of my thoughts toward them, my quiet love suddenly had a voice it hadn't had previously. Things I couldn't put into words suddenly didn't need to be said, but could be seen on a canvas.
I don't think I'd realized how quiet my love had been until it was in color. And giving those Christmas gifts showed me the power in the simple act of sharing with someone their shade of blue in my weird brain.
Since then, life's happened. Work, school, fluctuating budgets, bills, adulthood, it all happened more and more. And somewhere along the way, I found less taxing hobbies that had more to do with relaxing after a long day and less to do with expressing myself. Life was as colorful as ever, but the colors went unacknowledged in the face of daunting life changes and working towards goals.
I've also grown up in important ways amidst all the life change, and my quiet nature has found a comfortable balance between being in community and recharging in solitude. I'd like to think I am a steady, genuine presence in the lives of those around me and open to getting to know people, as well as letting others get to know me.
Recently, though, during a tough process of sorting through some of my shadows, I heard His voice ask a very clear question:
How would you live your life now if you had never been ashamed of who you are?
The question opened the floodgates of an ocean of answers, worthy of an entirely separate blog post. But I had a distinct vision of myself deeply at peace, quiet, joyful, gentle...
...and painting.
Painting was as clear as day. It seemed so random but felt so right.
Fast forward a few months to life gaining traction here in Nashville. Working two jobs, excited for grad school in the Fall, living with some quality women in an adorable house, making new friends, and life is wonderful.
But something was missing. And I knew it was painting. Specifically painting the colors in my mind's eye like I once had.
The moment I pinpointed that as a potential creative outlet, I was hit with inspiration and urgency. Words. Memories. Scenes. Suddenly I needed them OUT. I frantically made a list on my phone of everything I wanted to paint, and I hope I got them all down in the end. I left that moment knowing that painting was no longer an option I could do without, but a channel I'd forgotten I needed to feel at peace with myself. To sleep at night. To feel like a fully functioning human. To reach homeostasis, with the internal matching the external. The colors within required an avenue out, and it was painting.
Today I finished my first piece of many to come. I'm not sure what I'll do with them in the long run...some will be gifts, but few, if any, will be for simple decoration (neutrals and muted colors, remember? ;)). I have a few lofty ideas for them, and I'll let you know if I follow through on any of those.
So, here it begins.
I welcome you to the tinted walls of my thoughts.
Snuggle up with a cup of coffee and enjoy. :)
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