a beautiful mess

Last night while talking to a friend, I commented that prior to the last four-ish years of so of my life, I had always thought of love as black and white.  You either loved someone or you didn’t and if you did, there was no possible reason to not be with that person (providing, of course, that the person felt the same way).  Love could conquer all, or something, I suppose was my strongly rooted belief. 

She commented that she had always thought so too but now she realized that things were much more….

Gray?  I asked. 

No, she responded.  Colorful. 

I suppose it makes sense.  What exists in between the absence of color and every color combined is all colors, all shades, vibrant and dull, soft and sharp. 

Maybe it’s been my perception that has made me so afraid of the in between.  I’ve always thought of it as gray.  Washed out, watered down, barely visible gray.  I’ve always tried to find meaning and life in and around the whites and the blacks – I’ve been captivated by black and white photography since I can remember, always fascinated by the way tone and light is captured without any use of color.  It is only recently, when playing around with my own pictures, that I’ve come to see the beauty in keeping the colors, letting them speak for themselves. 

I suppose it takes a while to transition from accepting life as being more colorful and chaotic than you once anticipated.  There is something to be said for letting it all in – black, white, and the messy smear of color in between.