Field Notes: When the Light Changes

There are colors we name quickly.

Blue. Gray. Brown. Black.

The name is useful. It tells us enough to recognize what we're looking at, and most of the time, enough is all we need.

But every once in a while, the light changes.

A color that seemed settled becomes something else entirely.

I've been noticing this with dark blue lately. In the quiet light of morning, it can look almost black. Move it closer to the window, and the blue returns. Somewhere along the way there might be a little slate, a little silver, perhaps even a hint of violet that disappears before you're quite certain you saw it.

None of those colors were absent before.

We simply couldn't see them yet.

I've been thinking about this while looking at a skein of Deep Navy from Wicked Tint Yarns.

From across the room, navy seems description enough. Up close, the firm twist catches the light one strand at a time, and suddenly there is much more blue in it than the name suggested.

The same thing happens once it's on the needles.

The light settles differently across each stitch. Rows begin to show themselves. Even simple stockinette has a surface that changes slightly as you move it in your hands.

Perhaps that's why some colors are difficult to photograph.

And perhaps that's also part of what makes them worth looking at.

Sometimes the color hasn't changed at all.

Only the light has.

Crow Note

Some things don't reveal more until we look longer.