the White Walls of Guardamar

Sitting here in the common room, on the black drab and draped couch, with the gray wallpaper of fake cedar wood paneling, bronze coated stools, and a black curtain covering the window door, I catch the pure light reflecting off the white walls of the buildings across the pension. Why do I often sit in the common room? The light keeps me in a daze. The white has developed a patina and the walls have cracks seeping through, and all this creates a composition. I’m reminded of Mark Rothko’s paintings and his search to find emotion through color. Each layer provokes a reaction, and the layered whole recognizes the complexity of our emotions. Work through one layer and the others still offer another process. Watching the sunlight rise and fall on these walls is a dance, and the form of the buildings is a stage which allows for certain tricks and angles of light to perform. I wonder if we’re looking for patterns. Sitting on the benches on the beach promenade, underneath the shade canopy, watching the waves crash, why do we feel compelled to look, and why does it provoke a moment of reflection? Is it the incongruent repetition where we know it’ll crash but not in the exact way. Why can I look at the wall for hours when the maximum I can look through social media is a few minutes even if both are stimulating in their own right? I wonder if the notion I hold about color allows for the trance? Maybe deep down I believe white is about purity, whatever that may be, and each time I look, it beckons for a response of how I view myself to that nebulous standard. I am still sitting on the common room couch, and all this was written while looking at the wall, and most of what I’ve produced in Guardamar has been with the assistance of those white walls. I feel I won’t find these answers through logic so that’s why I’m pursuing a degree in the biology field. Maybe I’ll find answers there, although I don’t imagine the white walls of the lab room will provide similar inspiration.

Marc