Week 8 - Flash Essay on 'White'

Experiments in Writing – Week 8 Exercise

James Miller

The complete reflection of the whole colour spectrum, white could be the definition of radiant. It’s selfless, holding back nothing of its own. We see green, blue, yellow, red, and every other colour because the surface keeps hold of a precious part of the spectrum and reflects to our eyes what we see as just one individual colour. Not white. White just keeps on giving.

New born lambs, doves of peace and little white rabbits; white can be innocent, serene or just plain cute. White animals have connotations to them above and beyond your average camouflaged creature. And let’s face it, who doesn’t like lambs? The Noah story wouldn’t carry so much hope if it had been the raven he’d sent that delivered the olive leaf; that would be sinister.

Purity, chastity, virtue and wisdom – white does it all. Not many women can justify their white wedding dresses with the original meaning of chastity, but that’s ok, husbands-to-be probably prefer that. The purity of the colour, free from stains or darkened tints, is plain for all to see. Plain as the colour itself. What colour do angels wear? If you’ve not seen one, and I myself admit I haven’t, what colour would you assume angels wear? How about Jesus? How about God? What colour do you think they wear? White robes? White beards? White wings in the bright-white-light of Heaven? For a starter hint, the Pope is one religious figure we’ve all seen, and even his hat is white.

But it’s not all good news. White has had trouble in its past, even now white is straying from virtue. The English Defence League re-start their pseudo-crusade, the K.K.K continue to preach supremacy and hatred. Centuries of white-power and inexcusable crimes of (and against) humanity have been carried out in the name of white. Defining the other by their darker hues; but even the whitest men are a blotchy pinky-cream. Is albino the true genetic state of purity? Probably not. But we’re only human; the true purity of pristine white is beyond the reach of mortal man.

Eric Clapton sits in a white room, and even though the curtains are black and its proximity to a station seems worrying, he takes solace because the shadows run from themselves. The light is white and the white is bright so where would the shadows run to?

But yellow light is the norm. Sunlight and street-lamps glaring down with their drowsy shades of yellow. Moonlight, that’s what the world needs more of. More sonatas too. Howling wolves, baying at the moonlight, twinkling white stars pierce the solid black sky and the world is bathed in a more gentle, peaceful shade. The man in the moon stares down with his comforting face and the dark night feels just a little safer.

White does it all.