Just like Love, Grief is universal.
Whatever our background, heritage, or beliefs - we instinctively understand it, no language needed.
It unites us wherever we are in the world.
The British psychiatrist and author Colin Murray Parkes said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”
As did Queen Elizabeth II, in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks in 2001 in the United States.
Yet one thing puzzled me for a long time: What ARE the colours of grief?
In many parts of the world, black is traditionally the colour of death, mourning and the dress code, to reflect the sadness and absence of life.
It is a practice believed to date back to the Roman times.
But black is not the universal colour of mourning in the world.
In ancient Egypt it was gold, which was associated with eternal life and the all-powerful god Ra.
His flesh was believed to be formed from this precious metal.
Imperishable, and indestructible; gold was the colour of royal mourning.
It was believed that after their death on earth, kings and queens would assume their status as deities.
The famous gold death mask of boy king Tutankhamun reflected his own place in the heavens in all its magnificent glory.
Boy king Tutankhamun
Thailand defines purple as the colour of sorrow.
It is reserved for widows to wear while mourning the death of their spouse, whilst others can wear black colours.
Through Buddhism, the official religion in Cambodia, followers see death as a recurring step in an ongoing process of death and rebirth.
The family of a loved one who died wears white, in the hope the loved ones will be reborn, thus the circle will be completed.
Cambodia
As I was in the depths of mourning the death of my own father, I was not aware of any other colours existing in the world, other than black.
This had more to do with my thoughts, than my colour choice of clothing.
Grieving for my dad opened Pandora’s (read Carina’s) box and his departure signalled a complete loss of myself as a person.
Try as hard as I could – the lid of my box would not go back on.
On the outside, I spent an enormous amount of energy, attempting to appear “normal”, to “fit in” and “belong” with others.
Internally, I was falling as quickly as Alice had fallen down that rabbit hole.
Not only did I miss my dad, but it slowly dawned on me, that in addition to mourning his loss, I needed to start the search for my personal identity.
(Rather than conforming to society’s norms or others’expectations of what I should be. Cue: The Ugly Duckling)
It left me feeling perpetually bewildered and exhausted.
As I waded through the jigsaw of my mind, the myriad of my emotions swirled around me wildly, like a kaleidoscope on a rollercoaster.
Much to my confusion, I could not understand why I saw them in bright colours.
Should I not only be seeing sombre tones during this desperately sad time?
I was not progressing in my healing and started to see a therapist.
Through our conversations, she gently suggested I take up painting again and explore my thoughts, worries and memories.
Initially, I snorted at the idea.
“Me, painting again, after almost 20 years?
Don’t be ridiculous!”
Besides, how does one explore emotions on paper with colours?
Where would one start?
What would you paint?
But in truth, no sooner had she planted that seed in my heart, it grew within me at breakneck speed.
It was as if she had given the green signal to my subconscious and do what comes naturally to me but what I had supressed for most of my adult life.
Almost immediately, my mind became occupied “out in the open” with colours:
- What is the meaning and symbolism of colours?
- What energy do colours give to our body, mind and chakra's?
- How do colours affect or influence us as the creator or viewer?
- Was I still able to paint?
I became a voracious reader of art and history books again; all were dusted off with the gusto of Mary Poppins.
My easel, which had been banished into a dark corner and had filled out with the weight of clothes and my snazzy sunhat, was put on a zero-point diet with immediate effect.
My slimmed down Easel :)
I bought new paper, pencils, paints, and brushes and braved the newly skinny, yet scarily empty easel for the first time!
It towered over me like a Christmas tree over a child.
What next?
Writer’s block?
Try Artist’s block.
Taking baby steps, I dabbled in pencil sketches, ink, and pale water colours.
My mind went blank every time I tried to draw something, so not knowing what to paint, I doodled.
I was unable to focus.
Often, colour stained water was spilled all over the papers.
What a mighty mess – but at least any five-year-old would have been proud of me.
Many pages flew impatiently above my head or fluttered hot headed right into a corner.
Or the kitchen sink.
Refusing to give up, I eventually started to experiment with bolder tones and added acrylic colours.
I painted animals in very simple lines and shapes – my cats, my goldfish, or animals of the forest - and slowly found my way.
Fast forward a few years and I finally summoned up all my courage and returned to Life Drawing classes. As I sketched my first nude with a rigid, clammy hand, my heart was beating so loud, I was convinced the other students could hear it is as well.
Quickly I discovered, everybody was just as anxious, and we all found comfort in each other’s nervousness.
Over time, the “artistic explorations of my thoughts, worries and memories” proved to be a true departure of the Carina I had "built" diligently over the last twenty years.
The neatly organised but dusty and dull compartments of my East German mind were slowly being doused in splashes of vibrant tones allover.
They brought new life and colourful chaos into my disciplined and acquiescent outlook and thinking.
The newly coloured compartments of my mind.
Soon I started to feel more grounded and in balance with myself for the first time in a long time.
I even managed a smile and had a little spring in my step again.
So, what are the colours of grief?
Besides the individual traditional colours of mourning, I eventually understood that expressing ourselves through art is more important than the colours themselves.
Processing grief or trauma is very individual and personal.
We should look for things that bring us comfort and healing during very trying life circumstances.
The process of creating by “making or doing” can be very helpful and can become the bridge that unites our feelings with our words again.
The developed series “The colours of grief” is partly the result of my ongoing journey.
But choosing to work with colours provided an outlet for my mixed-up emotions, thoughts, and memories, when they had become a dried up and sorry looking word salad.