My final story board consist of a back and forth pictures of New York and Mexico City. In the Mexico City pictures, it is focused on the color pink being in the city, but as well, I am incoorporating personal pictures that tie in my idea and memories of Mexico with pink as the main focus. My grandma loves to wear the color pink, bright Mexican pink. My dad always wore the color blue to work so that helps tie in my idea of New York.
This was my essay for Seminar
The sliding doors open to reveal a woman in pink. I run towards her, receiving a hug that I had been longing for. My Yaya. As I exited the airport that Sunday morning I noticed around a particular shade that brings me back to a past chapter of my live, Mexican pink. The CDMX signs, which stand for Mexico City, the taxis, the bugambilias growing on the trees hold this color that to me means a lot. The pink is a welcome from the home I live far from. It reminds me of childhood, my culture and of course my Yaya.
Mexican pink embodies nostalgia. On Thursdays, me and my Yaya would go to a mercado, which is an open air market. This was my favorite place. All that was under the tents was covered by a veil of childlike wonder. The light would flow through the pink tent and made all things there look exciting. The fruit appeared to come to life, and even the vegetables I didn’t normally go for seemed as if they were a golden chocolate coin. The pink hues enchanted my imagination and in there all looked perfect as long as it remained covered by the sheer presence of color.
My favorite dress, was the same shade. It was a dress of my culture, it made me feel like a strong Mexican princess. It was an adaptation of the attire woman wore during the Mexican revolution. To me, pink was never a weak color, it never represented hopelessness nor fear, it was the color of the woman and men in my country and while I was in it I felt like a warrior. I wore a pink shall over a light pink dress and a carried my baby doll on my back like the strong women I wanted to be.
As a matter of fact, I was raised by a matriarch family. Strong women were and are the backbone. Mothers, self-made business women, and amazing cooks taught me all my life. My great grandmother escaped a country in war with her young girls, and arrived in Mexico. All my memories of the women that are no longer here and all that are, are the vivid shade of pink they wear. As I look through my albums, analyzing the pictures, I see them constantly embodying the powerful femininity with the bright shade of pink. Although all Spanish, or of Spanish decent, they wore that Mexican color with pride. They accepted the Mexican culture and were not afraid to stand out in a crowd.
Pink to me represents girl power. It represents my story as well as my families. It represents my culture which to me means more and more everyday. Colors tie in memories and embody a piece of myself within it.
Each chapter in my life has a color that represents. Now, living in New York, I consider my life to be blue. Blue has a connotation to mean sadness but I have never seen it as gloomy. To me blue is as full of possibly as the sky is wide. Its beauty expands through the worlds oceans and reflects on windows of a city full of exciting possibilities.
Growing up, my Dad always wore blue stripped work shirts to his office. I remember laughing at his repetitive choice but never thought I would continue to hold that memory to this day. In the case, blue was professional, blue was hardworking, blue was a dreamer. As I walk in the city, I cant help but to notice blue in its wide range of shades parading down the streets. People love to wear blue, they feel comfortable wearing blue, and its many shades unite the city I now call home. These people embody many of the same traits I associate with my dad. He now also lives in New York and when I see him stroll down the sidewalk, walking alongside hard workers and dreamers I cant help but to feel at home.
As I look out my window, I notice how New York during the day turns in to the color of the sky. Each window, each puddle on the side walk on my way to school, looks blue. For years I longed to be able to walk down the New York cities and stare at the New York sky. Admire the way the blue of the sky is reflected on the windows of all the buildings. It made me feel like this gia nt city was no more than a pool of a calm shade of blue.
Blue is also the shade of the only painting in my new apartment that reminds me of home. I look at it and I feel secure. My families move to New York was not what it it should have been. Our moving truck with the stuff we had handpicked to start a new journey caught on fire. Our new, favorite blue painting a long with everything else was believed to be lost. We began from scratch, new city new life. Yet not only was the city new, but all the stuff in out home was too. After months, about a week ago after a long insurance process we got word that we could go pick up in West Virginia some of the things that had been recovered. In that pile of the smell of smoke was this painting, as blue as we left it. We took it home, hung it up and now It joins all the glass in New York helping to fill this city with a beautiful shade of blue. It reminds me of my last life and how in a way it is mostly gone, but somehow this blue painting was eager to be hung in the bluest city of all.
Color to me has always represented something more. Beyond the dictionary definition or the meaning the an internet search claims it is. To me these colors mean a lot more. They are both parts of me in different ways. They have shown me the power of a simple shade to impact my life. All these stories flooded my brain as I began writing and with these two colors I feel as if I could write a million more. Both have influenced the way I look at people and places in my life a and how I reflect upon them. Pink and blue and a mix of many more make me up.