I have been doodling since childhood. I have a passion for illustrating but cannot paint or colour for that matter. I illustrate what I am trying to communicate through my writing. My images are like drawings in a science text book.
Huge props to Brian Michael Bendis for sort of shaking up the Marvel universe and just saying ‘there need to be people of colour in these comics otherwise it’s not representing the true world the way it should be.’
Every technology that comes into filmmaking is first a gimmick. Think about sound with ‘The Jazz Singer’ or the first colour or surround sound – it takes a while for filmmakers to understand how to use it.
Identity is becoming more dependent on what people are willing subscribe to and less dependent on objective criteria such as skin colour or where they’re born. Ways of identifying blackness are no longer black or white. It’s not a case of us or them, you can now be us and them; like them but different.
We’re made for the light of a cave and for twilight. Twilight is the time we see best. When we dim the light down, and the pupil opens, feeling comes out of the eye like touch. Then you really can feel colour, and experience it.
Sometimes I felt I was being treated differently to my bandmates because of the colour of my skin.
There’s nothing wrong with being help. But it’s very wrong that we presume people of colour are in a subservient position. That’s problematic.
There is such a problem with racism, so to actually just say it and have so many people of colour message me and thank me for saying something… I remember when I used to cry about it to my manager I used to be like: ‘Why do I feel like this?’ and she’d never say it, and I’d never say it. It was really strange.
Even my basic, basic wardrobe is still pathetically colour coordinated. It just is. That is just me.
I’m colour blind, a little hue-challenged.
When I look in the mirror, I see my late mother: I have her nose, her dark eyes – I call them chocolate eyes – I have her colouring, and my hair is greying the same way, although I use colour and she didn’t.
I have always loved fashion, trends, style, make-up and hair, but yes, some sort of a transformation truly happens when I play a ‘bahu’. That’s when I have to wear brown lenses to cover my green eyes, colour my hair dark, wear saris, and surprise myself that I can pull this off, too.
I don’t care one bit about people’s race or skin colour.
Never work against what you are. I never have, and I’ve never minded being typecast. Some of my agents have been like: try and change, Victoria. Cut your hair off, colour it, have a breast reduction.You have to this and that, to get a serious acting role. But I would rather use what I am to my advantage.
A much underrated garment, the jegging: they never need ironing and they hold their colour.
I think it’s because it was an emotional story, and emotions come through much stronger in black and white. Colour is distracting in a way, it pleases the eye but it doesn’t necessarily reach the heart.
Man needs colour to live; it’s just as necessary an element as fire and water.
I’ve had every colour hair you can think of.
Girl, Woman, Other’ by Bernadine Evaristo is so phenomenally written, following the interlinking lives and stories of women of colour navigating life mainly in the U.K. It’s so beautiful, perceptive and insightful, giving us so much to think about and changing the way we see the world and the experiences of others.
No matter that you’re a British citizen, no matter that you were born here – your skin colour means you do not have the same rights as others to express critical opinions about your own country.
Everything is expressed through relationship. Colour can exist only through other colours, dimension through other dimensions, position through other positions that oppose them. That is why I regard relationship as the principal thing.
As a kid, I was called Tintin because of my hair colour and style.
Redheads were particularly persecuted during the European witch trials of the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The colour was associated with the devil, and the pale skin which most redheads have was thought unnatural and deathly.
I don’t care a bit about people’s race or skin colour.
I’m not a writer myself, so I’m forced to try to get what’s a sort of an odour or a colour or something I feel in my head from a writer, and that’s a… I don’t have a recipe for that process. I don’t know what it is… it’s different every time.
We were raised very colour blind. I had gone to school and to camp for so long with white people, I think I was like 15 years old before I realised I was black.
It’s very easy to colour the thoughts of people in the age of social media. If you are being bombarded with some lies constantly, you tend to believe it’s true.
I’ve dated some women who have turned me on to some funny things that are strange for men to actually do, but these things have become part of my process. I think the things I do for my appearance help make me look better. I even colour my hair because I like how it makes me look.
It had never occurred to me that my colour – or lack of it – was an issue for some people, but then I moved to Sydney, and apparently it was. People look at me and don’t see what they think is a typical Aboriginal. Thankfully, my mother raised me well in knowing where I come from and who I am, and I’m proud of that.
Every time I have to try on a wig for work, I get excited about the colour; I’ve often thought about going for a platinum bob or also raven black, as it looks so great against pale skin. But I always end up being loyal to my red colour.
Maroon is my favourite colour.
The habit of breaking up one’s colour to make it brilliant dates from further back than Impressionism – Couture advocates it in a little book called ‘Causeries d’Atelier’ written about 1860 – it is part of the technique of Impressionism but used for quite a different reason.
The mind of the painter must resemble a mirror, which always takes the colour of the object it reflects and is completely occupied by the images of as many objects as are in front of it.
Blue is the male principle, stern and spiritual. Yellow the female principle, gentle, cheerful and sensual. Red is matter, brutal and heavy and always the colour which must be fought and vanquished by the other two.
Before the start of each new series, I go shopping for my ‘Bake Off’ wardrobe. I’ve got increasingly confident with my look and now wear much more colour than I did at the start.
Layering is always a great way to look different and to keep your look younger. Basic tees, vest tops, jackets, leggings, shrugs, etc, can be mixed up to add spunk, variety and colour to your look. A good sense of mix ‘n’ match is required to make this look work.
I’d be lying if I did not say that being a woman of colour is something I am always mindful or aware of.
I didn’t want to create a makeup line for one ethnic group; it had to be multi-ethnic. To me, beauty is beauty. It doesn’t matter to me what colour the skin is.
For one thing, I am still working as an adviser on fashion, design and colour and stuff.
I want people to realise we’re not just stuffy aristocrats and Old Etonians. There are black Tories and lots of middle and working-class people of different skin colour who are Conservatives.
I dream a lot, in colour and in sound and scent. Quite a few of my stories have come from dreams.
I take books on learning to bed – music theory, colour theory – and usually my brain thinks, ‘Um, I think I’d rather turn off,’ than learn something.
Colour is what gives jewels their worth. They light up and enhance the face. Nothing is more elegant than a black skirt and sweater worn with a sparkling multi-stoned necklace.
We’re all people, no matter what colour.
I’m one of those sad cases who’ve never wanted to be anything but a writer. I started writing my first novel when I was five years old. I have no idea what it was about, but I do remember spending considerable time trying to get the title right, though this had more to do with crayon colour than scansion.
In Asia, red is the colour of joy; red is the colour of festivities and of celebration. In Chinese culture, blue is the colour of mourning.
In India, people tend to get categorised by their job or caste or colour. But in Kamathipura, despite their horrid living, it was truly eye-opening how kind and sensitive these women are.
Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that’s what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around how people connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn’t.
In the 1900s, bleaching lotions and skin-lighteners were a female imperative no matter what her colour, often carrying suggestive names like ‘Fair-Plex Ointment’ and ‘Black-No-More.’ The tiniest touch of rouge was allowed, but only if applied with great subtlety.
If you love someone, you love someone. It doesn’t matter; age, colour, c’mon!
I wear a lot of block colour dresses on television as the simplicity translates well on camera and blue is often a colour I rely on as it goes with everything.
I always do book signings with the same blue pen. That way, if I add a personalised message to a book I’ve already signed, it’ll be in the same colour as my signature.
