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The case for color and why we need more of it in our personal spaces

By Zea Asis

My mind wanders in the morning. I have more time for that now since I no longer commute to work. I pay more attention to the small things, their ability to shift moods, suggest. Like when I wake up, the first thing I do is open the blinds right by my desk. On sunny days, my room instantly bursts with light; announcing the beginning of my day unabashed. In instances of rain, I have to open the second window blind by the opposite wall to allow more light to flood in. Sunshine is a resource that I make sure to enjoy as much as I can. Sunshine, a pale illuminating yellow.


I don’t recognize my room from what it looked like a year ago. Most of the stuff I own now is new, bought when lockdown started. Now there are more things: a full-body mirror. A three-tiered wooden shelf. A rattan laundry basket. I feel more like myself now in the space I occupy. Like all attempts at self-care, I decided to take on the project of rearranging and redesigning my space after realizing one morning that my bedroom looked nothing short of an inadvertent exhibit of personal calamity. In short, a mess. There were lots of changes and considerations to be made; resolved hastily by a Pinterest board. 


The thing with color: I used to be mistrustful of it. But I had to factor it in somehow as I hit the red “Save” button. Do I keep my room neutral? Or be more liberal about color this time? I look up maximalist living room and I feel a kind of gleeful relief. The structured chaos of it invites energy, excitement, mistakes, life. Since then, I’ve learned that welcoming color is the equivalent of taking risks because colors clash, contradict each other, they compete. Along the way, you commit errors. You doubt your own eye and admit to the inaccuracies. It happens. 



Les Trois Graces by Niki de Saint Phalle

We try our best to be our own interior designers: articulating our own tastes and sensibilities to an audience of one.

Adding color to my room feels quite the opposite of the cloistered times we live in, perpetually sanitizing and scrubbing. Neutral colors (black and white) remind me of sterilization. So a few months ago, my love affair with color began.

I dotted my room with bright and friendly hues, deliberately, with each purchase. At the back of my head was a Niki de Saint Phalle experiment: firing a rifle at paint-filled balloons. I found myself drawn to one particular color. Yellow.




I. Closet

The first pair of Gucci heels I ever owned was yellow. I got it off of an online vintage shop when the notion of dressing up and fashion became precarious. It sits in my closet, emblematic of the person I used to be pre-pandemic. The sartorial risks I took. Fashion always had an element of fantasy to it, but even more so now. Some days, I just choose to put together outfits for imagined scenarios. It’s an excuse to wear the Gucci heels. 


I dry-run the many outfits that would have benefited from its pop of color. It is muted, close to the delectable hue of Leche flan or Carmen’s Best salted caramel ice cream my brother brings home from the grocery. I have nowhere to go, but these kitten heels would look great worn with a maxi skirt and a blazer. Or my favorite pair of straight-cut jeans paired with a romantic top. It’s a cathartic exercise, an ongoing conversation with your inner critic (albeit in fashion) not unlike therapy. 



Photography by Giulio Ghirardi, Call Me By Your Name Set

II. Kitchen

Just recently, I bought a yellow ceramic cup and saucer. It is excitable. Sits attentively as an audience would and ready like a vessel, as I brew myself coffee. I grind beans first, then heat up the water in the gooseneck kettle. I take out my Hario pour-over dripper, then scoop out enough beans for my 200mL cup. Slowly, and in concentric rings, I pour water over the filter that is precisely 93 degrees celsius. I let the coffee bloom.


I feel deep ownership of my yellow ceramic cup and saucer. We have a bunch of clear glass espresso cups in the pantry, but this one is mine. It sits and waits for me. I know that even before I open the blinds to my room, make my way to the kitchen in a half-sleep stupor. Its particular shade of yellow reminds me of well-intentioned small talk at parties. I can sense how glad it is to offer its life and service.





III. Desk

These days I live at my desk. After I make myself some coffee, I turn on my laptop and begin to map out my workday. Beside my laptop stands a desk lamp made of lacquered metal, reminiscent of Verner Panton’s Flowerpot lamp, named after the Flower Power movement in the late 60s. It is a beautiful mustard yellow and stands like a centerpiece. It screams, “Hello! It is me. How are you today?” as I take small sips from my yellow cup.



These days I live at my desk. After I make myself some coffee, I turn on my laptop and begin to map out my workday. Beside my laptop stands a desk lamp made of lacquered metal, reminiscent of Verner Panton’s Flowerpot lamp, named after the Flower Power movement in the late 60s. It is a beautiful mustard yellow and stands like a centerpiece. It screams, “Hello! It is me. How are you today?” as I take small sips from my yellow cup.


It reminds me of an abstracted flower. A man-made reproduction of a yellow flower in full bloom on a summer’s day.  The Tate describes abstraction as when an artist has “removed elements from an object to create a more simplified form.” It fascinates me that the pigment used in cave paintings (humanity’s first attempts at abstraction) was a natural yellow ochre. That in Russia, a colloquial expression for an insane asylum used to be "yellow house” and that bright “marigold” yellow is associated with death in some areas of Mexico. Durga Chew-Bose once described Luca Guadagnino’s film Call Me By Your Name as “sun-laced and soothingly sun-paced” for its languorous yellow hues. There are all these associations that float around my head. Like I said, my mind wanders.


They show me the insistence of color to stimulate the mind and profess their own existence: I am, I am, I am—in the morning, my yellow cup and saucer bursts with geniality; my mustard yellow desk lamp wishes to concentrate my attention. And I respond, with gratitude, to their loud music. 


Zea Asis is a 23-year old creative based in Manila where she works full-time for an Australian design start-up writing and editing copy for digital greeting cards and videos. She released her chapbook, Strange Intimacies: Essays on Dressing Up and Consumption last September. You can check out more of her work at www.zeaasis.net