It was important to me, at a young age, to have a favorite color. Like most young children, I labored under the belief that I was unique. As such, I found unsatisfying the idea that my favorite color was primary, and shared by millions of other children. If someone else liked “blue,” and I did not like that someone else, it created cognitive dissonance.
Moreover, I felt that having a broadly defined color, say “red” was completely unsatisfactory. I might, for example (and this is marginally true) adore the red of a variety of chili peppers, but despise the red of most tomatoes. “Red” conveyed far too broad a category.
Luckily, when I was eight or nine, I got to see the Imax film To Fly at the National Air and Space Museum. I have no doubt that I was affected by the visceral thrill of flight provided by the film, and by the fact that I was already on a high by being at NASM, one of my favorite places in the world at the time. But that experience defined for me my favorite color: cerulean blue.
Cerulean blue, throughout its range, remains one of my favorite colors, especially when imbued with a certain level of luminosity. The ceiling (cielo?) of The Venetian Resort still takes my breath away. But over time, I realize that I have few favorites. I have things I like to do, objects that make me happy, but the context means that color is only an ingredient that can be mixed in many ways. I like certain blue skies, but I wouldn’t want a jacket of the same color, I don’t think. And in that, I think I am probably exactly like most other people.
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