anusuya
krishnaswamy

Light Spectrum recalls a moment with a single cushion placed on a chair in my kitchen space, one that I never really liked it all that much. In a diary entry, I recount when one day as I returned home, in a trick of the light, the grey of the cushion appeared almost purple. In Light Spectrum, there is a translation of what is non-physical, a fleeting moment of imagination.

 

Light Spectrum is a mid-weight fabric that carries three repeating striped tones, allowing for a gradient transitioning between the colours. The surface of the textile is slightly rough due to the cotton warp, despite the viscose and mercerised cotton giving it a soft shine. Translating my source experience, it was the realm of sight and mind I envisioned my fabric to be glistening in the light. In reality, the cushion with its thick cotton remained as rough to the touch as ever.

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The chair I sit on is hard and unyielding, and the rough greyness of the cushion cover does nothing to change the feeling. I always sit here, and my eyes try to track the path of ceiling light, cold white diffusing through the kitchen, rising and sinking, light and shadow, ceaseless. But the more I look, the more I notice these dimensions in the grey – in fleeting moments, and unfocused vision, sometimes the grey turns almost purple-ish, lustrous in the kitchen light. Buried in the wish for a change, a re-occurring mirage. There are always greys around me, and this cover makes me think of them, and in a way, that which I ignore.