Publication:  Colour                                                                                                              Date:  2008  

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David  Batchelor,  'Introduction:  On  Colour  and  Colours',  in  Colour,  Whitechapel:  London  /  MIT  Press:  Boston,  2008,  p.  14-­‐21.  
 
Colour  is  single  ...  (Walter  Benjamin)    
Colour  is  the  shattering  of  unity  (Julia  Kristeva)    
Colour  exists  in  itself  (Henri  Matisse)    
Colour  cannot  stand  alone  (Wassily  Kandinsky)    
Colour  ...  is  new  each  time  (Roland  Barthes)    
Colour  is  the  experience  of  a  ratio  (William  H.  Gass)    
Colour  is  a  poor  imitator  (Bernard  Berenson)    
Colour  deceives  continuously  (Josef  Albers)    
Colour  is  an  illusion,  but  not  an  unfounded  illusion  (C.L.  Hardin)    
Colour  is  like  a  closing  eyelid,  a  tiny  fainting  spell  (Roland  Barthes)    
Colour  must  be  seen  (Walter  Benjamin)    
Colour  ...  is  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  lower  forms  of  nature  (Charles  Blanc)    
Colour  is  suited  to  simple  races,  peasants  and  savages  (Le  Corbusier)    
Colour  is  accidental  and  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  innermost  essence  of  the  thing  (Naum  Gabo  and  Anton  Pevsner)    
Colour  seems  to  have  a  Queer  bent!  (Derek  Jarman)    
Colour  can  appear  an  unthinkable  scandal  (Stephen  Melville)    
Colour  has  always  been  seen  as  belonging  to  the  ontologically  deficient  categories  of  the  ephemeral  and  the  random  (Jacqueline  
Lichtenstein)    
Colour  is  the  concrete  expression  of  a  maximum  difference  within  identity  (Adrian  Stokes)    
Colour  ...  emphasizes  the  outward  and  simultaneous  otherness  of  space  (Adrian  Stokes)    
Colour  to  continue  had  to  occur  in  space  (Donald  Judd)    
Colour  becomes  significant  only  when  it  is  used  as  an  attribute  of  form  (Clive  Bell)    
Colour  ...  even  more  than  drawing,  is  a  means  of  liberation  (Henri  Matisse)  Colour  is  enslaved  by  line  that  becomes  writing  (Yves  
Klein)    
Colour  has  not  yet  been  named  (Jacques  Derrida)    
[Colour  is]  a  pleasure  that  exceeds  discursiveness  (Jacqueline  Lichtenstein)    
Colour  precedes  words  and  antedates  civilization  ...  (Leonard  Shalin)    
Colour  is  knowledge  (Donald  Judd)  Colour  ...  is  a  kind  of  bliss  (Roland  Barthes)    
Colour  is  the  first  revelation  of  the  world  (Hélio  Oiticica)    
Colour  must  be  thought,  imagined,  dreamed  ...  (Gustave  Moreau)    
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Colour  is  not  an  easy  matter  (Umberto  Eco)  
 
The   process   of   collecting   texts   for   this   volume   confirmed   to   me   that,   at   least   over   the   last   century   and   a   half,   the   discourse   on  
colour   has   been,   for   the   most   part,   a   discourse   of   reflections,   observations,   asides   and   remarks.   Polyphonic   and   fragmentary,   it  
exists  in  the  comments  of  artists,  critics  and  art  historians,  but  also  in  the  reflections  of  philosophers,  scientists,  anthropologists,  
psychologists,   novelists,   filmmakers,   architects,   designers,   poets   and   musicians.   It   is   diverse   and   divergent;   fluid,   elliptical   and  
contradictory;   often   obscure,   esoteric   or   strange;   sometimes   funny,   and   altogether   fascinating.   It   is   difficult   to   generalize   in   any  
simple  way  about  the  nature  of  these  reflections  except  to  say  that  a  great  many  of  them  are  made  in  and  through  practice.  That  is  
to   say,   the   discourse   on   colour   is   not   largely   an   academic   discipline;   rather   it   is   generated   in   the   course   of   making   things   –  
paintings,   sculptures,   photographs,   installations,   films,   buildings,   novels,   songs   and   poems.   It   is   constituted   for   the   most   part   in  
those   works   and   in   reflections   on   those   works,   both   by   the   people   who   made   them   and   by   others   who   came   into   contact   with  
them.   And   while   it   has   a   rightful   place   in   various   academies,   it   is   at   the   same   time   never   limited   to   the   concerns   of   those  
institutions   or   subject   areas.   Colour   belongs   both   to   the   arts   and   to   the   sciences,   both   to   high   culture   and   to   popular   culture,   both  
to   theory   and   to   story   telling.   Within   the   arts   vivid   accounts   of   colour   occur   as   much   in   literature   as   they   do   in   the   remarks   of  
painters,   sculptors   and   filmmakers.   Colour   has   been   addressed   or   ignored   both   by   modernists   and   postmodernists;   and   those   who  
loathe   colour   have   had   as   much   to   say   as   those   who   love   it.   Colour   is   truly   fluid:   it   spills   over   subjects   and   seeps   between  
disciplines;  and  no  one  area  can  mop  it  up  and  claim  a  privileged  or  proprietorial  relationship  with  the  subject.  

As  far  as  the  visual  arts  are  concerned  the  discourse  on  colour  has  been  episodic:  there  have  been  moments  when  the  exchange  of  
ideas  concerning  colour  has  been  urgent  and  intense,  and  times  when  it  has  been  all  but  dormant.  The  emergence  of  Symbolist  
ideas   in   the   late   nineteenth   century,   notions   of   Expressionism   in   the   early   twentieth,   and   debates   around   the   idea   of   a   fully  
abstract  art,  are  instances  when  colour  became  a  key  subject  for  discussion.  At  other  times  the  exchange  is  really  more  a  set  of  
loosely   connected   monologues   sustained   by   individual   artists   –   such   as   Yves   Klein,   Hélio   Oiticica,   Bridget   Riley   or   Donald   Judd   –  
more  or  less  in  isolation.  And  then  there  are  periods  of  extended  silence,  such  as  occurred  in  the  aftermath  of  conceptual  art  in  
Europe   and   the   United   States.   To   some   extent   that   silence   can   still   be   heard   today,   especially   in   the   writings   of   critics   and  
academics   whose   critical   priorities   were   formed   during   that   period.   Lying   behind   this   silence   there   is   often,   I   think,   the   assumption  
that   colour   somehow   belonged   to   modernism,   formalism   and   to   certain   kinds   of   abstract   art;   and   that   as   the   prominence   of   those  
concerns   was   undermined   during   the   1960s   and   overthrown   in   the   seventies,   so   the   issue   of   withered   away   as   a   result.   This  
assumption  doesn’t  stand  up  to  very  much  scrutiny.  Certainly  the  types  of  art  admired  by  formalist  critics  in  the  fifties  and  sixties  
  

Publication:  Colour                                                                                                              Date:  2008  

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were  often  abstract  and  colourful  but,  first,  those  critics  rarely  had  much  to  say  on  the  subject  of  colour  itself;  and,  second,  much  of  
the  work  these  critics  often  despised  –  work  associated  with  Minimalism  and  Pop  –  was  equally  if  not  more  colourful,  but  colourful  
in  entirely  different  ways.  There  is  also  the  irony  that  many  of  the  philosophers  and  critical  theorists  most  closely  identified  with  
the  emergence  of  postmodernism  in  the  arts  have  themselves  written  on  the  subject  of  colour,  and  often  in  rich  and  vivid  ways.  
Among  them  are  Walter  Benjamin,  Ludwig  Wittgenstein,  Claude  Lévi-­‐Strauss,  Roland  Barthes,  Julia  Kristeva,  Jacques  Derrida  and  
Umberto  Eco  –  all  of  whom  have  texts  included  in  this  volume.  One  of  the  aims  of  this  book,  then,  is  to  help  rescue  the  discourse  on  
colour  from  this  casual  association  with  modernism  and  formalism,  and  to  suggest  it  has  a  far  more  complex  relationship  both  with  
art  and  with  modernity.  If  some  critics  have  found  it  difficult  to  acknowledge  the  presence  of  colour  as  a  worthwhile  subject,  this  
has   clearly   not   been   a   problem   for   many   contemporary   artists.   Over   the   last   decade   or   more   there   have   been   numerous   instances  
of   artists   experimenting   with   old   and   new   forms   of   colour;   bringing   strange   and   exotic   hues   and   materials   into   the   traditional  
mediums  of  art;  and  introducing  practical  and  theoretical  concerns  with  colour  into  installation,  photography,  film  and  video.  It  is  
with   this   in   mind   that,   in   addition   to   the   published   texts   collected   here,   I   have   invited   a   number   of   contemporary   artists   to  
participate  in  this  volume  by  writing  on  their  experience  and  use  of  colour.  

As   far   as   this   book   is   concerned,   having   declared   the   boundlessness   of   colour,   my   first   task   was   to   impose   some   practical   limits   on  
the  subject.  I  decided  the  starting  point  for  the  volume  would  be  circa  1850,  a  somewhat  artificial  date  but  not  an  entirely  arbitrary  
one.  It  is  at  least  convenient  in  that  it  coincides  with  what  are  generally  taken  to  be  the  early  moments  of  modernism  in  the  arts.  
More   specifically   it   allowed   me   to   begin   with   the   writings   of   Charles   Baudelaire   and,   soon   after,   Herman   Melville,   two   writers   who  
have,   in   different   ways,   made   some   of   the   most   vivid   and   enduring   remarks   on   the   subject   of   colour,   ones   that   still   cast   their  
shadows  across  the  subsequent  years.  The  end  point  of  the  book  coincides  with  another  artificial  date:  the  publisher’s  deadline,  
early   2007,   which  means  both  that  the  most  recent  texts  are  from  around  this  time,  and  that  this  was  the  date  when  I  had  to  give  
up   looking   for   material,   new   or   old.   To   end   the   search   in   this   way   only   leaves   me   with   the   certain   knowledge   that   I   have   missed   as  
much  as  I  have  found,  but  that  will  never  change.  By  limiting  the  historical  range  of  the  book  in  this  way  I  have  had  to  exclude  a  
large  body  of  highly  influential  writing  from  the  early  nineteenth  century  –  from  Goethe’s  theory  of  colours,  the  Farbenlehre,  to  the  
chemistry  of  Chevreul,  Rood  and  others  –  but  this  work  is  generally  well  known  and  readily  available  in  other  publications.  As  well  
as   setting   some   chronological   boundaries,   I   have   also   settled   for   some   more   rough   and   ready   exclusions.   I   have,   for   example,  
mainly   avoided   extended   arthistorical   narratives   about   the   changing   use   of   colour   over   the   period   in   question,   preferring   accounts  
by  the  artists  themselves  or  by  their  contemporaries  or  near  contemporaries.  And  I  have  altogether  excluded  the  numerous  studies  
of  the  psychological  effects  of  colour  in  the  home  or  workspace,  and  the  related  proposals  for  the  harmonious  use  of  colours  in  
such  environments.  This  is  simply  because,  in  the  end,  this  work  seems  to  me  to  be  largely  at  odds  with,  and  it  is  certainly  a  lot  less  
interesting  than,  the  more  speculative  and  reflective  discussions  which  are  at  the  heart  of  this  volume.  What  remains  is  an  unruly  
assortment   of   around   a   hundred   and   fifty   texts.   In   order   to   include   and   convey   the   range   and   diversity   of   writing   on   colour,   I  
decided  to  edit  each  text  and  cut  it,  often  substantially,  sometimes  quite  viciously.  The  extracts  range  from  almost  complete  essay-­‐
length  arguments  to  just  a  single  sentence  or  two.  As  a  rule  I  have  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  the  original  context  of  the  work;  but  
then  I’ve  always  felt  that,  in  art,  the  injunction  to  respect  context  is  often  a  little  overrated  ...  

It  is  better  to  think  of  these  pages  as  the  basis  of  a  large  and  expanding  collage,  rather  than  an  orderly  narrative.  The  tone  and  form  
of   the   contributions   vary   as   much   as   their   lengths.   And   all   of   this   presented   certain   problems   when   it   came   to   devising   suitable  
ways   of   dividing   the   texts   into   sections.   Originally   I   had   planned   to   organize   the   texts   in   clusters,   sometimes   because   they  
resembled  one  another,  sometimes  because  they  resembled  a  crowd  gathered  around  a  traffic  accident.  But  I  found  it  impossible  
to  come  up  with  anything  more  than  approximate  categories  within  which  to  contain  the  various  texts;  some  were  always  left  out  
at  the  end  while  others  could  have  fitted  into  several  different  groups  at  once;  and  it  always  felt  like  it  could  easily  have  been  done  
differently.  So,  finally,  I  opted  for  the  more  unimaginative  solution  of  arranging  the  texts  in  broad  chronological  order,  within  this  
trying   to   keep   together   those   texts   which   have   affinities   with   each   other.   By   doing   this   I   do   not   mean   to   suggest   there   are   no   links  
to   be   made   between   various   texts   separated   by   decades,   and   no   shared   or   contested   positions   amongst   the   authors.   On   the  
contrary,  there  are  a  great  many,  but  in  the  end  I  thought  it  was  better  to  point  to  some  of  those  clusters  in  this  introduction  rather  
than  impose  them  on  the  texts  themselves.  And  this  will  I  hope  leave  readers  freer  to  find  (aided  by  the  index  of  colours  and  colour  
subjects)  their  own  clusters  of  ideas  and  routes  between  different  essays,  statements,  remarks  and  observations.  

One  distinction  I  began  to  notice  as  I  was  collecting  the  various  texts  was  between  those  comments  that  discussed   colour  and  those  
that  dealt  with  colours.  The  former  category  tends  towards  the  general  and  the  universal,  the  latter  tends  towards  the  specific  and  
the   particular;   the   former   treats   colour   as   a   concept,   the   latter   addresses   the   contingencies   of   perceptual   experience.   It   is   not   that  
one  is  more  important  than  the  other;  they  are  simply  different.  And  while  some  texts  deal  exclusively  with  one  mode  of  address  or  
the  other,  some  of  course  shift  between  the  two,  and  thus  threaten  to  mess  up  even  this  simple  formulation.  Within  the  texts  that  
deal  with  colours,  it  is  possible  to  separate  out  those  that  refer  to  black  or  white  or  grey   –  a  significant  majority  –  from  those  that  
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deal   with   other   colours.   This   is   perhaps   because   within   the   sphere   of   colours,   these   achromatic   hues   (if   that   is   what   they   are)   are  
themselves  often  treated  as  abstractions,  and  thus  open  to  more  generalized  statements  about  their  meaning  or  symbolic  value.  
Nevertheless,  colours  are  often  discussed  by  way  of  metaphor  and  association,  in  terms  of  what  they  are  like,  whereas  colour  is  
often  discussed  in  relation  to  what  it  may  be  distinguished  from,  in  terms  of  what  it  is  not  like.  Thus  within  colours,  as  well  as  white,  
  

Publication:  Colour                                                                                                              Date:  2008  

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black   and   grey,   there   are   clusters   that   make   associations,   sometimes   quite   casually,   sometimes   in   the   name   of   a   deeper  
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synaesthesia,  with,  amongst  other  things,  music,  dreams  and  unconsciousness,  drugs,  sex  and  pleasure.  There  are  also  those  texts,  
written  for  the  most  part  by  artists,  which  deal  with  specific  practical  and  technical  issues  concerned  with  using  and  mixing  colours  
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in   painting,   sculpture,   photography,   film   and   video;   and   there   are   those,   often   by   critics   and   poets,   that   attempt   to   convey  
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something  of  the  specificity  of  complex  colour  combinations,  in  a  work  of  art  or  in  the  world  of  objects.  And,  occasionally,  there  is  
an  essay  that  attempts  almost  the  opposite:  to  indicate  something  of  the  infinitely  rich  variety  of  experience  and  association  that  is  
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hidden  under  a  simple  colour  term,  such  as  ‘blue’.  

Amongst  the  colour  texts,  by  far  the  two  largest  clusters  are  those  that  have  sought  either  to  distinguish  colour  from  language,  or  
to  set  colour  in  opposition  to  line  or  form.  The  reflections  on  language  and  colour  have  taken  place,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  realms  
of  philosophy  and  anthropology,  whereas  the  consideration  of  colour  and  line  or  form  has  been  more  closely  associated  with  the  
visual  arts.  For  both,  however,  colour  has  often  been  viewed  as  something  of  a  problem.  There  are  a  number  of  reasons  for  this  
and,  for  me,  these  perceived  problems  are  some  of  the  things  that  make  colour  such  a  complex  and  revealing  subject.  One  of  the  
paradoxes   of   colour   is   that   is   at   once   truly   universal   and   unaccountably   particular;   it   is   something   vividly   experienced   by   almost   all  
people   almost   all   of   the   time,   and   yet   our   understanding   of   the   nature   of   this   experience   remains   rudimentary   and   contested.  
Above  all,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  put  the  experience  of  colour  into  words  in  anything  but  the  most  bland  and  general  ways:  of  
the  several  million  different  hues  that  the  average  human  eye  is  able  to  discern,  most  languages  have  less  than  a  dozen  basic  colour  
terms,  and  several  languages  have  no  term  for  colour  at  all.  As  such  colour  is,  arguably,  in  a  unique  position  to  show  us  some  of  the  
limits  of  our  descriptive  powers,  which,  for  the  most  part,  are  also  the  limits  of  language.  And  this  in  turn  may  be  what  has  made  
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colour  so  attractive  to  some  artists  and  writers,  and  so  offensive  to  others.  

For   many   who   have   written   on   the   relationship   of   colour   to   form,   the   problem   of   colour   is   often   its   unreliability,   its   seeming  
randomness   and   its   apparent   autonomy.   While   almost   always   connected   to   objects,   located   in   forms   and   bound   by   shapes,   colour  
nevertheless   doesn’t   seem   quite   to   belong   to   these   objects.   Unlike   form   and   shape,   the   visual   experience   of   colour   cannot   be  
verified  by  the  other  senses.  We  cannot  touch  colour,  even  though  it  constantly  surrounds  us  and  we  are  in  some  ways  touched  by  
it.  Furthermore,  for  many,  use  value  of  colour  is  distinctly  questionable  –  after  all,  many  drawings,  paintings,  photographs  and  films  
appear  to  survive  perfectly  well  without  colour.  For  these  and  other  reasons  colour  has  often  been  regarded  as  the  least  valuable  of  
artistic   resources   and   the   least   relevant   subject   for   the   critic.   Typically   colour   has   often   been   regarded   as   superficial,  
supplementary   and   cosmetic;   attractive   to   children   perhaps,   but   a   potential   distraction,   or   worse,   for   adults.   Often   regarded   as  
feminine,   as   too   connected   to   the   senses   and   the   emotions,   to   the   body   and   to   pleasure,   colour   threatens   to   get   in   the   way   of   the  
more  serious,  intellectual  and  masculine  business  of  drawing  and  forming.  Although,  having  said  that,  there  are  always  those  for  
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whom  the  disorderly,  disruptive  and  occasionally  narcotic  character  of  colour  has  been  its  principle  asset.  

If   language   and   form   have   been   the   main   points   of   reference   for   many   discussions   of   the   nature   and   value   of   colour,   there   are  
other  clusters  of  writings  that  have,  in  one  way  or  another,  sought  to  place  colour  in  the  world.  One  of  the  most  intriguing  is  the  
way  in  which  colour  has  been  mobilized  within  a  variety  of  myths  of  origins,  stories  of  how  and  in  what  order  the  gods  made  the  
world.   Put   at   its   simplest,   these   myths   of   origins   have   taken   two   basic   types.   In   the   first,   the   world   begins   as   colourless   form,   onto  
which  colour  is  added  at  a  later  stage,  sometimes  as  an  afterthought,  sometimes  as  a  result  of  an  accident,  often  involving  parrots.  
Its  distribution  through  the  world  is  random,  but  nonetheless  pleasurable.  In  the  second  group,  the  world  emerges  first  as  formless  
colour,  an  undifferentiated  haze  of  dazzling  light,  that  is  gradually  and  incrementally  divided,  categorized,  classified  and   repressed  
in  the  development  of  language,  line  and  shape.  Here  colour  is  primary,  not  secondary;  in  the  beginning  the  world  is  colour  and  
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step  by  step  is  made  increasingly  grey,  dull  and  orderly.  At  the  other  end  of  the  world,  so  to  speak,  are  a  number  of  reflections  on  
the  relationship  of  colour  with  modernity.  These  have  often  taken  place  within  the  discourse  of  architecture  and  design,  or  in  the  
comments   of   artists   with   related   interests   and,   again,   they   vary   widely.   On   the   one   hand   there   are   those   who   have   imagined  
modernity   entirely   stripped   of   colour   and   reduced   to   a   pure,   antiseptic   field   of   white;   on   the   other   hand   there   are   those   for   whom  
the  production  of  new  materials  such  as  plastics  have,  for  better  or  worse,  made  our  cities  replete  with  a  vast  array  of  vibrant  new  
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shiny,  glowing,  luminous  coloured  surfaces.  Finally,  there  are  several  smaller  clusters  of  texts  that  have  sought  to  place  colour  in  
the   world   in   a   number   of   other   ways.   Some   view   colour   as   belonging   to   childhood;   some   associate   colour   with   a   primitive   or  
undeveloped  culture;  for  others  colour  is  allocated  a  home  in  the  Orient  rather  than  the  West.  In  another  group  colour  is  located  in  
the   realm   of   the   artificial   and   cosmetic,   and   in   yet   another,   colour   is   like   a   descent   into   dream   or   unconsciousness.   Then   there   are  
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those  for  whom  the  value  of  colour  is  in  its  autonomy,  independent  from  any  functional  or  utilitarian  concern.  Inevitably  there  
are  some  texts  that  don’t  fit  into  any  of  these  groups;  they  are  included  for  their  own  sake,  simply  because  what  they  say  about  
colour  is  worth  hearing.  

Finally,  it  should  be  said  that,  contrary  to  appearances,  this  is  not  a  book  about  colour.  Rather  it  is  a  book  about  ideas  about  colour:  
what  colour  is,  where  it  belongs,  when  it  occurs,  what  it  does,  and  whether  it  matters.  Clearly  I’m  not  neutral  on  this  last  point.  I  
wouldn’t   have   spent   my   time   putting   together   these   pages   –   and   the   rest   –   if   I   hadn’t   been   convinced   that   colour   does   matter,   if   I  
hadn’t  come  to  believe  that,  in  looking  at  colour  and  at  the  ways  we  place  it  in  our  minds  and  in  our  worlds,  we  can  in  turn  find  out  
  

Publication:  Colour                                                                                                              Date:  2008  

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something   about   ourselves.   Colour   lets   us   look   at   some   of   the   ways   we   grade,   order   and   group   our   experiences,   our   sensory  
experiences   in   particular,   at   some   of   our   often   unstated   habits   of   thought,   some   of   our   preferences   and   some   of   our   cultural  
prejudices.  If  the  texts  in  this  volume  tell  us  anything  in  general  it  is  that  our  relationship  with  colour  is  truly  ambivalent.  That  is  
implicit   in   what   I   wrote   in   my   earlier   essay   on   colour,   Chromophobia   (2000),   but   perhaps   I   didn’t   state   it   very   clearly   back   then.   By  
ambivalence   I   mean   a   simultaneous   and   powerful   attraction   to   and   repulsion   from   the   same   thing,   a   coexistence   of   contrary  
emotions.   So   if   there   are   many   texts   that   display   an   overt   love   of   colour   and   equally   many   that   can’t   contain   a   loathing   for   the  
subject,  there  are  as  many  others  that  display  this  more  complex  relationship,  in  one  way  or  another.  These  may  be  some  of  the  
most  interesting  and  insightful  comments  about  this  strange  and  unverifiable  fact  of  our  sensuous  world.  

1  Benjamin,  notes,  in  Selected  Writings,  vol.  1:  1913–1926,  50;  Kristeva,  ‘Giotto’s  Joy’,  Desire  in  Language,  37;  Matisse,  in  Matisse  
on   Art,   116;   Kandinsky,   Concerning   the   Spiritual   in   Art,   28;   Barthes,   The   Responsibility   of   Forms,   166;   Gass,   On   Being   Blue,   67;  
Berenson,  Aesthetics  and  History,  78;  Albers,  Interaction  of  Colour,  1;  Hardin,  Unweaving  the  Rainbow,  159;  Barthes,  op.  cit,  166;  
Benjamin,   op.   cit,   50;   Blanc,   Grammar   of   Painting   and   Engraving,   4;   Le   Corbusier,   The   Decorative   Art   of   Today,   135;   Gabo   and  
Pevsner,   ‘The   Realistic   Manifesto’,   Art   in   Theory,   298;   Jarman,   Chroma,   58;   Melville,   ‘Colour   has   not   yet   been   named’,   141;  
Lichtenstein,   The   Eloquence   of   Colour,   63;   Stokes,   Colour   and   Form,   27;   Stokes,   op.   cit,   19;   Judd,   ‘Some   Aspects   of   Colour   in  
General  and  Red  and  Black  in  Particular’,  113;  Bell,  Art,  12;  Matisse,  op.  cit,  100;  Klein,  Yves  Klein,  50;  Derrida,  Truth  in  Painting,  
169;  Lichtenstein,  op.  cit;  154;  Shalin,  quoted  in  Riley,  Colour  Codes,  6;  Judd,  op.  cit.,  114;  Barthes,  op.  cit,  166;  Oiticica,  The  Body  of  
Colour,  202;  Moreau,  quoted  in  Benjamin,  Matisse’s  ‘Notes  of  a  Painter’,  29;  Eco,  ‘How  Culture  Conditions  the  Colours  We  See’,  
157;  please  see  individual  texts  in  this  anthology  for  the  full  bibliographic  references.  

2  On  white,  see  especially  the  texts  on  pages  37–8,  82–4,  88,  118,  126-­‐7,  211–12,  216.  On  black,  see  pages  100,  107,  135–6,  151–2,  
157–8.  On  grey,  see  pages  35,  107,  145-­‐6,  166–7,  210.  See  also  the  index  for  further  references  to  individual  colours  and  colour-­‐
subjects.  

3  On  colour  and  synaesthesia,  see  pages  18,  31–2,  38–9,  57–62,  73,  142–4,  153,  201.  On  colours  and  emotions,  see  pages  54–5,  
151–2,  215–16.  On  colours  and  music,  see  pages  31–2,  57–62,  142–4,  157–8.  

4  On  colour  and  painting  see  pages  24–7,  31–2,  32–4,  35,  44–7,  48–9,  50–1,  51–2,  53,  55–6,  57–62,  66–8,  68–9,  69–72,  72–4,  75–6,  
76–7,  77–8,  79–81,  88,  89–91,  93–4,  100,  112–14,  118–22,  125–6,  128–30,  131–3,  134,  135–6,  136,  137,  138–40,  142–4,  166,  167–
71,  175–8.  On  colour  and  sculpture,  see  pages  65,  135,  166,  168-­‐9,  195-­‐8.  On  colour  and  photography,  see  pages  44,  89–91,  107,  
108,  174.  On  colour  and  film,  see  pages  101–3,  175.  On  Colour,  sex  and  pleasure,  see  pages  62,  158–62,  163–4.  

5  On  the  specificity  of  colour  combinations,  see  pages  24–7,  32–4,  39–42,  51–2,  65,  72–4.  

6  On  the  diverse  associations  of  single  colours,  see  pages  152–5,  111–12.  

7  On  colour  and  language,  see  pages  18,  38–9,  103–8,  121,  158–62,  164,  175–8,  178.  

8  On  colour,  line  and  form,  see  pages  24–7,  27–9,  31–2,  32–4,  50–1,  51–2,  54,  55–6,  65–6,  76–7,  77–8,  79–81,  92,  108–10,  110–12,  
112–14,  118–20,  122–3,  126–7,  134,  135,  138–40,  142–4,  172,  201–7.  

9  On  colour  and  myths  of  origins,  see  pages  19,  144–5,  145–6.  On  colour  and  primitivism,  see  pages  62,  83,  98,  221.  On  colour  and  
orientalism,  exoticism,  see  pages  34,  39–42,  46,  49,  85,  98,  108–9,  202,  221,  233.  

10  On  colour  and  modernity,  see  pages  20,  55–6,  79–81,  82–4,  84–8,  88,  89–91,  94–7,  124,  144,  147–9,  172–3,  199–201,  219–20.  

11  On  colour  and  childhood,  see  pages  28,  31,  63–5.  On  colour  and  artifice,  see  pages  39–42,  163.  On  colour,  dreams  and  the  
unconscious,  see  pages  31,  39,  57–8,  91,  140–2,  158–62.  On  colour  and  autonomy,  see  pages  19,  65,  75–6,  110–12.