The Weight of Pigment

We carry the year in layers. Like the dust on a windowsill or the rings inside a pine, we accumulate the seasons until they become a skin we cannot shed. There is a particular urgency in the way we mark the passage of time, as if by painting our faces or dressing in bright cloth, we might convince the sun to stay a little longer. We are afraid of the gray. We are afraid of the silence that follows the celebration. So we gather, we touch, we leave our marks upon one another, hoping that the color will hold back the inevitable cooling of the earth. It is a fragile defense against the dark. We reach out to touch the warmth of another, not knowing if the pigment will stain or if it will simply wash away in the next rain. What remains when the paint is wiped clean?

Shahnaz Parvin has taken this beautiful image titled A Beautiful Tableau of Colors. It captures the fleeting moment where joy and tradition meet. Does the color stay with you, or does it fade into the background?