Color Blocking, On City Block, Through Blockage.
I began walking and wanted something different. I knew the assigned task, to find objects that matched the given color chips, but I thought that was boring. I thought finding objects that matched my colors was a bit surface level, almost like a child's scavenger hunt, but I am eleven months past being a legal child. Prior to my walk I added on an addition to my hunt: windows. My colors (French Market and Touch Of Blue) were quite interesting, as I picked them I knew I had seen them before, but I could not think of an object rather I could only think of the barriers and lenses that created them.
I began my walk with the intention to always be viewing some form of a window. I began at what I call home, the Dunkin’ Donuts located under the Fullerton train stop. As I looked back towards Seton Hall I noticed how the morning sun hit the tinted windows and appeared on the blinds. The green was an output of many inputs: the sun, the windows, and the shades.
Per the assigned colors I wasn’t feeling the warm color of the Red Line, so I boarded the Brown. I walked up and down the train cart, even changing carts in pursuit of my mystic green. As I searched the cart stopped, annoyed I looked for a reason for the stoppage, as I looked for the stop I recalled I was not in a hurry, I had no destination other than my colors. In a strange and somewhat devine moment I thought, “maybe I have arrived?” I then saw it, a rusted and spray painted pipe. Like a single daisy in a field the green stood out. In most settings this French Market Green would blend in, a forest or prairie, even a city sidewalk, but while staring out the stopped Brown Line window this green was a beacon of color among a very gray backdrop.
I left the Brown Line at the Chicago stop. I kept my added challenge in mind searching every window, I chose the Chicago stop knowing I would have plenty of windows and space to observe said windows. I walked past a grocery of sorts as I walked towards Michigan Ave. Beyond the tinted glass was a sign advertising a job opening. The paper was white, but with the right angle and lighting the lightly tinted glass painted the paper with a perfect green.
I made it to Michigan Ave. I had always gone north on the Magical Mile, but as a true wanderer I did not follow the beaten path, I took a right and headed south. As I walked for a while, not sure how long or far, my eyes were glued to the windows lining the street. I finally found a window, like a match made in heaven my Touch Of Blue color chip found its match. In a shaded area, without the rays of the sun the shadowed light struck the window pane and reflected with a touch of blue.
Like a young zoo attendee I stared through every window I passed, I saw a lot of things, almost too much. As I passed a bank I looked in. The bankers screen was covered in numbers and graphs. Funny to think that as he was observing the world’s financial state I was viewing him.
I had walked for quite some time, in an area I had never gone, looking for colors rather than direction. I needed a map, but in my quest to find direction I found more color. Through the plexi glass of the scratch CTA map I saw my blue. The blue of Lake Michigan matched my chip spot on. I had wandered without a map searching for this blue, in a very poetic way to find this blue all I needed to do was look at a map.
I come from a family of explorers. My parents met in the streets of Astana, Kazakhstan. They would have never met had they listened to the age old tale of not talking to strangers in the city streets. My father spent his youth exploring the forest of the east coast and the jungles of South America, my god father made a boat to sail from Chile to the Easter island, my grandfather is often found in the urban streets of the middle east, my brother is known for going on month long spans of off grid camping. Needless to say our family group chat is an ongoing competition of exploration and adventure. My family is always talking about walking in new places, but we are also discussing walking in our own neighborhood. Just like Malchik in “March,” I have always been taught that being able to walk in our community is “one of the single greatest factors in building social capital” (p. 45). My father walks to work, though we live in the suburbs, our house is within walking distance from both a post office (where my father works) and a grocery store. Being able to walk to the store and work means my father may not need a car. Having parks within walking distance means my family and I can get outside and safely walk at no cost. (200)
