The Story of Purple

I used to think my favorite color was blue. I was sure of it, blue was my “power color.” Wearing it made me feel alive, strong, grounded. If anyone asked, I didn’t hesitate: Blue. No question.

Then one day, on a Zoom call with some artist friends, that classic “what’s your favorite color?” question came up. I was ready to give my answer, and as I glanced around my desk, I froze. My mouse was purple. My sticky notes were purple. My pen and phone case? Purple. It was everywhere, and I hadn’t even noticed. I had to laugh and admit, “I was about to say blue… but apparently purple has taken over my life!!”

Once I noticed it, I couldn’t unsee it. Back in my studio, I realized how often my hand reached for purple pastels, not just as an accent, but as an anchor. It had been sneaking into my skies, hiding in my shadows, glowing on my horizon lines. What started as instinct became intention. Now, I plan for purple in my underpaintings and final touches!

Here’s what I’ve learned: purple is emotional. It holds both shadow and light. It can deepen a stormy sky or soften the curve of a flower. It’s moody, versatile, and generous — it shows up exactly where it’s needed. In pastel form, it stretches all the way from the deepest violet to an almost-white lavender. It’s the kind of color that whispers and declares all at once.

Collectors rarely comment on the purple they see in my work, and I think that’s because it does its job quietly. It doesn’t demand attention the way red does, or comfort you like green. Purple simply holds space, a warm hug tucked into the canvas, a quirky presence that often gets overlooked until it’s gone.

If purple were a person in my studio, it would be the safe one. The steady one. The friend who makes you laugh when you least expect it. It might have been written off as “childish” or “secondary,” but that’s the magic of it; purple knows it doesn’t have to try too hard.

And maybe that’s why I love it. Purple reminds me that the things we overlook can actually be the things holding everything together.

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What I Hope You Feel When You See My Work

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What the Prairie Teaches Me About “Enough”