Colour
noun, verb
ˈ[kələr]
1.The property possessed by an object of producing different sensations on the eye as a result of the way the object reflects or emits light.
2. Change the color of (something) by painting, dyeing, or shading it.
3. (of a person or their skin) show embarrassment or shame by becoming red; blush.
4. influence, distort.
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Welcome to Colour Spotlight! This is the fourth issue of the 2016-2017 school year. What is colour to you? Different people have different interpretations as to what it means to them, depending on the day or time. Perhaps you're angry so you feel red, or you have just done the optics unit in science so you just think of a prism, or maybe you are thinking about your undying passion for green grapes. I don't know man, it's up to you.

We have composed a collection of art for you to experience a broad collection of what colours mean to others. We really hope you enjoy this month's edition! 

~The Colour Spotlight Team (Marija, Wafa, Emma, and Sydney)
His and Hers
Sydney Orsak
His: Caught red handed
The girl lying before him was black and blue
Hers: Golden opportunity
Rose coloured view of a day made for two
Hers: It was Valentine’s Day, and Mark was going to propose. Valerie knew it, and she was giddy. He’d been acting strange towards her all week - She’d spotted him catching glances at her across the room, his knee bobbing nervously. So she had read all the magazine articles, done her studying - the signs were all there. Mark didn’t know, but Valerie had been watching his finances - inexplicably, he was saving up to riches. One of her rings was missing (stolen to measure the size, she figured), he’d asked for access to a few accounts - Valerie, of course, had never been secretive about her private wedding board on Pinterest. Best of all, they had a very romantic evening plan. Mark had been hinting about the “special” plans for days, and Val could sense her partner’s excitement behind all the nerves. She herself was excited beyond words.
His: Today was the day. The day where he would finally execute his plan, where he would finally start his life how he wanted, with whom he knew he’d be safe. His longtime girlfriend, Val, had gotten mysteriously interested about his money all of a sudden, and while he couldn’t find anything odd on her own accounts, he was beginning to suspect something off. Mark knew better than to let this go on - his own gold digging mother had nearly ruined things for Mark and his father. He had to end it. He was nervous, of
course - but that was why he was hiding behind the most romantic day of the year. Val would be thinking of everything but sabotage on this night.
A Message for the People
Pascale Malenfant
Blue. What an ungrateful colour undeserving of all the praise it receives. Blue is a mother bragging about her child's accomplishments as if they were her own. Blue is a freshman walking in a ceramic-tiled hallway with her knockoff Louboutin red-bottoms during exam week. Blue is the colour anyone without a personality chooses to paint their bedroom wall or dye their hair. Sure it might be the colour of the sky some nice things, such as the summer sky, or the Hawaiian ocean, or the critically acclaimed album Classic Queen released in 1982, but that just makes it common. Plus, blue takes all this attention for granted. And yet, everyone still loves blue, even though blue doesn't love anyone. Blue is the colour of the guitars used by those pop singers that can't sing live to save their lives. Blue is the colour of edgy lipstick used by teenagers to disappoint decent parents across the globe. Blue is dumb, stupid, and... lame.
But you know what is a good colour? Brown. Brown is a beautiful colour. The colour of tree bark, and dominant eyes. Brown is the colour a person with great taste wears to a red-carpet event. Brown is the colour a queen uses to decorate her throne room because she knows what's up. Everybody always rats on green because it's the colour of old vomit, or a colour palette fail, or literally every type of feces known to man, but brown is so much better than blue. Brown is a neighbor who would drive a barely-acquaintance to the hospital at 2am because they slipped in the shower and dislocated their shoulder. Brown is a child who would compliment a lady's hair without being asked, and she would know it was sincere because kids don't lie about that kind of stuff Everyone always overlooks brown, because it's just so "boring".
This is why I'm starting a petition to end the glorification of the colour blue, and the shame directed towards the colour brown. This discrimination must end. I am tired of the colour brown being treated like it's the colour of dirt. You might say, "But, Pascale, it technically is the colour of dirt!" And, well... I'm not going to argue with you there, but if you go to PEI, the dirt is technically red, so what does that say about the colour red? Huh? HUH? HA!
I urge you to make this issue known to the world, either by signing and sharing my petition at www.change.org/Endthefrownonbrown, or by using #EndTheFrownOnBrown on any social media you have. The world needs to know that brown deserves better, that brown has feelings just like other colour rainbow. And the world can only be free of this injustice if you do your part in accomplishing this goal.
Thank you. ​
SUMMER: PHOTO BY MARIJA BOLIC ​
Colours
Breanna Hynes
​
Red,
The burning fury in the pit of your stomach
The hatred that eats at your insides,
Until you turn bright, hatred red.
Orange,
After you wake up after 12 hours of sleep
The sun beats on your face,
You fill up with energy, lively orange.
Yellow,
When you’re with the people you love most
The happiness bubbles up inside you,
Until it overflows, stunning yellow.
Green,
The acid that leaps up your throat
After you’ve eaten a two week old burrito,
You knew you shouldn’t have eaten that burrito, sickening green.
Blue,
Their eyes and the tears that fill up yours
When you think of how you’ll never see them again,
Your tears leak down your cheeks, heartbreaking blue.
Violet,
The feeling of the softest blanket- ever
When it rubs against your face,
You fall into a peaceful sleep, comfortable violet.
Pink,
When you’re seven or so, innocence tints your cheeks
As you run with your friends without a care in the world,
Oh so sweet, innocent pink.
And Rainbow,
​The confidence that leaks from your pores
As you dare to be yourself-
Be yourself, be RAINBOW.


PHOTO BY JACKSON HUNTER
Untitled
Gabriel Karasik
I stared up at the prism hanging over my head. The sunlight streaming through the window passed through it, sending waves of colour dancing across the wall like liquid light. Swooping, and diving as though alive, beautiful, mesmerizing. At least so I’m told. For I cannot see these graceful spirits. I can only feel the sunlight as hits me. I can only hear the swaying of the prism, nudged about by a light breeze. My stare, is a blank stare.
Lights: PHOTO BY CHLOE WILSON
Yellow
Adrienne Vandenberg

Glowing sunshine
Panic pounding through Pastel walls
Warm or burning
​
Flickering through leaf-barren trees
Agitation masked in Canary paint
Cowardice blinking through Honey coloured eyes
A poor mimic of Golden truth

Dandelions freckling the countryside
Optimism dripping the shade of French Vanilla
Freshness outstretches its Daffodil hands
The feeling of infinity brought by the midnight Golden stars
COLOUR
Eva Lynch
I trace the fading colours of the sky with my fingers as I lie in the grass.
The sunny yellow sky turns to a deep indigo as the day fades away.
​As it becomes dark, I stay, entranced by the changing colours of the night sky.
When I do go home I sit by my easel for hours painting colour after colour, never managing to paint the world as I see it.
I try to bring colour to my life.
To the monotonous daily routine that's graying.
To a life so gray it's turning me blue.
PHOTO BY JACKSON HUNTER
The Little Boy in the Green Shirt
Samantha Muhlig

curly hair,
​brown eyes,
books clutched by their side.

smile peaking at the corners of their cheeks,
piercing through
the clouded judgement
of the shaded souls
that surrounded them.

it became a daily routine
through the eyes of a beholder,
life in monochrome
but through the single shade of hue
a vibrant green is seen

and as puffs of sadness
erupts through the air
creating clouds of
ignorance;

the little boy,
whose cheerfulness
was illuminating
kept the small, tired
world we call earth
alive
Untitled
Maddy Chinneck 

She sat on the hospital bed like a goddess: poised, beautiful. Her hair was a faded shade of teal, with blonde roots becoming visible. She smiled, but there was something in her eyes that was missing. She lacked a passion. Each word she muttered became weaker. She was prepossessing, but so clearly in pain. After both of us spoke all we could, we just stared. She shed a tear. In that moment, I swore I could feel the pain of every heartbreak I’d ever experienced all at once in the center of my chest. It took everything in me to remain composed, but for her sake, and for her sanity, I did. I just stared, and held her hand; a small, precious, entirely important hand.
Golden: PHOTO BY CHLOE WILSON
Ocean eyes
Zach Weber
​
Let me swim in your ocean eyes
and feel the fish on my barefeet
Watch me waste hours arguing with myself
Over where the sea stops and the sky begins
Lay on the beach with me
Let the waves tickle your feet
As they sway
Wait with me ‘till sunset
Where I can finally settle the argument
Of where the sea stops and the sky begins
Oh please,
Let me swim in your ocean eyes
Untitled
Tyler Champion

It’s the colour of the water at 4:37
The bags under her eyes when she tells you 
she’s doing alright
The colour of sunflowers dipped in salt and scum
Sand lots with too many cigarette stubs

It’s the colour of your fists after you get the last text
Colour of notifications you wish you hadn’t heard
McDonald’s at midnight
And Happy Meals™ eaten in silence

It’s the colour of hate. 
Love and passion and quiet
Dinosaurs and the depths of the ocean
Of every misfit kid to ever say
“It wasn’t right”

It’s the colour of the sky when you
finally stop thinking about it
when you see the clouds are gone
It’s the colour of the water at 4:38
4:39
and 5:00
Make Me Up
Areeg Al-Zayadi

The only colours remain on my eyelids
Vibrant and beautiful

When I wake to get ready to go to school
It’s another winter day
But once the sparkles are on my eyes
For it be the only colour on me
It is what also makes me happy
And I’ll keep doing this simple thing
And put these pretty colours
On my eyes
And they’ll lead my day of confidence and joy  

Eternal Sunshine
Kieran Butler

I held her hand in bed,
“You are my sunshine” She always said.
She was shaking, I could not bare to see her dread.
But by the moonlight the curtains blew, in the ill-lit room
And the candle was no longer lit.
In the garden where the children played, the flowers bloomed
Yellow daffodils and pink posies  
Their petals as soft as her cheeks; so rosy.
Tears left me as she closed her eyes,
She was now a sphere of light,
Gone from here and out of sight,
But I looked towards the sky at night,
And I swore, I could see
Another star shining bright.
Swirled Sand: PHOTO BY CHLOE WILSON
She Was a Rainbow
Kieran Sheehan

She was full of colours,
the bright red of her lips,
the dark brown of her hair,
the tanned skin she came back with one summer.
The pastel coloured dresses that swirled,
when she danced around the campfires,
spinning as if challenging the darkness to catch her.
The purple boots she would never be seen without,
stomping down on the ground as she ran, laughing, smiling.
The bright light that shone from her heart, challenging the sun.
Reflection its rays like a mirror.
She was a rainbow,
and she always came after a storm.
Clearing away the clouds with her voice.
She could calm any tornado in seconds.
She was every flower and good thing in the world.
Yes, she was full of colours,
but over time, colours fade.
PHOTO BY GABBY CALUGAY-CASUGA 
Spectrum
Anonymous

Blue
I am sitting in the big chair outside a room with a big brown sign that says “Dr. Jenkowitz”. “Autism spectrum” are the two words I catch, and I hold onto them in my mind like butterflies trapped in a net. My mommies look sad when they come out. I am colouring when mommy comes to me and said "You have to go to a new school, sweetie, one where there's more kids like you", and I finish the wings on my butterflies. They are blue. I write on the back "Me, mommy, and mommy" so I won’t forget.
Yellow
My mommies take me to the zoo. There are hundreds of people here -- I’ve counted them all -- and most of them have a mommy and a daddy and a pretty little kid. Pi, 3.14. That’s the average number of people in a Canadian family. The normal number. I like numbers, but I don’t like people, especially number 127. “This is a zoo, not a circus” he says when he walks by, and my mommies just smile all nice and pull me along. They take me to see the elephants, Moody and Rudy, and I colour them in yellow in my “Scavenger Hunt at the Toronto Zoo!” colouring book because yellow is the colour of happiness.
Red
It should be the first day of grade three, but here there are no grades, just a big white and red banner above the door that says "Learning together, making friends!" in bubble letters. A smiling lady with sticky pink lipstick comes over to tell me where to hang my bag. Her breath smells of old coffee, and I tell her this. I think maybe she is blue because she frowns, but then her face is red like a tomato and she puts me on a carpet in the corner named “The Reflection Spot”. She walks back over to the other smiling lady (who does not smell like old coffee) and they start talking about me and “Extensive Socialization Therapy”. I pick a marker out of my bag and start to draw on my arm. I draw my pet fish, Sun, who isn't named that because he's red like the sun. He's named after the author of "The Art of War", a book covered in red.
​Colour Me Crazy
Sophia Chu

I want my life to look like a child's drawing,
un petit chef d'oeuvre with no apologetic explanation,
a mass of colours, textures, and shapes designed to please the artist,
and only the artist,
I want the looping lines, and curly cues,
the spiralling swirls, and zagging zigs,
the passion of fist-clenched, paper crushing smudges,
the thoughtfulness of delicate, page brushing details,
the discovery of colours beyond the primary,
a rainbow that spells my name,
not Mr. Roy G. Biv, 
something completely mine,
where I never need to explain the why,
because I might not even know myself. 
Falling for you: PHOTO BY MARIJA BOLIC
Blue 
Stewart Travers

She steps out of the front door looking resplendent
Her hair falls in ultramarine waves like a swimming pool
Her delicate sister follows
Dirty blonde hair parted to one side
Blue eyes
The sister slings her grey purse over her shoulder
The strap resembles a seatbelt
They walk through the trees
Air smelling heavily of pine and sap
The base of the sky
Is streaked in reds and oranges
From the setting sun
The rest of the sky
Blue
Standing on tiptoes
Fingers brush pale petals
Pine replaced with lilac
Trees are climbed
Jaywalking
Two heads of hair
Swing in sync
Like a grandfather clock
In the warm summer evening
Passing fences
With lover’s initials
And scribbly pentagrams
Passing through
Parking lots
Littered with cigarette buts
And strands of gum
Blue gum everywhere
Dollarama is closed
The blue haired girl
Turns the air blue
Blueberry Sky: PHOTO BY MARIJA BOLIC
Excerpt from "Blue"
Marija Bolic
​
Blue is not just meant to be seen, it’s meant to be felt, heard, tasted and smelled. Blue is the sensation of releasing tears when you’re having a bad day. Blue is the melodic song of a bluejay echoing through a forest. Blue is breaking the thin layer of skin on a blueberry and letting the burst of sweetness fill your mouth. Blue is the smell of saltwater waves crashing against boulders as the tide lulls a child to sleep. Blue is something everyone experiences.
Colour Wheel
Rebecca Kempe

The marvelous art of blending
Is quite difficult to accomplish with coloured pencil.
Go ahead. Try it.
I’m almost tempted to say that it’s impossible
But I guess it isn’t.
Some days, there are examples,
Gloriously rare examples of
Subtle shade variation and
Consistent line thickness and then
And then you look at your sheet.
Sloppy. Disaster.
Your “purple sections” look more like
Slices of sketchily scribbled red and blue
Your attempts at fading light to dark have
Fallen flat and
Your colours do not flow into each other, no,
They stand next to each other,
Rigid. Still. Unmoving.
The edges of your wheel are not round
(Why didn’t you use a compass?)
And your lines are not straight
So what should be a glowing globe of colour
Is now a uniform circle of scribbled shit.
Untitled
Parker Ivie

Yellow
She’s bright and beautiful.
She is the sun.
She is happy.
She shouts without a care.
She is filled with self love.
She knows people aren’t going to like her.
She knows many don’t like her.
She continues to be herself.
She is happy.

Blue
She is gentle and quiet.
She is the moon.
She is peaceful.
She paints masterpieces with her smiles.
She’s gorgeous that you wouldn’t believe it.
She knows many love her.
She only wants the affection of one.
She waits for her other half.
She is peaceful.

Green
They are amazing and elegant.
They are the stars.
They are perfect.
They dance across the sky, fingers laced together.
They become one in every way.
They are finally one.
They are in love.
They are perfect.
Kaliedoscope: PHOTO BY ALICIA MONTIERO
The Colour Yellow
Lily I-Shesnicky

Yellow stands out
when her eyelids flutter closed.
brilliant, happy,
sunshine-y yellow.
Yellow nail polish,
fingers sprouting into
sunflower tips.
Yellow eyeshadow to
accentuate dark hair.
The sun surrounded by
empty black space.
Bttercups, pick-me-ups,
the inside of a pineapple
skewered on toothpicks.
A yellow finch, song as
pure as the painted yellow
houses on the coast
a yellow pencil,
yellow crayons, used to
draw the yellow brick road
in the yellow gemstone
of her mind's eye. ​
Better Together
Alyssa Ellenor

Colour is subjective;
Not everyone will agree on its shade;
And sight can be deceptive;
When your decision’s already made.

But sometimes you have to change it;
To let other people’s views in;
And sometimes you have to take a hit,
If you really want to win.

Accepting other people’s views
Will only make you better;
So try to find a muse
In everything you do together.


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