Color　is　the　touch　of　the　eye；　music　to　the　deaf；　a　word　out　of　the　darkness。

Because I’ve listened to souls whispering—like the susurrus of the wind—

from　book　to　book　and　object　to　object　for　tens　of　thousands　of　years；　allow

me　to　say　that　my　touch　resembles　the　touch　of　angels。　Part　of　me；　the　serious

half；　calls　out　to　your　vision　while　the　mirthful　half　soars　through　the　air　with

your　glances。

I’m　so　fortunate　to　be　red！　I’m　fiery。　I’m　strong。　I　know　men　take　notice　of

me　and　that　I　cannot　be　resisted。

I do not conceal myself： For me； delicacy manifests itself neither in

weakness nor in subtlety； but through determination and will。 So； I draw

attention　to　myself。　I’m　not　afraid　of　other　colors；　shadows；　crowds　or　even　of

loneliness。　How　wonderful　it　is　to　cover　a　surface　that　awaits　me　with　my　own

victorious being！ Wherever I’m spread； I see eyes shine； passions increase；

eyebrows rise and heartbeats quicken。 Behold how wonderful it is to live！

Behold　how　wonderful　to　see。　Behold：　Living　is　seeing。　I　am　everywhere。　Life

begins　with　and　returns　to　me。　Have　faith　in　what　I　tell　you。

Hush　and　listen　to　how　I　developed　such　a　magnificent　red　tone。　A　master

miniaturist； an expert in paints； furiously pounded the best variety of dried

red　beetle　from　the　hottest　climes　of　Hindustan　int