This and all images in this post from Colossal.
This installation has been capturing my attention all week since the moment when I first saw images of it. I love the finished product. I want to daydream in there. I want to sit on the stickered couch with my laptop and write all night. I want to sit with my smartest friends and a pot of tea in there and talk until dawn. And when we rise, I want you not to worry about the stickers that may cling to your clothes and hair like snowflakes. There are more, here, and nothing is too precious. The colors will always roll thick like fog. The stickers [colors / shapes / ideas / comforts] will flutter like ticker tape in a parade. They will blow like cherry blossom petals in spring, dancing [what you need] on the currents of our ideas.
I like to cover bare walls with color. I like to soothe naked feelings with warm words. I like to take blank paper and cover it with scrawl.
I can't stop thinking about this installation because part of its appeal, I'm sure, is the shock of it -- that something pristine was defiled, that the defilement ended (in this room, in this one instance) in beauty.
That's the common thought, right?
I find the white room suffocating. It steals the air and makes me unable to breathe. I want the teeming color, the welcoming freedom, the embrace of creativity. I want to know that my coffee stains or wine stains on my notebook pages won't offend; that I can be wild and brave and bold, that if you're with me, you'll be so, too. That you never expect from me perfection, but you'll always encourage ideas unfettered.
I want all the rooms of my life covered in rainbow dots, and I want to hand you a sticker book every time you say to me hello.