The Color Yellow: The Yellow Stripe
7:00 AM |
| Kazimir Malevich, The Yellow Stripe, 1917-1918 |
The Color Yellow
By MEGAN GANNONWe live. We die. The act of death isn’t difficult understanding it is. You will hear “he is in a better place,” “everything happens for a reason,” and “I’m sorry for your loss” more times than you can count. Eventually those phrases will bring on a numbing sensation. The point of those phrases is supposed to comfort you, but that comfort soon fades when you realize death doesn’t care. It takes and leaves you to cope.
When an older person dies we talk about their achievements, their children or grandchildren if it applies, their job, their hobbies. However, when a child dies, we struggle with what to say because at ten your life hasn’t even started yet.
In Malevich’s Yellow Stripe I see Trevor’s life as a fleeting brushstroke across the canvas. He did not get enough time, but in his abbreviated stay he left a lasting impression. As my older brother he led me through life. He acted as my twin in a family of four children. The only one with eye color, the T to my M. In his 10 years he lived more fully than most adults I know.
Malevich’s quick strokes hint that our time is short, we must live in the moment. Cherish those whom we hold dear, and care deeply for them. Unfortunately in loving people you will get hurt, they will disappoint you, and you will feel responsible for keeping the balance of universe. You can’t but you’ll try.
You’ll learn that the little things carry little importance and the holidays lose their gleam without them. Staring at Malevich’s Yellow Stripe, watching as it fades into the white, you are faced with the inevitably of what is it come. What will you leave behind? Your legacy? That’s up to you.
Good Luck.
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