ARTISTS have always longed to create, to push beyond limits in the name of discovery and art. It is embedded within our fibers to embrace art and alter the universe’s patterns with it. With this, we are born with the innate power to create ripples using our touch, our words, and even our very existence. Sometimes, however, we tend to forget about the power that we hold in each of our fingertips. 

     Our sense of creation becomes clouded and quietly shaped by countless forces imposed by those who raise us and the systems that surround us. Whether done with or without intention, the colors on our palette are tremendously affected. Our pink becomes red, our yellow becomes tainted, or our colors become completely washed away. In a world that constantly dictates our choices about what to feel, what to want, and what to become, it is within this landscape that Pantone globally introduced “Cloud Dancer” as the Color of the Year. 

     As the world signals a cultural shift towards minimalism, simplicity, and stillness, Pantone introduces the historic, first-ever choice of a white shade—defined as soft, airy, and lofty. The color symbolizes a calming influence in a society, making room for rediscovery of the value of quiet reflection by allowing the mind to wander and creativity to breathe. It is synonymous with “starting from a clean slate,” representing a blank canvas that we can, once again, begin with. 

     On its own, the sentiment is gentle and thoughtful, perhaps even comforting. However, gentleness becomes confusing when it asks us to forget what has already been painted. While the idea of beginning again is alluring, it appears to rely on pauses and silences—one that many people never get and the world has never known. 

     When calm and gentleness are defined as the absence of visible struggle, it erases those who cannot afford it. It erases those who were not lucky enough to have the privilege that pauses and silence bring. 

     With everything that has happened in recent times—children being murdered and bombed, politicians placing bets on those whom they have sworn to protect, beauty standards growing ever more unfathomable, and people becoming more disconnected as advancements accelerate—tell me, who gets to have a do-over? 

     Is it the child in a war-torn country who wakes to sirens and gunshots instead of birds and laughter? Is it the community displaced by decisions made in rooms they were never invited to? Is it the woman whose rights are debated as policy? Is it the farmer whose health protection is delayed and, sometimes, never granted? Can a world this wounded be wiped clean? Is the canvas really blank when it is splattered in blood, lies, and threats? With all the mistakes we have made, all the words that slipped from our mouths, tell me—are we really who we are, having those traits erased from the picture?

     For years, we have always been told that calm is maturity, that neutrality is safety, and that restraint is professionalism. We were taught that rage must be kept private; otherwise, it would be considered unappealing. We are told that sorrow must be graceful and lightweight to be bearable, and that urgency must learn how to soften up and accept delays. We are taught that white is more acceptable as it is less jarring to look at, that the vibrant, bold, and saturated ones create too much noise. 

     Society favors what is palatable, what does not disrupt, and what feels convenient. In turn, we confine ourselves to spaces where we lower our volume, dilute our convictions, and trade sharp truths for polished statements. We settle into spaces where we replace the reds of protests, the blues of mourning, the deep purples of reflection, and the bright yellows of hope with a color where silence and blind obedience are rewarded. We mend ourselves like pieces of clay into what is socially digestible—even if it costs our truest identity, our freest forms.

     Grounding ourselves by seeing with our eyes and hearts open does not entail that we are stuck; it means we must reconsider what starting over looks like. Whether our canvas is filled with blemishes or appears far from what we have always wished for—that is what makes it uniquely ours. We do not need to have a blank canvas to start again, to live again. Our canvas is free to be messy, free to be painted however and whenever we choose. Our draft can co-exist with our final piece; it is allowed to have previous mistakes, for that is where voices and actions are created. 

     To choose our colors is not only an act of freedom but also an act of responsibility—to remember, to witness, to refuse silence. Creation can also be engagement. When we pick up the brush, the pen, the camera, or make a choreography—we are making decisions. What will we amplify? What will we ignore? Whose stories will we tell? Whose will we leave untouched? 

     A blank canvas can be liberating and amusing, but a marked one tells us its story. Its smudges tell us where we hesitated and changed our minds, the darker strokes reveal the parts where we pressed harder, the overpainted sections show where we tried to correct ourselves. These traces and marks that we have right now are not signs of failure, nor do they require erasure to begin again; they are evidence of life itself. We are allowed and have the choice to carry forward what came before. Not having a blank canvas can also mean being able to have our own identity, our own ground, our own stand. It can also mean refusal to paint over injustice, mistreatment, and ignorance with a soothing coat of white that seems to wash away everything it touches.

     With that being said, I hope we take the time to reflect and ask ourselves, “How do I want to color my year?” 

     The answer has been ours all along, my dear artist. In every form we take—it is important to reclaim our innate power, to nurture it, protect it from what may silence it, and continue to use it as we have always been destined to do so. To defy subtle acts of mind conditioning and neutralization does not come off as acts of villainism—rather, it is an act of upholding our bestowed power to fight for the children, the women, and the individuals who did not have the chance to hold what we possess today. With your pen, brush, music, and movement—I dare you to create and choose.

     After all, who are we without art that breathes into life?