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You know, in every color theory class, they talk about the primaries. Red. Yellow. Blue. The stars. They get all the attention. They're bold, they're loud, everyone sees them coming a mile away.

Then you got your secondaries. Still strong. Still noticed.

But the real work, the work that makes a piece feel real, lived-in, that's the tertiary colors. The muted tones. The slaty’s, the ecru, the washed-out greens. You don't really see them. You just feel their effect. They’re the ones that let the stars pop, that hold the whole composition together without asking for a single bit of credit.

If you're a primary color, everyone's eyes are on you. The critics, the rivals... everyone. They know your name, they know your moves.

Me? I’m happy to be ecru. Maybe even a little muddy. You look right past me. You underestimate the ecru. You think it’s boring. Unremarkable.

And that is the absolute greatest advantage an artist or anyone, really, can have. When everyone else is screaming to be the brightest red on the canvas, the smart move is to be the color of the wall it’s hanging on.

Unnoticed is undisturbed. Underestimated is unstoppable. It’s not a weakness. It’s the whole point.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go mix a very, very uninteresting dun.

The circus of "shoulds" came knocking one day,  

Demanding performances, scripted and gray.  

But I just leaned back with a tip of my hat,  

"I prefer not to", imagine that!  

Obligation once tied me in bows,  

A puppet who danced when they yanked on my nose.  

Now scissors in hand, I snip the last thread,  

"I prefer not to", I want bliss instead.  

Your guilt-trip brochures? Returned, never read.  

Your crisis hotline? I’m back in my bed.  

The drama may writhe and the critics may scold,  

But I prefer not to, my script’s self-told.