Colour Me Mad

I don’t want to sound like a hipster turd*, but I’m pretty confident I was into adult colouring before it was cool.

*Yes I do.

I’m not that into it at present. Largely because it’s popular now.

It seems a bit…ahem, pedestrian now.

When every man and their grandma is getting involved in something I tend to check out.

Apparently, the usefulness of the adult colouring book is backed by scientific research.

In short, their users and brain scan machines say colouring-in is soothing as sin.

I say, “yeah, sure, that’s all very nice, Science*, but I don’t think you’ve thought about this hard enough.”








*In my head, Science is an anthropomorphised dog that doesn’t know what he’s doing – at least in the context of this story anyway. Do with that insight what you will.

It’s great that colouring-in provides a soothing outlet for stress, or whatever is so damnably difficult about adult life.

I mean, I have moments at work when I’m reading corporate nonsense, and without my full attention it reads like this:

“It’s a protocol that truly laminates the company’s deep-seated trek to become a global goal smasher. The application runs tangentially parallel to the alpha syntax approach of humanising intelligent design.”

That’s stressful. And if colouring-in calms the nerves, who am I to complain if it’s helping someone? A turd. That’s who. And I’m about to complain. Given my super-hipster status* I feel I have the necessary credentials to suggest that this ‘science’ nonsense might be baloney.

*No real hipster admits to being a hipster.

So, I got my arts degree out, and stroked it lovingly, and I thought to myself: adult colouring books are a metaphor for life.

Bear me with on this one…

Now, you’ll duly note this: You’ve got to colour inside the lines. It doesn’t matter if you’re a free, bohemian, creative spirit – the ‘real world’ will spit on your ‘colouring outside the lines’ dreams. If you show your work to someone, and you’ve broken the rules – they’ll point it out, and they’ll probably make you feel weird about it.

It takes massive strength of character to say ‘You know what? That black line the man put down don’t mean nothing to me!’

I think if you were meant to colour outside the lines, colouring-in books would look like this:

Screen Shot 2015-12-09 at 9.45.13 pm.png

But they don’t.

If you extrapolate far enough, colouring-in is just another way to while the hours until you’re dead.

You colour-in with your feet astride the grave.

Help me conduct an experiment.

I’ve (kindly) made you some existentialist / absurdist colouring-ins.

what you think

Godot doesn’t show…

funnier 1

Game over.

everything was beautiful

Kurt Vonnegut – once described to me as ‘the key to snagging any girl with an arts degree’

Colour ’em in and then tell me how you feel about ‘adult’ colouring.


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