I have been cursed with an artistic temperament from birth, it seems. It has allowed me to (1) forget to concentrate on the value of money, thus allowing me to never be rich, (2) paint some seriously paint-heavy paintings, and (3) experiment with colors in my day-to-day life.
My color experiments began as a young child, when I was roundly beaten by my big sister for attempting to wear pink with red. "Pink and red don't go together! Ever."
Okay. I lived by that rule until the day I found a little top-and-shorts outfit that boasted pink polka-dots on a red, red background. Or was it red polka-dots on pink? A little of both, more likely, taking into consideration the blinding textile trends of the late sixties and early seventies. No matter.
I wore that outfit in happy (and slightly uneasy) defiance. I'm sure my big sister had long forgotten her momentary fashion decree, but that did not dilute my pixie-topped feelings of mutiny.
I have no photographic evidence of the insurgent outfit. It's probably just as well. It sounds perfectly hideous.