I have to admit, I’m a true dork. The very idea that I wait patiently for the next announced Pantone Color of The Year tells me that. My dream job would be naming paint colors, and even when I browse through them, my mental catalog rolls through the range of PMS codes matching those shade ranges. It’s really an illness if you want to get gritty about it.
Subjects like colors and color trending and the reasons why ‘nothing says idiot like comic sans’ are inside topics that our normal friends just do not get. The aesthetics of color, and even the particular shade of air that the sun gets when almost gone, provide inspiration and mood to a plethora of potential products and imaging services. The world is like a 24-hour tutorial for creatures like me.
No, I don’t see auras or read tea leaves. But I am sensitive to a gnat’s butt sized movement in a shade of coral or red. I can see the blues or golds in a warmer or cooler hue. If you move that font even one butterfly wing breadth, that logo won’t work.
Ok, I’m weird, but just let me wander in fields of Pantone 355 under a sky of 3545, through poppies of 199. It makes me happy and my work is better because of it. I’ll gladly gather among friends who speak Pantone.