Some years back, I wandered the thread aisle of a local craft store, mentally ticking off the colour palettes I had already accumulated. However, amidst a small selection of discounted spools, I noticed a missing shade in my assortment - a rich creamy cotton hue labelled 'biscuit' on the barcoded packaging. Intrigued, I bought three spools. Later, I went back and purchased a few more, fearing I might run out of this newfound favourite shade.
At the time, I found the colour profoundly compelling, and for a long while I chalked it up to being a punchier neutral - sort of gold, sort of white, but with weight. It was flexible, shifting alongside other tones. But it also held its own texturally and with depth. In my mind it was an aggressive colour, accommodating but consuming. It was intense and graceful, demanding and adaptive.
Anyway, yesterday I was stitching with a friend, and we were discussing our preferred working colour pallet. When queried about the Biscuit, I thought a little while. While white is virtuous, this brand of off-white is soiled, narrative, dynamic, utilitarian and encompassing. But up until that point, it was simply the colour to stake a claim. Then my friend suggested associations with childhood, could my affinity have begun with sunrise filtered through curtains back home? Or sand on the beach at an early family holiday? Neither of these struck a fruitful connection - but my childhood Teddy Bear, appropriately named Honey Brown, is biscuit coloured. And that was it. His worn fur is the exact shade of my favourite spools.
It was then that I realised that my previous aggressive assertions with the colour were unfounded, and that all this time I have been applying this thread not through the hostile staking of a claim, but through the act of finding and establishing comfort. It's a soft colour, a colour that reaches far back to a profound transitional object that I still treasure. My application is far gentler than I had assumed. In my seeking of refuge from mental turmoil, I was turning to a source of comfort, not my presumed boldness or claim.