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The Week in Colour: A Personal Explanation
Seven Days in Chroma Space is my account of what a week truly looks and feels like inside my mind. For me, the days are not labels on a calendar but are colours that bloom instantly when I hear or read their names. Through grapheme-colour synaesthesia, each word carries a fixed shade that has never changed. Monday is not just a word. It's a powerful, vibrant red that hits hard.
But colour is only the beginning. The days have personalities and genders through colour personification synaesthesia. Some feel warm and companionable, others are restless or sharp-tongued. They exist almost as presences I encounter weekly.
There is texture too. Certain days feel soft, like the seafoam texture of Wednesday, while others while other days carry their own physical sensations. Flavours and taste bloom too, like Friday's dark chocolate richness with a hint of mint.
The week itself occupies a fixed spatial arrangement around me. Through spatial sequence synaesthesia, the days hang from a kind of an invisible, horizontal rope ladder. It's a sort of map that I don’t consciously design but instinctively move through.
This poem is not metaphor but more of a documentation. Seven Days in Chroma Space captures a layered, sensory slice of my everyday reality and offers an invitation into the way I naturally experience time.
Synaesthesia is a neurological condition thought to involve cross-wiring between the senses, where stimulation of one sense automatically and consistently triggers experiences in another.
Artwork by Clare de Lune © 2025
Seven Days in Chroma Space
by Clare de Lune © 2025
I see red,
my Monday head.
Tomato purée, ripe and loud,
primary, stands out from the crowd.
I'm here, he shouts,
a wake-up call.
Fiery, in my face, intense,
shakes my inner confidence.
A bold, red button pressed,
wakes me with alarming stress.
Now, he says.
Tuesday is caramel caress,
a slippy kiss of liquid lava,
slothful, couldn’t care less.
Warm and sticky, languorous,
she drags me into lazy stupor.
Thoughts are syrup, a cloudy haze,
I’m wrapped in yellow, gooey glaze.
I give up today.
Waves wash over
this Wednesday with me.
He pulls me into a soft powder blue,
sucks me in, lures me into,
a warmth, a ripple, aquamarine.
An easy ride, no reason to slide
beyond the here and now.
Crystalline and marble spray
fizzes into seafoam green,
I glide inside the calm bubble
of the day.
Thursday tastes of burnt toffee
with molten cocoa brown.
Insightful, sweet I deliciously drown.
Delicately soothing, fluid oozing,
a joyous, delightful kick to my day.
A fragment of copper slices through
the long, wide-open afternoon.
Reflective, a warm energy
that gives me perspective.
Dark and seductive,
Friday comes to me.
Purest raw cacao with hints of fresh mint,
bittersweet crisp with a snap.
He brings with him focus, rich and ambitious,
and I obey for today is my platform
for creative expression.
Lifts me higher than the days before,
propels me to progression.
Saturday, free flowing,
forest and hunter green.
She sweeps me along,
carries birdsong
with a low-pitched breath.
Dense and luscious canopies,
the taste of moss in an emerald sea.
A precious feeling weaves in between,
and keeps my mindset clean.
Wham! It’s Sunday.
Fried egg white and yellow sun yolk.
A pale day that lifts away
the week that went before.
Towering above each daily step,
prompts me to reflect,
contemplates the week ahead,
Iridescent light falls delicate and bright.
Today is the calm before…
…the plunge!
A sudden drop through the hidden trapdoor.
BANG!
I smash back into Monday red.
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