i'm inclined to lead with an anecdote:
there exists some friendly dispute over my first spoken word. beyond the standard "mama swears it was mama," and "dada heard dada, clear as day," my parents are awfully certain that my first word was 'blue.' (i could choose a favorite color, but not a favorite parent.) certain parties (ie: my grandmother, who was privy to the events,) say it was definetly 'boo.' halloween was right around the corner at the time. blue seems more likley, but i am not one to question my grandmother's word.
i digress. what i said then doesn't matter nearly as much as what i'm going to show & tell you now:
i know, you could have told me this. i could have told me this, at a handful of months old, supposedly.
but i state the obvious for abstract reasons. 'color,' like 'matter,' and 'language,' is a (i'll continue to point out more of them, as we progress) word: chock-full of multiple meanings and interpretations. there are literal, conceptual, denotative, connotative, and colloquial understandings of color; some of which are not even connected to the visible spectrum, but the nature of the word itself. and given that we are on a journey through 'word world,' that is the lense through which we will attempt to process color.
i know we're supposed to be addressing the basics of color...but i have a tendency to get over-excited when it comes to this stuff.
in the spirit of simplicity, i've prepared a little picture book for you.
would have been simpler to just say 'blue...'
but there really isn't a simpler way to capture it.
the beauty of the written word is contained in these idiosyncracies of meaning; and the notion that a separate vernacular can exist with the sole purpose of describing the existing one is a beautiful thing.
the 'language of stylistic language' is rooted in the 'elements of the natural elements.' let me explain.
the natural world is our greatest shared language. in a world with no true universal dilalect, we are all capable of speaking in associations: in tandem with the elements surrounding us. all of humanity is fluent in 'tree,' and well-versed in 'pond;' in the sense that each word/feature conjures a generally accepted, or 'denotative meaning' of the word, in a theorhetical sense and and a personal, 'connotative meaning' in the same sense side by side: a hallmark of a successful word, for our purposes.
with this, dear reader, we can say that successful communication is both communal and assocative.
so when it comes to the language of language, and communicating about communication, the most effective terminology must be nature: our widest shared/personal asset for our widest shared/personal asset. luckily for us, typographic/linguistic conventions fall in line with this understanding.
when talking about ie: the absolute denotative definition one could say that the sky is blue. though we can only confirm that the grass is green in ie: 'functional denotative;' case-by-case (in color-terms) terms. once winter hits, yellow grass is in my experience, that is
i take some comfort in relaying that in 'word world,' (as a concept) appears to be more precise.
typographic color is a property best described in shades.
the three words below, for instance, are generall well eg: kerned/lead/tracked at first glance. each letter/word has plenty of room to breathe on all sides, making it easily legible. as is, they could be described as having light typographic color. but, my dear reader, when you hover over these words, they cram together, losing that airiness that made them easy to understand. in this state, the words have a dark typographic color.
hover your mouse over these words to see what i mean.
'word world,' taking after our 'real world,' exists in the context of nature. certain layouts and principles of design are approached in the context of hills, valleys, and rivers– my favorite example, because they reference continuous gaps in bodies of text: a double-edged nature reference.
it's little things like this that really give words their shape.