Color Wheel Frustration

Crayola tempera paintRemember the color wheel?

When you were a kid, your art teacher probably taught you the standard color wheel: If you have red, blue, and yellow paint, you can combine them to make any color (except black, white, gold, silver, magenta, neon anything…) Okay, almost any color. Red + Blue = Purple, Blue + Yellow = Green, and Red + Yellow = Orange. Mix all three, and you get Brown.

mixed paint But if you’ve ever picked up a standard set of kids’ tempera paints and tried to mix them, you’ve probably noticed that things aren’t quite this simple.

Here are the results of mixing red, blue, and yellow. The green looks pretty good. The orange is still red, and the “purple” is terrible. No, that’s not your monitor messing up. It is actually almost black.

This happens because the red and blue in these kits aren’t actually primary colors. The real primary colors are yellow, cyan, and magenta. Why were we taught that red and blue are primary paint colors in school? I don’t know. I suspect it’s because teachers think little kids understand red and blue but don’t know what “cyan” and “magenta” are, (though if you’ve ever discussed dinosaurs with a four year old, you’ve know that kids know lots of big words).

Thankfully, if you are cursed with red, yellow, and blue, you can improve your results.

The blues that come in standard kids’ paints tend to be very dark, and the reds are dark compared to the yellow. Yellow is, by nature, very light. If you try to mix equal quantities of these pigments, the dark colors will overwhelm the light ones.

Add white to lighten the blues and reds, then increase the amount of yellow in the orange and red in the purple:

Why bother with the white? Even though you are adding paint, paint is essentially subtractive. Paint works by absorbing most of the light that strikes it and only reflecting a few particular wavelengths. When you mix paints, you don’t increase the range of light reflected, but narrow it: you’re now blocking two paints’ worth of colors. This is why our purple looks almost black.

So if you’ve mixed your colors and the result is still too dark, add some white.

The purple is still pretty blah, but purple is hard. We didn’t even invent good, cheap purple paint until the 1800s. (Before then, purple was expensive, which is why it was associated with kings.) Don’t feel bad if you can’t get a good purple and just buy purple paint.

brown?Now let’s talk about brown. Here is the brown I get when I mix all three colors.

Yeah. That’s awful.

I remember being very frustrated as kid because no matter how I mixed my red, blue, and yellow, I just got disgusting colors that didn’t even deserve the name “brown.”

brownThere is a much easier and better way to make brown: add a touch of black to your orange. Yes, the orange. Brown is actually dark orange.

Here you go: orange + black. See? Isn’t that better? Now we’ve got a color that could grace a tasty bar of chocolate, a friendly dog, or a wooden table.

Why is brown dark orange? That’s a good question. I’m not sure, but I think it has to do with how our eyes physically perceive color.

Dark blue and light blue are both good, recognizable colors.
Dark red and light red are both good colors.
Dark green and light green are both good colors.

Dark yellow isn’t a thing. Try it. Mix yellow+black. Now you’ve got olive, not yellow.

And dark orange, as we’ve discussed, is brown.

You might have noticed that when people talk about light, instead of paint, they use a different set of primary colors: blue, red, and green. Yes, blue and red are actually the primary colors of light. Light is additive: if you put more light in, you get more light out. Mix all of the colors of light together and you get white light, like the sun. The sun makes a lot of light.

The cones in your eyes are optimized to detect particular wavelengths of light. They tell your brain what they’ve detected, and your brain constructs an image that you perceive as color. Our cones are optimized to perceive red, green, and blue light.

Yellow light is made by mixing red and green, so when you perceive yellow, both red and green cones are activating at the same time. Orange is the same story, but with a more red activation.

A “dark” version of a color is just a version that is emitting/reflecting less light. I suspect that when you see “dark green,” you are activating fewer of your green receptors, but still activating some of them, so your brain gets a clear signal that says “green.” When you see dark red, the same thing happens. But in order to see yellow and orange, you need to activate both receptors. I suspect that when you see dark yellow and dark orange, not enough of both red and green get activated to send a clear picture to your brain. What you end up with is, essentially, a degraded signal: brown.

You can degrade signals in other ways–by just blocking out a lot of the colors, as when you mix all of the paints, for example–but it’s faster and easier to work with orange. (And that’s definitely the technique you’ll use if you’re coloring on a computer.)

Good luck and happy painting.

More on primary colors of light and paint

Great video.

Why are Mammals Brown? (pt. 1)

We don't naturally look like this
We don’t naturally look like this

Compared to colorful fish, lizards, birds, and even ladybugs, we mammals are downright drab. I see no particular environmental reason for this–plenty of mammals live in areas with trees or grass where green fur or spots might help them blend in, or have such striking patterns–like a zebra–that I hardly think a blue stripe would result in more lion attacks.

I think there are two main reasons mammals are mostly brown, instead of showing the vibrant colors of other species:

1. Some colors are difficult to produce.

Blue, for example. Walk into the forest or a meadow on an average day, and you’ll see a lot of green. Anything not green is likely brown. Outside a garden, there are very few naturally blue or purple plants.

This guy, however, does
This guy, however, does

It’s no coincidence that early human art uses colors that could be easily produced from the natural environment, like brown, black, (charcoal,) and yellow. By the Roman era, we could produce purple dye, but it was so hard to obtain from such rare sources (shells) that it was prohibitively expensive for mere mortals, hence why it was called “royal purple.” The European tradition of painting the Virgin Mary’s cloak blue also hails from the days when blue pigments were expensive, and thus a sign of exalted status.

A purple dye cheap enough for average people to buy and wear wasn’t invented until 1856, by William Henry Perkin.

I’m not sure exactly why blue and purple are so hard to produce, but I think it’s because light toward the violent end of the spectrum is higher energy than light toward the red end. As Bulina et al state:

Pigments in nature play important roles ranging from camouflage coloration and sunscreen to visual reception and participation in biochemical pathways. Considering the spectral diversity of pigment-based coloration in animals one can conclude that blue pigments occur relatively rare (as a rule blue coloration results from light diffraction or scattering rather than the presence of a blue pigment). At least partially this fact is explained by an inevitably more complex structure of blue pigments compared to yellow-reds. To appear blue a compound must contain an extended and usually highly polarized system of the conjugated π-electrons.

Okay… So, because blue and purple are more energetic, they require molecules that have more double bonds and are less common in nature. (Why double bonds are less common is a matter I’ll leave for a chemistry discussion.)

You’re probably used to thinking of color as an inherent property of the objects around you–that a green leaf is green, or a red bucket is red, in the same way that the leaf and bucket have a particular mass and are made of their particular atoms.

low energy to the left, high to the right
Low energy to the left, high to the right

But turn off the lights, and suddenly color goes away. (Mass doesn’t.)

The colors we see are created by light “bouncing” (really, being absorbed and then re-emitted) off objects. Within the visible spectrum, red light requires the least energy to produce (because it has the widest wavelength,) and violent takes the most energy.

But nature, being creative, has come up with alternative way to produce blues and purples that doesn’t depend on electron energy levels: structure.

Unless you are a color scientist you are probably accustomed to dealing with chemical colors. For example, if you take a handful of blue pigment powder, mix it with water, paint it onto a chair, let it dry, then scrape it off the chair, and grind it back into powder, you expect it to remain blue at all stages in the process (except if you get a bit of chair mixed in with it.)

Blue Morpho butterfly
Blue Morpho butterfly

By contrast, if you scraped the scales off a blue morpho butterfly’s wings, you’d just end up with a pile of grey dust and a sad butterfly. By themselves, blue morpho scales are not “blue,” even under regular light. Rather, their scales are arranged so that light bounces between them, like light bouncing from molecule to molecule in the air. Or as Ask Nature puts it:

Many types of butterflies use light-interacting structures on their wing scales to produce color. The cuticle on the scales of these butterflies’ wings is composed of nano- and microscale, transparent, chitin-and-air layered structures. Rather than absorb and reflect certain light wavelengths as pigments and dyes do, these multi scale structures cause light that hits the surface of the wing to diffract and interfere.

The same process is at work in the peacock’s plumage and bluebird’s blue:

Male eastern bluebird
Male eastern bluebird

Soft condensed matter physics has been particularly useful in understanding the production of the amorphous nanostructures that imbue the feathers of certain bird species with intensely vibrant hues. The blue color of the male Eastern bluebird (Sialia sialis), for example, is produced by the selective scattering of blue light from a complex nanostructure of b-keratin channels and air pockets in the hairlike branches called feather barbs that give the quill its lift. The size of the air pockets determines the wavelengths that are selectively amplified.

When the bluebird’s feathers are developing, feather barb cells known as medullary keratinocytes expand to their boxy final shape and deposit solid keratin around the periphery of the cell—essentially turning the walled-in cells into soups of ß-keratin suspended in cytoplasm. Next, b-keratin filaments free in the cytoplasm start to bind to each other to form larger bundles. As these filaments become less water-soluble, they begin to come out of solution—a process known as phase separation—ultimately forming solid bars that surround twisted channels of cytoplasm. These nanoscale channels of keratin remain in place after the cytoplasm dries out and the cell dies, resulting in the nanostructures observed in the feathers of mature adults.

“The bluebird doesn’t lay down a squiggly architecture and then put the array of the protein molecules on top of it,” Prum explains. “It lets phase separation, the same process that would occur in oil and vinegar unmixing, create this spatial structure itself.”

The point at which the phase separation halts determines the color each feather produces.

Decades old pollia fruit retains its structural brilliance
Decades old Pollia fruit retains its structural brilliance

This kind of structural color works great if your medium is scales, feathers, carapaces, berries, or even CDs, but just doesn’t work with hair, which we mammals have. Unlike the carefully hooked together structure of a feather or the details of a butterfly’s scales, hair moves. It shakes. It would have to be essentially solid to create structural color, and it’s not.

So for the most part, bright colors like green, blue, and purple are expensive, energy-wise, to produce chemically, and mammals don’t have the option birds, fish, lizards, and insects have of producing them structurally.

To be continued…

Just about the best thing I could find today (light and BMI):

“The results of this study demonstrate that the timing of even moderate intensity light exposure is independently associated with BMI. Specifically, having a majority of the average daily light exposure above 500 lux (MLiT500) earlier in the day was associated with a lower BMI. In practical terms, for every hour later of MLiT500 in the day, there was a 1.28 unit increase in BMI. The complete regression model (MLiT500, age, gender, season, activity level, sleep duration and sleep midpoint) accounted for 34.7% of the variance in BMI. Of the variables we explored, MLiT500 contributed the largest portion of the variance (20%).”

From “Timing and Intensity of Light Correlate with Body Weight in Adults” by Kathryn J. Reid, Giovanni Santostasi, Kelly G. Baron, John Wilson, Joseph Kang, and Phyllis C. Zee.