Introducing Edith Young

Edith Young is a multidisciplinary artist, designer, and writer from New York City. In 2021, Princeton Architectural Press published her first book, Color Scheme: An Irreverent History of Art and Pop Culture in Color Palettes. She writes and devises a monthly newsletter of visual essays called "Powers of Observation," and makes prints of her palettes.
Below is a week with Rodebjer from the pages of her color diary, a swirl of orange wines, pink lettuces, hyperlink blue skies, and creamy desserts.
Saturday: I take the subway to Brooklyn. As I exit the subway car, I see a flash of yellow before my eyes. After a moment, I register it: an airborne banana peel that a passenger has tossed through the doors onto the platform. For dinner, I head to the Fly for the first time with some friends—it’s a self-proclaimed “chicken bar,” not to be confused with a chicken barn, by a beloved New York restaurant group. The dining room glows orange. Is this what being a chicken egg in an incubator feels like? Adapting to our surroundings, we order wine that’s the same color.
Sunday: My significant other and I place an order for a small breakfast feast from Win Son Bakery, which arrives in mostly delicious shades of beige, other than the fermented red rice donut. Later on a walk, I end up behind a little dog who deftly color-blocks with a hot pink vest and an orange sweater underneath. I’m not even a dog person, but it’s the best outfit I see all day.
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Monday: My winter exercise routine is to Citibike down the West Side Greenway path to the Pilates studio I like. I’ve done it in freezing temperatures, through slush and puddles — all thanks to the sleeping bag-like enclosure of the Sandler coat which wards off the elements. Downtown, I park the bike and weave through Greenwich Village. The days are getting longer. Standing at a crosswalk, I see a patch of hyperlink blue sky between apartment buildings. I pass by the Washington Mews, and my eyes linger on NYU’s “Deutsches Haus” with its windows painted the color of cabbage.
Tuesday: I turn another year older! In the spirit of playing some birthday hooky, I walk to the skating rink in the morning. It’s the emptiest I’ve ever seen, so I can go as fast as I want. A graceful skater with gold blades piques my envy. At night, I meet one of my oldest friends at my favorite bar where a pink clock presides over the scene. It completes the New York trifecta: I’ve seen two other clocks like it in New York, at the Odeon and impressed into the façade of Luhring Augustine’s Bushwick gallery.
