I don't generally use a lot of red in my work. I tend to gravitate toward cool and neutral colors, and prefer to think about the life and quiet work of the soul in the people I draw. Lately, however, experience has forced me to embrace colors and feelings about which I am unsure, colors that make me uncomfortable. There is something inherently not safe about red for me. Risks have always come for me in awkward lumps, like sleeping on an unmade bed. Then, in the between times, I am floating in a cool water, safely knowing the bottom is in reach.
Just now I am wrestling with the covers, in a lumpy bed, half awake, waiting for morning.