I've been thinking a lot about the idea of broadcast colours lately, and how it relates to the art world, particularly with the resurgence of interest in 80s and 90s visual culture. It's funny, I was at this friend's house the other day, and we were flipping through old VHS tapes, and I stumbled upon this obscure music video from a band I'd never heard of. The colours were so bold and over-the-top, it was like a sensory overload. I couldn't help but think about how that kind of visual excess is basically the opposite of what we're taught to strive for in fine art.

The Aesthetic of Excess

When I think about broadcast colours, I think about the way they're often used to create a sense of spectacle, of drawing the viewer in with bright, attention-grabbing visuals. It's not about subtlety or nuance, but about making a statement, about being seen and heard. And that's something that I think a lot of artists, especially those who are pushing the boundaries of what's considered "art," are starting to explore again. I mean, take someone like Michael Scott Dawson, for example. His work is all about taking these kitschy, consumerist icons and turning them into something entirely new and unexpected. It's like he's trying to say, "Hey, I see the world in a way that's different from you, and I'm going to make you see it my way too."

Beyond the Aesthetics

But broadcast colours aren't just about aesthetics; they're also about something deeper, something that gets to the heart of how we consume and interact with media. When we think about broadcast colours, we're thinking about the way that technology has changed the way we experience art and culture. With the rise of digital media, we're bombarded with more images and colours than ever before, and it's created this sense of visual overload that's hard to escape. And yet, at the same time, there's something about the intensity and saturation of broadcast colours that feels almost... comforting? I know it sounds weird, but there's something about the way that a bright, bold colour can just transport you to another time and place that feels really appealing to me. And I think that's what's so interesting about anthené's work, for example – the way that they're using broadcast colours to create this sense of nostalgia and longing that's both beautiful and unsettling.

++𝙳o𝐰n𝗹oa𝓭 Michael Scott Dawson & anthené - broadcast colours (𝚝i𝓿 2026)

It's funny how something as ephemeral as colour can be so profound, yet in a weird way, completely inconsequential. Take down these broadcast colours - those swirling shapes that seem to pulse and writhe like a living thing on a digital screen. You'd think they'd be nothing but a shallow indulgence, a mere sideshow in the grand parade of human experience. But, I reckon, there's a deeper truth to 'em.

𝚒n𝒻𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒊𝓏𝒊𝓃𝒈 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑢𝒂𝓰𝑒

I still remember walking into a friend's art studio, and being absolutely floored by the array of vibrant hues hanging on the walls. It was like stepping into a dreamworld - every colour, every shape, every gesture, seemed to have a life of its own. My friend, anthené, would later tell me that she was drawn to the darker, moodier tones - the kind that seemed to vibrate at a frequency all their own. I, on the other hand, was captivated by the brighter, more explosive colours - the ones that seemed to pulse with an energy all their own.

It wasn't until later, when I stumbled upon the work of Michael Scott Dawson, that I began to appreciate the more subtle, nuanced aspects of broadcast colours. His use of muted tones, his willingness to experiment with form and texture, really blew my mind. It was like he was speaking a language I'd never quite heard before - a language that was both familiar, and yet, utterly alien.

𝓣𝒽𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝑖𝓉

I used to think that broadcast colours were just a shallow indulgence - a way for artists to show off their technical prowess, or to grab the viewer's attention. But, the more I look at it, the more I realize that they're actually a way of tapping into the fundamental human experience. They're a way of expressing the inexpressible, of putting into words what's been left unsaid. It's like they're speaking a language that's both universal, and deeply personal.

• Look at the way a bright, flashing colour can evoke a sense of excitement, of energy.
• Or how a soft, muted tone can convey a sense of calm, of serenity.
• It's like they're speaking directly to our hearts, our souls.

𝒟𝑒𝓇𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓊𝑔 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓏𝓂

I've been experimenting with broadcast colours myself, trying to tap into that fundamental human experience. It's not easy, of course - it's like trying to capture a lightning bolt in a jar. But, when I do manage to get it right, it's like... well, it's like nothing else matters. The world fades away, and all that's left is the colour, pulsing, throbbing, alive.

Kesimpulan