Why does brown always get the short end of the stick? If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down. It’s not fair – earthy, practical, pragmatic brown is so much more than the leavings of a last meal. Brown is the color of the earth, your Sunday school shoes, your mother’s perfect hair.

René Magritte “Tous le jours,” (1966)

Some people would kill for a brown seersucker suit, and brown is the color of good strong leather, and all the trees in the forest. So why do we denigrate brown when it goes to such lengths to be liked – ever conciliatory, patient and kind? Icky brown, mousey brown, mushroom, dun and brindle, my mother would exclaim “you’re as useless as a chocolate teapot!” And then there’s the ubiquitous brown-eyed girl with “the transistor radio, standing in the sunlight laughing.”

Egon Schiele, “Field Landscape (Kreuzberg near Krumau),” (1910).

I opt for reconsideration in honor of the color that does so much for us and gets so little in return. After all, some of the best things in life are brown – mountains, sparrows, pretzels, acorns, armadillos. And the stalwart brown paper sack with the surprise that awaits inside.