Colour holds meaning. It speaks to our senses, stirs emotion, and gives rhythm to everyday life by marking time and guiding movement. But what happens when this language becomes illegible to some? Inclusive design begins here: not with rules, but with questions.
For me, inclusive design is not about adjusting or compensating. It is about expanding the language of design so more people can speak it fluently. Without compromising on expression or aesthetics.
Understanding Colour Perception
Each of us sees colour differently. You’ve likely found yourself in conversations debating whether something is red, coral or pink. Midnight blue or black. This goes beyond eyesight. It is about perception, association, even memory.
One in twelve men and one in two hundred women has some form of colour blindness. That means millions of people navigate the world with a different chromatic compass. Not totally absent, but skewed. Confusing reds and greens. Or blues and yellows. Colours blending into grey, while shapes dissolve into the background.
I realised I had no real insight into how to design for this. I didn’t know how to talk about colour with those who perceive it differently.
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| paper colour pairs of confusion for people with red/green colour blindness |
Chromarama: Designing with Awareness
This is how Chromarama was born. Not out of pity or protocol, but out of fascination. Could I create something visually compelling for everyone, regardless of how they see colour?
In collaboration with colourblind peers, I began a deep study. I looked into the most common forms of colour blindness, especially red-green deficiency. I explored contrast not just in hue, but in value — the lightness or darkness of a colour. This proved key. Value contrast is perceivable even when hues aren't.
I tested yarns, weaving patterns, colour combinations. I examined the palettes of celebrated painters to see if their compositions held up under simulation of colour vision deficiency. Most did not.
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| Chromarama tapestries by Kukka |
From Research to Tapestry
Through this research emerged a series of jacquard woven tapestries. Designs that remain visible no matter the viewer’s colour perception. From a distance, they feel graphic and bold. Up close, texture and thread shimmer into detail. They don’t ask the viewer to understand colour. They offer it.
Later, I translated these studies into embroidered artworks and risograph prints. Each variation played with light, contrast, sheen or layering. Together, they form a growing body of work that challenges the idea that accessibility and aesthetics must sit at odds.
What It Offers
The response was humbling. From museum visitors to fellow designers, many shared how Chromarama opened their eyes. Not just to the condition, but to the possibility: that design can be both generous and refined. That visual inclusion is not a constraint, but a liberation.
It gave tools to designers in other disciplines too — product design, fashion, architecture — sparking questions about how we use colour as code, signal or ornament.
Chromarama reminds me that design is most alive when it listens. Not to trends or algorithms, but to the diversity of human experience.
If you'd be interested in a future blog about what people with colour blindness can or can’t perceive — and how to design with that in mind, including helpful tools — feel free to let me know in the comments.
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