Seeing Black
- Daniel Weiss
- Jan 25
- 3 min read
Are you familiar with the black C-7 bear's ass ? Or C-9 Tunnel at Midnight , C-18 Potato Cellar, C-1.4 Power Outage in Prague , or perhaps C-23 Beyond the Universe on the Left ? No? You should.
Because if you have ever designed a logo, chosen a fabric, designed a surface, or painted a surface, then you have already been working with exactly these kinds of black tones – without even knowing it.
Black is not just black.
This is not an aesthetic statement. This is a practical observation.
Most people only notice it when something doesn't work. When black suddenly looks cheap. Or gray. Or too trendy. Or coldly technical. Black is rarely neutral. Black always plays a part.
The terms originate from two brothers from the Czech Republic: Olek and Marek Černý . For years, they have worked on nothing but black. Not as a color, but as a material, as a surface, as a behavior in light. And they have established something that circulates among designers and manufacturers, but hardly anyone officially names: the Černý Scale .
A scale by which black is not measured, but experienced .
Olek Černý is the older of the two. Ten years old. He comes from the graphite mine. His family has been mining it for generations, in a tiny open-pit mine run by two cousins. No conveyor belts, no helmets with logos, no promises of efficiency. Manual labor. Dust. Patience. Graphite clings to you—clothes, skin, the smell of the room. Those who work there don't wear black. They take it with them.
Marek Černý is a designer. He translates what his brother brings from the earth. Not for artists, but for people who have to make decisions. Fashion houses. Car manufacturers. Technology companies. Brands for whom black is not a color, but identity.
The Černý scale starts high up, with a black internally called "Potato Cellar." Warm, muted, slightly damp. A black that holds its shape without being flashy. Understated. Suitable for everyday use. Perfect for surfaces that are meant to blend in—and that's precisely why they work.
Beneath it lies "Tunnel at Midnight." A black without solace. Cool. Uniform. You know there should be light somewhere, but you can't see it. Very popular with manufacturers who want peace and quiet—and control.
Even deeper: "Behind the Universe, Left." A precise, almost technical black. Hardly any emotion, much distance. This isn't decoration, this is decision-making.
At the very bottom: "Bear's Ass." A black that swallows light and gives nothing back. Radical. Too much for almost anything. Whoever ends up here doesn't want to create, but to obliterate. Or make disappear.
The names sound like a joke. But they're frighteningly accurate.
In the brothers' rooms stand boxes. Wood, metal, old. Labeled with a mechanical label printer. Black letters on yellowed paper. Chanel. Audi. Apple. No logos. No typography. Just names. Like ingredients.
Many designers are aware of the problem, but not the scale.
Many manufacturers are aware of the scale, but don't talk about it. Because black isn't a trend. Black is a consequence.
Since we learned about the Černý scale, we see black differently. Old stovetops in the office. A smartphone. A coat. A square on the wall. Always the same question: What kind of black is this, exactly?
Black is not just black.
And anyone who claims that has never been in a bear's ass.
DWHH.art is the personal art project of Daniel Weiss – a collaboration between humans and AI. All stories and images are fictional – created with artificial intelligence, told with human imagination. For all those who believe that beauty is allowed to think.
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