Personal Narrative

My Crayon Conversations

by , age 9
Editor's Note

This is one of the most extraordinary works we have ever published at Stone Soup. As a writer myself, I can tell you that I am jealous of this writing. Yatharth's prose is smooth, beautiful, and varied. He is funny! This piece is a memoir. The story tells us something about its author—but it is formally about colours. He writes about colours through crayon characters. In giving voice to the voiceless, Yatharth works in a writing tradition we can trace back to Greek writers of more than two thousand years ago: the tradition of prosopopoeia. In Greek the word suggests that the writer makes a face, makes an actor, out of an inanimate thing.

It is easy to say "give an object a voice," but very much harder to make that voice convincing.

Yatharth creates many crayon characters, and, as you will see, each one thinks differently and talks differently. Each crayon is a sketch for a different character. But one can also understand the crayons as all being, really, a single character: the author himself. This is a brilliant way to reveal something about oneself. One sees, for example, that he is a kind and courteous boy: he gives grumpy Grey the power to bring happiness to others—to provide the silver lining. Each crayon, each colour, offers a complete character sketch, a complete psychology. Literally a psychology of colour; but figuratively he is describing different human personalities, some of which he possesses, and all of which he understands.
If Red overheats, he might "melt himself if he doesn't stop." A child's tantrum. The impulsive, often self-destructive behaviour of a hot-head.

There is so much in this piece! Before you start reading, I want you to notice one idea about being an artist that is not commonly remarked upon. It is curiosity about what stories the colors will him that keeps him engaged with his art. More than that, he is describing the dynamic that is true for so many artists. I'd say, all artist, but safer to allow for exceptions! Color is emotion. Emotion is story. He does not create art by filing in a coloring book. He creates art by being open to what the colors tell him. As colors accumulate on the page or canvas they engage his curiosity. What are the colors telling me? What is their story? How should I develop this art?

This is a very big truth about artists. It is the tools themselves that engage our imaginations. Writers love words. Potters love clay. Mathematicians, numbers. Dancers, movement. Art is the collaboration between the artist and their tools. Curiosity is a good way to put it. What next? Where does our tool, whether it is color, clay, numbers, movement, words want to lead us? And if we go there, what will we then discover? Great art comes from the artist who loves their tools, and is curious about where their tools may lead them.

As a writer, I can tell you that he has identified the very thing that drives me: curiosity. In the first paragraph he puts it plainly—the crayons know that if they keep him curious, he will use them more and more in his painting. The crayons tell Yatharth stories; he wants to hear more. When I am writing, the words speak to me, and as they emerge I grow curious. Where are we going? The potter, the sculptor, the writer, the dancer, the artist—as Yatharth calls out in his story-memoir—find the motivation to work, the creative drive, in our interaction with the tools of our craft. I suspect that the greatest artists are those most in love with the tools of their art: the paint, the feeling of clay in the hands, of words forming patterns that make characters, images, worlds that had never existed before. And we wonder, then: what is next? What is going to happen?

— William Rubel, Editor
Yatharth Chaturvedi

My Crayon Conversations

by Yatharth Chaturvedi, 9 , India

I am an artist, I draw and sketch. I don't paint when I am sad, or when I am bored, I just do it because it makes me more happy. That is one thing I just do, like I breathe or go to school, it's my regular life. But there is one thing that is not routine or regular, rather it's funny. I am friends with my crayons, they keep telling me stories when I hold them. I never understood why they started talking to me, but then I understood. They get bored of lying in that boring box all day and they love to spread color. They know that if they keep me curious, I will use them more and more in my painting. They are awfully self obsessed but it's ok, I get to hear stories no one else knows!

Grey is a grumpy crayon. He is the most cross wax stick ever and it's not his fault entirely. People use him more in sad parts and less in happy ones. Whenever I pick him up, he asks grumpily what is the mood of my painting. He tries to bully me I think, and almost always says in a disappointed tone “ I already know my job. I’m the color of rainy days, eroded sidewalks, and all the sadness of your art work. Isn't it!" I both fear and hate him, but then I also empathise with him. It does get insulting and boring to be told what you are. Then came a Tuesday that changed Mr. Grumpy Grey. I made a sad painting but kept the happy part just for him to have his moment .As I stretched my finger towards him I told him, “Wait Mr. Grey, today you are my perfect and only choice for something hopeful! In this painting, you are to draw the "Silver Lining" on a cloud!” He jumped into my hand and glided like never before. Then onwards Tuesdays were to be “Happy Grey Day”, he made me promise.

Red is just like the student in my class who can never keep her enthusiasm and hands down. Red is energetic but exhausting. He always tells me how in Newton discovering Gravity due to the falling apple, it was the redness of the apple that was the most notable reason for his discovery. I think he credits himself more than the scientist for Gravity. Don't think of yourself as rude if you feel Red is a show-off, to be honest I am certain he is. I feel so much pressure when I work with him, he's constantly telling me why and how everything on the painting must be red. Once out of the box , Red just doesn't want to get back. Red has a massive personality, but I worry about him. He’s always so 'Red Hot' with brain activity that he forgets that he can melt himself if he doesn't stop! I keep telling him this silently but mostly he cuts me through so I just put him back in his box to relax. Phew, too much “Main Character” energy!

Then there is Ms. Yellow. He is the most reasonable one in the box— I enjoy working with her. Yellow knows she makes sunshine warm and sunflowers beautiful, she brightens the canvas. But the best thing about Ms. Yellow is she knows a thing or two about overuse. She constantly whispers that if I use too much of her then the canvas will look like a pan of melted butter splattered all over. Ms. Yellow tells Grey to cheer up because she needs a shade of grey- “No Grey No Shade, then the light will burn everything up!” She asks me about my school also sometimes, she is a good worker and friend. Grey still sits grumpy on all other days, except Tuesday. Yellow smiles in the corner.

Occasionally, I work with Ms. Pink too. She is the shyest of them all, and there is one huge problem in working with her. When she is out of the box she gets social anxiety and starts blushing, it just makes her shade darker. A nightmare for me, because I need her for the soft shades. I have to wait for her to calm down, it takes a while, but I wait happily. She is so gentle but very picky. She only wants to be the flower or the soft blanket and stays away from Red all the time. I really have to do a therapy session with her, to make her understand that a garden of roses will have all colors. It's only her pink that gives us kindness. Then she stays and returns to her normal shade. She is modest.

Mr. Black is the gentleman of the box. He doesn't shout like Red, sulk like Grey or blush like Pink. He speaks in a low, rumbling voice that makes all the other crayons stop and listen.He believes he is the most essential of them all, as he likes to say, 'Without me, there are no boundaries!” I just listen to him quietly; he gives me a grandfather vibe. He particularly praises me for my hair, which is, of course, black. The problem is, Mr. Black can be a bit of a snob, he is stiff. He often tells me, 'Don't bother with that Grey fellow. He’s just a watered-down version of me. He’s weak.' But I can't let him insult Grey, so I told Mr. Black , though politely, 'Mr. Black,sometimes you are too much and I need Grey, to make you humbler”. But Mr. Black is a good man, just a different kind of grumpy, watered-up version of Grey.

I prefer to call Mr. Blue as Sir Blue, or Sergeant Blue! The first time ever we worked together, I was in for a surprise. I had just painted with Yellow and my mood was bright and I expected blue to be open and free flowing like the sky or the water. I was being “regular” with him. He sees himself as a Knight, guarded, dutiful, and very serious about his job. Everytime I have to tell him that I am not doing homework but I am painting for myself, he just doesn't seem to understand anything that is not “rules”. He still says “Listen well, Boy! Attend your lessons and be a man of honor and I shall protect the boundaries of your canvas.” How do I tell him, my canvas has no boundaries. He is G.O.A.T though, makes my art pop whenever I use him.

Then there is White, the Ghost of the box. Whenever I pick her up for an outing on my painting, my hands feel frozen. She is too silent and honestly, not much fun at all. I think White has been told she is 'perfect' and “peaceful” so many times that she took it to heart and just stopped emoting. I always put him next to Mr. Red, hoping that it picks up some red energy or Red picks up some white energy, but it’s giving… absolutely nothing. The only time she does make a slight face is when her wrapper gets a dash of another color. Even when angry she doesn't say anything out loud. I sound like my mum, but I wish she spoke about her feelings. She comes out less because the canvas is already white, but I do like to add her to my paintings. White bores me, but it's fine, she needs time. I am also scared of white because it seems being perfect is to be lifeless.

Green is the Queen. She keeps telling me that the leaves and trees are green simply because they chose the best color for themselves. She just wants me to agree. "Actually, Your Majesty, that's just- chlorophyll." I always reply. Green thinks I make up confusing words. The problem with Green is that she wants me to be perfect, she is mostly annoyed at the brown leaves, a small smudge, or the curled torn side of my paper. What she doesn’t understand is that I am fine being messy. I think she makes my painting a little less messy and a little less perfect.

All these colors want something from me and I from them. I am the coach and they are my team. Suddenly, my brother walked in with some football drama. He caught me right in the middle of my talk with Red and went mute. He was plainly staring at me because either he could not believe I was talking to crayons or he thought he misunderstood. Before he could ask any annoying questions, I quickly packed all my colors back into their box gently.

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