In the attic room, scattered on the floor were a few wax crayons and a scrap of paper.
We were viewing the house. It was for sale. Dad picked up a crayon and rubbed it across the page,
he added a different colour over the top then more colour again, the bright clear hues merging into a thick layer of browny-grey .Voila! My first art lesson and encounter with colour.
Around this time, my best chum Julie turns 5 years old, it is sunny September and for her birthday she receives a ballerina colouring book and a box of crayons. I sit on the floor of Julies’ hallway in the shadowy light. I look at the black outlined shapes of ballet shoes and legs and dancers pirouetting. My eyes move over to the slim palette of crayons, along the narrow coloured sticks. They are neatly arranged in colour value like keys on a piano. I am astonished. I can’t believe my eyes. I can’t believe my eyes.
A silent symphony of beauty stretches before me. My eyes move back and forth taking it all in, the deep dark tones of browns,black and greys. Reds and oranges, blue, dark blue, light blue, even lighter blue, turquoise,(think the sweep of harp strings) blue green, green blue, flat olive green, green yellow or is it yellow green? further along I see pink of every description, peach and caramel. Caramel! Tints and tones and colours I didn’t know existed. Finishing up, right at the end of the tray, matt waxy silver and gold! All perfect shades for ballerinas, all perfect shades for me. It is amazing. I fall in love. I am 4.
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