September 1997
s m u g
compulsion
by leslie harpold

*

Smell the Magic

Sometimes a girl has deep needs that can only be filled by something special, something power, some talisman of good memory with a touch of desire, potential energy and inspiration. For some people, it's a Danielle Steele novel. For me, it's a new box of Crayola Crayons.

Those of us who grew up in America from the comfort of any range of middle to upper class know what I'm talking about. You get your first box of crayons when you're about 18 months old, as soon as you can grip them, and before you throw away your childish toys, most people go through about 5 boxes of them, each time being a wonder unto itself. Between new boxes, you start to forget, as the points disappear, the crayons break, and some disappear, while burnt sienna stays in tact like new. Then a new box comes and the wonder of a thousand new coloring books and soon to be created refrigerator artwork dances before your eyes. I used to vow "this time, I'll use all the colors" and went right back to my favorites.

I remember staring at the boxes and thinking about all the things I would draw. It was very exciting. Upon reflection, it occurs to me that crayons and that weird unbleached pulp paper were my first introduction to formal communication, certainly the first way I expressed myself in a concrete way, that had the potential for some permanence. You could build with Legos and blocks but when playtime was over, you had to tear down your masterpieces. Artwork was different, there was proof, your message remained. Even when your message was as simple as here is a picture of a dog with three legs and motorboat.

*

Now, when I feel a little lost and a little burned out, I get a new box of 64. I still feel the excitement of creation I did when I was kid, which is ironic, since I am convinced that my inner child was kidnapped right along with Patty Hearst but never returned. The one thing that I find more deeply satisfying than any other part though, is the smell.

Just one whiff and the whole world is about potential again. And I cast pride aside and sit down, and make things. Sometimes I just draw, and now that I've got an ever so slightly more sophisticated eye, I even have found use for burnt sienna. I've come up with little games I play to tell myself they're not child's toys - melting part of the wax into the paper, to blend colors, ripping the paper off to use the long side to do lay down large fill ins to make backdrops for my "art" and trying to do quick light strokes of different colors for a painterly effect. i know that I could fool you into thinking I was in the midst of creating what could perhaps be my most important oeuvre, but the truth be told - I'm just slacking.

What I'm really doing? Just finding reasons to keep the box open a little longer, avoid the real world another minute and smell that smell one more time.

*

leslie@smug.com

back to the junk drawer

featurecar
net
worth
chair
bumping
uglies
gun
smoking
jacket
barcode
ear
candy
pie
feed
hollywood
lock
target
audience
scissors
three
dollar
bill
dice
compulsionvise
posedowncheese
the
biswick
files
toothbrush
mystery
date
wheelbarrow
and such
and such
hat
blabfan
kissing
booth
martini









     
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