Artists are just children who refuse to put down their crayons.
Al Hirschfeld
I’m about to admit to a not-so-secret secret, a guilty pleasure I feel no guilt about, and just the thing that takes the sting out of summer slipping away, making the shortening autumn days more bearable. My secret? I have my very own Time Machine. It’s yellow and green and it can teleport me to the past, put me down in the present, or slip me forward in time. My time machine is a brand new box of crayons!
In elementary school, we usually got the 8 crayon set. If we were lucky it was Crayola brand, with the recognizable yellow box, the flap that lifted to reveal the crayons in a row, like soldiers, alert and waiting for our commands. They stood, sharp and unbroken, the enveloping paper not yet torn and discarded. They represented the magnificent drawings that were the future. They were the perfect partner to our coloring books, like Tom and Jerry, only better. Teacher told us to write our name on the box, cautioned us not to break the crayons in half, to make sure they got returned to their proper place, and never rip off the paper covering. There was something pure and holy in that experience.
What a lucky day, birthday or Christmas, when in place of the 8 crayon box there was the 24 crayon box or even better, the 64 crayon box that came with–oh, be still my beating heart– a sharpener! Round and round went the crayons in the little plastic sharpener, small slivers of crayon shavings everywhere.
And the smell that is so recognizable that it cries out: CRAYONS! To this day, when I open up a new box of crayons the first thing I do after admiring their perfection is to lift them up to my nose, close my eyes and inhale deeply. There is magic in that smell, the perfect art perfume.
Written on the side of the crayons were names like Maize, Blizzard Blue, Thistle, all colors now retired, and new names added that are as fun to say as to use: Purple Mountains Majesty, Jazzberry Jam and Timber Wolf. As society’s expression grew to reflect the country’s diversity, the names of some of the crayons changed; the funky peachy color that was called Flesh and a reddish-orange color known as Indian Red were justly renamed. Thank goodness, because how can the multiplicity of the beautiful colors that make up the human race ever be confined to only one or two crayon colors.
Eventually our brand new crayons became broken and worn, and they were tossed in boxes and bags, melted for other art projects, or just neglected until they were thrown out by parents and teachers. I have such a box in the studio and classroom, and regardless of their state of being, their immediacy and simplicity makes them the perfect drawing tool. The bonus is that they play equally nice alone or with other art media. Often I like to combine them with mono prints, such as in my piece, “Comin’ Thru the Rye.”
Lest you think crayons are just for kids and students, think again. I’m not the only artist that finds crayons a handy medium for expression; even the great Pablo Picasso used crayons to draw. In fact, at a recent art auction in South Africa, a crayon drawing by the Maestro fetched 3 million Rand, or about $220,000 US dollars. Think about that the next time you tape a crayon drawing by a young budding artist to the refrigerator.
So let’s celebrate our creativity this season by treating ourselves to a new box of crayons and going on a little time travel. Go a bit crazy and get yourself the big box with the sharpener, spring for bling and get some glitter crayons, or try out some of the many different shapes, colors and types of crayons that are out there. I can’t wait to see how you color your world!
This Week in the Studio
Spending time working on paintings for the 2017 November Exhibit at the River’s Edge Gallery. Never too early to get behind!
Next week I’ll return with a post about building a painting, as Munninn, Hugin and Minnin are coming along nicely and my painting about Thought, Memory and Desire is just about done.