Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

August 22, 2019, 03:26:40 AM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Marker  (Read 21 times)
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« on: August 13, 2019, 12:47:57 PM »

   One of the first markers I remember having was red and had a “cherry” smell. The scent was so important to me, as it made the marker unique and special compared to all the others. A blank piece of paper is the most beautiful thing. I drew pictures of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet and other animals. Of course, they were all just scribbles. I just saw what I wanted to see.
   The internal satisfaction of any artistic endeavor is stunning. I struggle to compare it to anything else. Imagine seeing Niagara Falls for the first time or completing the hike up Mount Marcy. Imagine driving from one Ocean to the other, watching the landscapes morph from the forested East, to the flat Midwest, to the red Martian desert of New Mexico, and into the mystery of California. The simple act of moving your hand from one end of a page to the other holds the key to these feelings.
   Because the odor of cherry on the marker was so strong and lovely, I tried to touch it to my tongue. I got an immediate scolding from my mother, but I already knew I’d made a mistake. The taste and smell danced together in my brain for ages, and I soon figured out that the “cherry” smell was synthetic and not like real cherries at all. But I missed the mystery of that marker. I longed to have a yearning desire to use it, but it was gone.
   I started a sketch pad recently, to rediscover that feeling. I started drawing, poorly, any ordinary object in my house. Everything becomes twisted when you try and fail to draw it. Like memories, we can’t quite see them clearly.
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