Chalk About It.

Summer 2013 drawing of bear in birch tree forest
 

I am fascinated with chalk.  It's one of those things that I have cared about my entire life.  There were periods of time when I carried chalk pieces in my pockets at all times.  I was known for this when I was a child.  I was also known for hiding slices of cheese under the couch cushions, but I will leave that tale for another day.

It was very important to me each school year to see what kind of chalkboard my classroom had.  Was it a smooth black slate?  Was it the green variety? Did it have painted on lines for writing or did the teacher use one of those contraptions that held 5 pieces of chalk at once?  These were all very important facts for me to discover. 

I remember being intrigued by the type of chalk teachers had too.  It was "dustless" and couldn't be purchased at Drug Mart, which is where I did most of my shopping at the ripe age of 7.  Since I couldn't get it the legal way, I decided to start stealing it from school.  I'm not talking about cases or even boxes of the stuff, just pieces.  I would get excited when a fresh stick was placed on the chalk tray and begin review plans on how I could make it mine.  I eventually got busted and had to stop, but I feel like I was misunderstood.  I wasn't stealing it to be wrong.  I was stealing it because I was curious and no longer wanted to be restricted to Crayola shit chalk.

Around the same time period, I  tried to craft my own chalk.  Basically, I would steal my dad's chalk line chalk and make it into a paste that would then be put it into a mold to harden.  It didn't work out that well, so I moved onto crushing up existing chalk sticks, adding food coloring and using the same mold process as before.  It worked somewhat, but I was still dissatisfied with the lack of pigment.  I wanted colorful smooth chalk for drawing.  Not mediocre pieces that all looked faded, but with my limited shopping options I was forced to buy box after box of Crayola shit chalk. 

While I was saddened by my lack of quality material, I was more saddened by the fact that I had few friends at school and my neighborhood friends were moving on to new groups of people of which I did not fit in.  My way of dealing with my lonesomeness was to come home from school, put on an audio book and draw on my little chalkboard for a couple hours a day.  I thought it was so awesome and couldn't understand why everyone wasn't getting in on drawing on chalkboards.  I had several chalkboards and was known to travel with one back and forth to my grandma's house.  A new chalkboard was normally on my Christmas list.  I was dedicated.

My mom was supportive of my chalk habit.  She regularly let me take over our cement porch with my drawings.  I knew what areas of the cement were extra smooth, which ones were chipped and how cold it felt beneath my knees.  The way the porch was built made things echo.  I loved hearing scratchy chalk echoes.  It was certainly one of my most favorite things to do.  If someone made a recording of a person writing on a slate chalkboard, I would probably fall asleep to it like people who listen to recordings of waterfalls and birds.

As I got older, I learned about pigment and that there were options of chalk that I had never experienced.  I finally got my first set of chalk pastels the Christmas of seventh grade.  I specifically told my parents that I wanted chalk from an art store.  They listened and gave me a full set of black and grays and also a set of 12 colors.  I was in absolute love.  The vibrant colors and softness blew my thirteen year old mind.  I still have some of the grey set they gave me.  I usually remember where I get each box and am always surprised when I think about how old that one is.

My desire to steal chalk revisited me a few years ago in college.  I discovered a giant box of vibrant, yet dustless chalk in a supply cabinet in one of the drawing labs.  I wanted it.  I wanted it so bad.  It was from the 70's and I don't know if that particular type is still being made.  The scenario was just like when I was 7.  I entertained the idea of just straight up stealing it.  I imagined I would just strut into the lab when it was empty, and take the box as if I owned it already.  I thought about casually slipping it into my tote bag when I was packing up.  Eventually, I decided that I was not made for stealing and only took a couple of pieces for my collection. 

During adulthood, I have taken to seeking out old chalk at garage sales and flea markets.  I have also obtained several slate chalkboards that hang throughout my house.  My father is building me a frame for the 4' x 6' slate board I will hang in my backyard. 

As a grown up, there are times when you can still find me with chalk in tow ready for the next opportunity to draw.  I have been known to leave messages on stones in public places for others to enjoy (or be frightened by).  On sunny days when my chores and day are done you might  just find me on my front stoop chalking away my worries.


This is a message I left at the beach this spring.