Art is the only way to run away without leaving home. ~Twyla Tharp

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Kellise and the Giant Pencil

It's almost the end of the school year and at this point, I usually start getting teary eyed thinking about my 8th graders leaving me and heading to high school.  The difference in them from when they walked into my classroom as 6th grade children to now, when they are ready to walk out into the very different world of high school as young adults is phenomenal.  I feel so lucky to have been a part of their lives for the last three years.  This year is going to be particularly rough as I stand on the Bulldog saying good bye to so many kids that I have grown to love.

One of those students in particular is Kellise.  The funny thing is, that I haven't taught her at all except for this last semester of her middle school career.  She is one of those kids that has just gotten under my skin.  I have an art history calendar that was given to me as a Christmas gift and she never fails to ask me what the art of the day is.  Every day we connect, even for just a few minutes, which isn't always easy in a room full of kids demanding attention, not to mention the other-you-don't-belong-to-me-right-now-but-you-know-I'll-do-anything-for-you-kids pouring into my room on an almost daily basis needing string, or construction paper, or a pencil or can I please use your hole puncher or can I have some lotion and a band aid?

So, today's blog is not so much about what art we are doing in my class right now (for the record, we are finishing kaleidocycles and about to start a quick Robert Indiana lettering project) but a little exchange that Kellise and I had the other day.

I need to preface this post by explaining that I have a lot of STUFF in my classroom.  I have a shelf behind my desk that is full of art books and art projects of students past and photographs and artist puppets and colored pencils made out of branches and treasures that I have been gifted by students or that I have picked up here and there over the years.  And things that I just don't want in my house (and holy cow what am I going to do with all this junk when I retire?) My students are drawn to this stuff like mosquitoes are drawn to a porch light at night.  They are always messing with my stuff.  I really need to relax because it's kind of there for them. And it makes my room fun.  One of my most fascinating treasures is a giant pencil.  I got it at a now defunct (in my part of the world, at least) store called Space Savers about 15 years ago.  It's a real, working pencil with a real, working eraser, except it is about a foot and a half long. My kids love to write their names and draw little pictures with it.  I tell them that I don't use it much because, duh, I don't have a pencil sharpener that big.

The other day, I was helping Kellise glue her kaleidocycle together when she picked up my giant pencil off the shelf.  (Seriously can someone please invent a glue stick that will actually stick heavy, folded paper together without too much force or pressure or complaining or frustration.  That doesn't cost a fortune?  Please?) Kellise asked me the usual questions about the pencil that I have heard about a thousand times: Where did you get it?  Does it really write?  Can I use it?  But then, she said...

Wouldn't it be neat if you could write your life, like you have been living it, and if you made a mistake, you could take the eraser and erase your mistake and rewrite it?  You could just decide that you don't want to do something or say something and erase it and rewrite it so that it is better.  

That would be awesome, Kellise.  Indeed it would. You really have no idea how awesome that would be.

And then she said...but you would have to charge the pencil.

At first I thought she meant that the pencil would charge a price for rewriting your life.  That you would have to pay the pencil back for every mistake that it fixed, for every unpleasant moment that it rewrote.  But she meant that it would have to be some kind of electronic pencil in order to work.  But I told her my idea...that you would have to pay the pencil, some way, for every moment that it took back and changed.

She liked my idea.

So we decided that for every moment that the Giant Pencil rewrote, you would have to sacrifice a moment at the end of your life.  (but you would still have to plug the pencil in, because, electronics you know)

And then I showed Kellise the Giant Green crayon that sits on the file cabinet behind my desk.  Kellise smiled and said that you could draw a lot of pictures to change your life with that one.

After her class leaves, I have a short planning time and as I sat there trying to get my end of the year act together, I thought that I might just need to incorporate more writing + art in my classroom next year. (What?  Thinking about next year already? Noooooo!)

But, that moment that Kellise and I just had would not be one that I would erase and rewrite.  For sure.   How lucky am I to be inspired by my kids as much as I hope that I inspire them? 

The Giant Pencil itself!

And a giant green crayon.

Did I mention the giant (non-working, for show only) scissors.

Aaaaaaaaand the giant calculator.  I think I may need a giant supplies intervention.

The Shelf of Intrigue.

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