Friday, December 5, 2014

Warning: Flashback Catalyzed by Inhalation of Eraser Shavings

Currently, in the Orange County Museum of Art's current exhibition, The Avant Garde Collection, artist Vija Celmins has a piece that draws you in with its realism, makes you spend some time with it due to its scale, and takes you to a place of nostalgia. Her sculpture–acrylic on balsa wood–entitled Eraser is a large, hyperrealistic rendering of a Pink Pearl eraser–smudge marks and all. She made it in 1967, but it really connects to anyone of any age. A commanding universality emanates from the piece, immediately filling me with a blushing smile as I recall grade school and the presence of this icon of childhood and learning. Just as the artist did, I had a Pink Pearl eraser in my pencil box, which layed in my desk cubby; it seemed like school supplies held so much more importance back then–I had an array of pencils, erasers, pens, highlighters, sharpeners–the list goes on. Now, anything will do. Any pencil I can get my hands on will suffice; my main issues are the intangibles of formal education and beyond: making decisions, managing time between subjects and between school in general and my personal life, brainstorming ideas in order to make things that matter to me. But the simplicity of a Pink Pearl eraser brings me and I think probably a lot of people back to an unpolluted and unburdened place of honesty and curiosity–light-heartedness and hunger for joy quenched by the smallest things. Even if just for a few moments, Celmin's larger than life sculpture brought me to a joyful place I hadn't visited in a long while, one that I can learn from and maybe collect some shavings. Erasers change shape as they're used and as they age, just as I've molded and changed probably since I last used a Pink Pearl; I guess we can find solace in the fact that whoever or whatever we become is in our hands, literally, and if we make mistakes we can start over and write something new.

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