Defacing Public Property.

My life has not been filled with opportunities to create graffiti, and I am a graffiti appreciator.

I’m not talking about those quick tagging scrawls, I’m talking about beautiful images, gigantic flourishing script and creative wording and subvert-the-government rhymes. I’m talking about self-portraits in ink or spray paint or thought-provoking politically-oriented caricatures. I love the idea of someone adding to the world around them, albeit in an unapproved manner, and letting that addition be slowly removed by rain and snow and sleet (and possibly some janitorial staff with a metal-bristled brush).

Perhaps an early life lived in cornfields and forests doesn’t lend itself well to defacing buildings and sidewalks and bathroom stalls. I have never really been able to convince myself to let my creative juices flow in a public manner. I fear getting caught, of course, and having to explain why I’m 30 years old and drawing stick-figures in flagrante delicto, but more than that I can’t think of exactly what I’d like to write. The best graffiti, in my mind, is that which is both attractive/appealing on a visual nature but contains a good message. None of this, “Dana Was Here” crap. I also have a bit of angst surrounding the idea of defacing property – I’m okay with things like mailboxes and the walls in alleys, but less certain how I feel about most other surfaces. I understand how bad graffiti, unwanted, can be considered a nuisance or just plain destructive – but the spontaneous nature of it still appeals to me.

Having this creative-block surrounding graffiti hasn’t stopped me from collecting my preferred graffiti-tools-of-the-trade. I’m not interested in spraypaint for myself – it looks wonderful when someone else does it, but not me. Instead, it’s all about the Sharpies. Sharpies in every colour of the rainbow, every style, every type. Metallic silver and thick chubby black, skinny blue and bright orange. Coffee indulges me – bringing home packages of Sharpies whenever a new style or colour is available. On my keychain, along with my housekeys and car keys and the little plastic TOPS preferred customer tag, is a mini-Sharpie. It’s the approximate length of a car key and attached with a swivelly-removable top. I daydream about whipping this marker out in public and casually adding my thoughts to a running graffiti commentary. I have a whole package of these little Sharpies just in case I lose one.

In my purse and backpack are some other Sharpies – different sizes and shapes and colours. And in the mug next to the sofa rests a selection unrivaled by half the Office Depots in the world. I use Sharpies to write on greeting cards (they don’t smudge, they stay vibrant) and I use them to write on packages when I mail them. I eschew ballpoints and fountain pens and fancy felt-tips in favour of Sharpies. They smell good – inky, with a high note of chemical burn afterscent. They feel right in my hand, they feel right as I scribble. They’re portable and available in all colours and styles.

A few days ago, Coffee bought me the newest version – “retractable” Sharpies. I haven’t opened them yet – they’re deliciously waiting on the side table for exactly the right moment. I am torturing myself by not opening them IMMEDIATELY, and it’s a fabulous torture. I already know what I’ll use them for first and, until I’m ready, the package will remain sealed. Delicious.