Laurie Bailon

Frosh Comp, Per 6

October 10, 2003

Description

 

 

My Art Box

 

My art box is one of my favorite things, and I prize it almost as much as the occupants that live within it. The scent of turpenoid and linseed oil overwhelms me as I open my art box. Three levels of apartments fold out to reveal the home of my ever-growing paint collection. Residing in each apartment is a tube of paint, only agreeing to be neighbors with a member of its color family; Alzarin Crimson and Winsor Red lay sleeping in their flats, side by side; Winsor Yellow and Cadium Yellow rest in their appropriate rooms, dreading the day’s work; and French Ultramarine along with Prussian Blue lounge carelessly beside each other, tolerating one another’s company only just. The penthouse of the living complex is occupied by an assortment of finicky paintbrushes, and the basement is strewn with oversized paint tubes and an unused brush cleaner. I grab hold of the needed residents, close the top of the dormitory, and bolt it with a click. Fluttering my eyes over the bulky, blue art bin, I catch sight of the rough exterior tainted with small dabs of paint here and there.  I clutch the thick, black handle of the art box, and gingerly place it beside my easel where it sits quietly, blocking the outside world from the contents within.