Marks the spot

Come to think of it, huffing never really caught on like other more glamorous forms of drug taking. I suppose that’s because it’s a delivery system with a good deal of waste. But for the arts and crafts crowd, it was always an easy choice. The practice appealed to their sensitive, thoughtful sides. The side that listens, that cries, that asks “is that box of tissues up for grabs because I’m having a really hard time right now.” Smoking is an activity unto itself, both dangerous and cool. But what you huff matters nearly as much as that you huff. You huff glue for one. Try building a popsicle playhouse without it. Adhesive substitutes won’t do the job. Scotch tape, while smoky and peaty like its spirited cousin, can’t hold something together for long. Huffing paint is another side project of the creative genius. There’s always extra on the floor or on an easel - so why not give it whirl? If you don’t think Picasso and Matisse would’ve sucked down a few deep sprays, you’re not paying attention. They’d do anything for a new idea. 

I’m not really advocating huffing paint, merely conveying the attractiveness of this much-maligned practice. Perhaps it’s why I marvel at graffiti-lined walls, buildings and dumpsters, wondering what contribution they can make to a creative agency steaming towards irrelevancy. Graffiti desperadoes don’t wait for permits or client approval of their work, they produce it the same day. Let the cops try and stop them. There’s a lesson somewhere in here. So inhale it before it evaporates into the atmosphere. Ahhh, the cool sound of a fresh can of spray paint blasting off into outer space - a nightmare for the ozone layer, but a godsend for us artistes.

Graffiti mavens understand that ownership is just a piece of paper. In our increasingly digital age, it’s sometimes not even that tangible. I love the idea of vandalism, especially with its roots in Viking hordes, who were most imaginative in their pillaging ways. It’s one thing to burn down a village, but quite another to turn the whole production into a raucous musical affair with song and dance numbers choreographed to accompany flaming arrows. When you write your name in bubble letters (never block, since you wouldn’t want to stand out too much from the crowd) there’s a sense of marking your territory. Dogs understand this. Dogs have always understood this. Bark if you disagree. Our four-legged auto-erotic friends are given more leeway when taking a casual midnight amble. They react to the world around them without compunction or fear. 

Until public urination laws are properly rolled back, we’re left to fantasize what’s it like to be a good boy. For now, let’s live through our dogs, who are still free to lift their legs and create.