For this exploration I had no clue where to start. I kept putting my own life under the microscope of "will-this-be-not-not-making-art if-i-stare-at-it-hard-enough?". Which I quickly forgot about. I work in a grocery store and oftentimes late at night, especially if I am supervising self checkout or am manning a particularly un-visited check lane, I will tear off some blank receipt paper, and grab a pen from the pocket of my apron (the ones I keep there for the handful of customers that still write the archaic check for groceries, or for the other ones who need to fill out a tax-exempt form, usually for classroom goodies, food-based science experiments, Family and Consumer Science Studies classes, or church events).
I take my pen and doodle whatever comes to mind. Sometimes based on observations from what I see playout in the check-out: a woman with an abnormally large sunhat, especially for the fact it is 9 pm and the sun left a few hours ago; a carton of blueberries, the design on the hoodie Marie-the-produce-manager is wearing tonight, a graphical representation of whatever stupid thing 17-year-old Max is saying to 16-year-old Liam (also coworkers). Sometimes it's whatever comes to mind, my thoughts of the day visualized: Cowgirl boots reminiscent of the cowgirl tattoo idea I am drafting in my head, almost perfected to present to an artist; a broken heart and a rainbow, doodled in the end of June when Roe v Wade was overturned and I had to get through 14 hours of work between the two jobs I juggled before I could go home and cry about it; a knife for the anger I had when my 17-year-old coworker and best friend had a 57 year old man stalk her from our work place. Sometimes it's random, just an image that comes to mind with no meaning or idea behind it- a set of dice, a bell, a wine glass.
To me these doodles are whatever. They are drawn on carbon receipt paper that will turn grey if it's crumpled up, and uses ink from pens that are not archival. None of the process is archival. Half the time I throw the doodles in my purse thinking I will bring them home and put them into my art journals. They get crumpled and grey like all of the other receipts I stick in there.
Reflecting on Kaprow's words implying intentionality behind making an experience artistic, I became more conscious of my doodles as this week went on. When done I handed them to a fawning co-worker- Max (a senior in high school who is courtesy clerk, who lovingly taunts that kids like him will make me hate teaching, unbeknownst to him (maybe?) he is one of my favorite coworkers. Actually he probably knows. I am painfully transparent sometimes.), Anna (our brand-new head clerk- aka one of my bosses- who is 20 and just transferred to CSU in hopes of studying sculpture. I have yet to see her on campus but she radiates pure joy), AJ (a checker who is 19, the same age as my little brother, he has worked at this store since he was 15, minus the brief hiatus for about 9 months when he left, worked at Walmart, had an accident in the rain where he hit a coworker on their bike. He no longer drives in any precipitation, and will reject a ride in precipitous conditions from anyone too. He just walks in the rain instead.), Marie (one of the produce managers, she is from Minnesota and looks years younger than she is, who reported that when she took her doodles home, her boyfriend got jealous asking "what boy is drawing you cute little drawings", to which Marie calmed him regaling of the 21-year old art major she has befriended at work.).
The joy and appreciation they expressed at the doodles was overwhelming. These receipts I had treated as garbage, they celebrated. "I'm going to frame this" was exclaimed multiple times through the week. These receipts, which I historically barely called art, more so a passing of time, have no composition within them. They are jumbled, with faulty incorrect shapes drawn in ink instead of drafted with pencil. But nonetheless they have become loved and created joy within my coworker's lives. During my last shift I started to even play with how I was allowed to create on the receipt paper- a scrap of red leaf lettuce left on a register was later used as a wash, as I smeared the leaf across the plane of my paper, releasing the pigment its juices held onto.
A lovely first exercise in redefining one's views of what qualifies as art, and how the views of others challenge that opinion.
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