THE BUNNY WITH THE FUNNY NOSE

“Why did I give the bunny a Muppet nose?” I said with a giggle as I picked up this fine sculptural piece from my collection of early works.

I created it for an art class assignment at Northside Elementary School in Monroe, Wisconsin where my dad was the superintendent of schools. Art was always my best subject. I could outshine most of my peers in this class. They didn’t use the A-B-C grading system for lower elementary. I remember they had SP for “Strong Progress,” which was the equivalent of a B—and E for “Excellent,” the A of the little kid world. I loved Es and I got them in art every time.

However, as I studied the work before me, I wondered why any art teacher would give it an E. How young was I, anyway? I opened the rabbit’s dramatically exaggerated tail and pulled out some of the newspaper stuffing to try to find a date. Thursday, December 6, 1979. I must have been in fourth grade. I've been an art teacher. I know that fourth graders can do better than this.

So what does the bunny with the funny nose, created by my nine year-old self, have to tell me about my story? Hmm, this writing project is going to be more difficult than I thought. 

Well, for one I made excellent use of the media. It’s hard to get intense color out of Crayola on brown paper bag but I did it. Just look at those vibrant yellows! And the white on top of the darker paper almost has an Elvis-on-black-velvet effect. I am sure I got cramps coloring that hard.

Another thing I notice is the originality of the work. I mean, this guy not only has a pink button nose, and hauntingly huge eyes, he’s also smiling. The Holstein pattern of the dots is creative, too. This re-envisioned rodent is a one-of-a-kind find, that’s for sure.

Yet, I notice something else. I had punched holes all around half of it and begun to lace it up with thick yarn. Very nice. But then, it appears I got lazy and just stapled the rest of it closed. I’m willing to bet I procrastinated working on this and then had to grab ass at the last minute. Maybe I only got an E- on it. 

So why have I always been a procrastinator? Was it that being a superintendent’s kid made me feel the need to aim higher than my classmates and this touch of perfectionism caused it? Or was I just more into fun-having and made that the priority instead of my academic work? Since I loved art so much, though, why wouldn’t finishing the happy rabbit be fun enough? And that reminds me: where did my strong creative identity come from, anyway? Nobody else in my family was an artist. It always made me feel different.

In the end, this awkward art seems to raise more questions than it answers. One thing’s for sure, though: I’m a better artist now.