As new ideas form, bolts of inspiration strike or questions arise, I plan to write about them. Here is where they will find a home. I hope you enjoy.
I am still searching for where the sidewalk ends
By Logan B. Anderson
When I was about ten years old, I was introduced to the poems and drawings of Shel Silverstein in his book "Where the Sidewalk Ends." I had seen the book everywhere before and had heard some of the poems read aloud by teachers and librarians; but one day, during some free time in my school's library, I picked up the book to have something to flip through before we were herded off to our next school-day activity. The experience of opening that book that day was truly the first significant event in my reading life. I had been reading for some time, but the feelings that specific book brought out in me was the first time I understood the power of words and art. Silverstein's words brought me to places I'd never imagined before, his artwork inspired me to see the world differently and revisiting its pages at different points in my life, taught me that art is interpreted in many different ways.
For a child who was called "the man of the house" for as far back as I could remember, the images and poems in "Where the Sidewalk Ends" were at first an escape and then a comfort. Sitting in a beanbag chair in my suburban-Philadelphia school library, the poem "It's Dark in Here," along with the accompanying drawing of a boy writing a poem from inside a lion's mouth, made me chuckle before my imagination took me away from the library and into the belly of a lion. I imagined for a moment that it was me that had got, "too near," to the lion's cage and was swallowed up. I felt that the poem was a whimsical but cautionary verse about obeying the rules, especially around lion cages. It was also much more for me. I wasn't alone in the library anymore; I was transported to an impossible place away from my 10-year-old reality.
Silverstein's poem "Love" is accompanied by a drawing of what looks like a girl, standing alone, holding a very large sign that has only the letter "V" on it. The drawing doesn't make much sense without the poem, but it still spoke to me that day. The poem has four lines. It describes how the girl came to be alone with a letter-V sign. Her friends that were supposed to be with her holding the other three letters to the word "LOVE," couldn't make it. So, as the last line of the poem says, "I'm all of the love that could make it today." Being the oldest child of a family that consisted of only my sister and mother, this one struck a chord with me. It had a beautiful sentiment, but the simple drawing of the girl and her sign stood out. On its own, it is a simple ink drawing. However, when you read the poem next to it, the artwork adds a layer to the poem's message that I don't think could be conveyed with words. Sometimes when I looked at it, I saw a defiant little girl determined to share her message of love. It seemed that she was standing there telling me that I was not alone. However, then I could also see, a little girl still determined to share her message, but she was a little sad that she was by herself. I understood both of those feelings. That poem and drawing taught me the power that art could have.
On that day, which sparked my love of words and art, the book's title-poem, "Where the Sidewalk Ends," felt like a call to action. I wanted to find the place where sidewalks ended. I wanted to see, "where the moon-bird rests from his flight." I felt the three-stanza poem was urging me to explore. As my relationship with reading and writing, along with my relationships with the people in my life, grew, I went back to this poem many times. It was that poem that taught me that people at different times and places in their lives could get a different meaning from words and art that they may not have felt before. When I was about 11 years old, someone dear to me died. I found myself retreating into Silverstein's book, which had become my favorite book and close confidant. While dealing with my grief, "Where the Sidewalk Ends" took a different meaning for me. That day it didn't talk about a physical place or an adventure to undertake. It took me to a place that made me understand that everything ends; sidewalks, people, "chalk-white arrows." Instead of a surge of excitement to explore, I felt a sadness and a realness that I had to learn to understand. Decades after I first discovered Silverstein's book of poems, I frequently go back to his work. Often, I've found new meanings in poems and drawings I've read and re-read throughout the years. It is a powerful lesson to understand how art can be interpreted depending on its beholder.
I checked out "Where the Sidewalk Ends" from the library so much my mother bought me my own copy. I got in trouble a few times for keeping it longer than I was allowed. I now keep a few copies on hand. Two, in particular, I hope to give to my nephew and niece some day in the hope that it sparks their literary development. I hope that Silverstein's words will bring them to places they'd never imagine before, and that his artwork inspires them to see the world in a different way and that in revisiting its pages at different points their lives they learn how art can be interpreted in many different ways.
I am still searching for where the sidewalk ends.
