I’ve never been one to dabble in the arts—the most recent artistic experience I had was exploratory art class in sixth grade. Believe me, I am no prodigy; however, I’ve always been curious in attempting two artistic eccentricities: painting with toothpaste and creating a picture entirely composed of lipstick kisses. It may sound disturbing that I would want to create such strange artwork, but I have a reason.

In Señor Yielding’s class sophomore year, we were given an informative presentation on famous Spanish painters such as Francisco Goya and Diego Velazquez. I was surprised to learn that their incredible and intricate paintings were created using oil paint, which has a consistency close to that of toothpaste. My other bizarre artistic inspiration came from a YouTube video of a woman painting a portrait of Marilyn Monroe entirely out of lipstick kiss stains on a canvas.

When my friend came over, I decided to use her as the model for my two portraits. I grabbed a tube of toothpaste and a white poster board and sat in my backyard to begin working. Unable to find a satisfactory paintbrush, I resorted to using my fingers.

I began with the eyes, haphazardly squirting two almond shaped globs of toothpaste onto the paper. I moved on to making the nose, which turned out as a lopsided teardrop above the pitiful, curved line serving as a mouth. Needless to say, my friend’s portrait ended up resembling a kindergartner’s painting of his mother made for back-to-school night.

I thought my luck would be better with the next portrait, so I took a tube of pink lipstick and got to work. I was barely finished with the nose when I got tired of the project. Crouching over a paper on the ground while constantly reapplying lipstick isn’t the most enjoyable position, I realized.

I began to feel dizzy halfway through creating the hair, and assumed a fetal position on the ground in an attempt to alleviate the head rush. Vowing to never wear lipstick again after that day, I went back to work and created a crude square jawline and a feeble excuse for side bangs. Her hair was lopsided and not nearly long enough; the kiss marks were too faint; and her ears looked like rosy cheeks.

When I finally finished my “masterpiece,” it looked nothing like my friend, and only resembled a skull used when celebrating the Day of the Dead. After stuffing the portraits into the trash, I realized that true artists are born with their talent, or must spend great deal of time practicing in order to succeed.

Velasquez and Goya certainly didn’t paint with their fingers, and the kiss painting artist must have used up hundreds of tubes of lipstick during practice alone.

I walked away from this experience with a pair of toothpaste-smelling hands and a sufficiently bruised lower lip. I also walked away with, however, a greater appreciation for artists who break traditional artistic barriers using innovative methods, even if it’s only toothpaste.