My Kid came home with a bag full of art the other day. One of their activities at play-school is, of course, Art Class – I remember it as one of my favourites. I remember painting houses and dogs and colourful people. I loved painting, adored drawing with pastels and crayons and sort of expected my Kid to be the same, too.
That painting that you can see in the left of the picture at the top of this post? My Kid told me that’s a monster. But….the teacher’s labelled it “cow”. Now that leaves me wondering – is that her interpretation of my Kid’s creation, or is that what he told her it was? Either way, it’s the best of the bunch – in fact, I am totally getting this one framed. It’s cool. It’s interesting. It’s art that’s open to interpretation.
The rest? A bunch of squiggles and patterns. There are no drawings of people, houses, pets, skies, flowers, and the like that I remember from when I was a kid. Could it be that he’s still too young for that? To throw me off completely – there was a drawing in the bag, with his name on it – of a teddy bear and a butterfly – and although they’re childishly-drawn, they’re pretty clearly identifiable as what they’re supposed to be.
So the jury is still out, at this point, on whether my Kid is going to be any good at Art, and whether or not I’m doomed to a life of receiving Mother’s Day cards splattered in a vomitious splooge of glue, glitter and feathers and packing peanuts.
Only time will tell, I guess.