Megan at beachbungalow8 posted this week about children and art. She recounts her experiences teaching art to kids and how they were all secure in their ability; they were artists. And with great regret, as we grow older, that somehow goes away.
I emailed her back and now you are basically the person who has walked up on two people talking at a cocktail party and can sort of follow the conversation without really knowing what is going on.
The work, above, is by Alexander Calder and while it is endearing that he captured his love of tools, even to my untrained eye it is an unremarkable piece. I recycle dozens of masterpieces like this every week.
So while we should continue to see ourselves as artists, it seems clear as well that talent can evolve (as recently noted at Aesthete's Lament
.) I doubt Calder's parents, artists themselves, gazed upon this drawing and predicted that young Sandy would create a new art form.
The eldest Blandings boy came home yesterday and pulled a wadded up and torn piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it on my desk. A few weeks back he had to select two electives for next year. Seventh grade. He made the list in ranking order. We talked about it, but I let it be his decision. He wants to give guitar a try. An unsurprising choice for a twelve year old boy. Unless you consider that he is practically tone deaf and has tortured me through nine years of music programs by barely moving his lips. Yet the crumpled slip of paper announced that he will begin guitar in the fall of '09. I assured him this was a good thing as "chicks dig musicians." For which I received an eye roll and an "Oh, Mom," followed quickly by, "Really?"
The other elective? Creative writing.
Labels: Musings from the Dream House