You Gotta Have Art

This afternoon I wore shorts for the first time all season. I shaved my legs and everything. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “Hey, I look pretty good for a forty-something mother of two.” My son looked at me and thought, “Hey, I could draw some great pictures on those legs!”

He loves anything you can write or color with: crayons, finger paint, sidewalk chalk, markers, even a rock that leaves a mark on other rocks will do in a pinch. For the most part he just scribbles, but he’s starting to make a few attempts at actually drawing. In the past, he would scribble for a bit and then beg me to draw something – a tow truck, a trash truck, an excavator – without wanting to draw anything himself. I couldn’t convince him to take a stab at making a picture on his own.

But on several occasions recently, he’s drawn a somewhat recognizable shape, like a circle or a triangle, and pointed it out to me. And today, he even drew a crude stick figure, complete with some arms and a head. Mostly even in the right places where arms and a head should go.

I love that he shows some interest in art. I don’t have much artistic talent myself, but two of my grandparents were very skilled artists (my grandmother even got her degree from Pratt Art Institute in New York City), so I was hoping that some of the talent that skipped over me might land in my kids’ generation.

But even if he doesn’t actually have any talent, I don’t mind as long as he enjoys art – either making his own or enjoying others. Because in some way, shape or form, you gotta have art!