Monday, March 30, 2009
This house is full of 'art'. So is the backyard. Although that's a whole other story about how Mr Myrtleandeunice, the sculptor of the family, is working from out of his shed and there seems to be a HECK OF A LOT OF LARGE-SCALE WORK WITH EXTREMELY LONG DISTANCE DEADLINES of late.
The kid art is equally prolific. The rhythm of most days is punctuated with spontaneous drawing sessions and our not-nearly two year old wants in on the action. Not for her, the gorgeous soy crayon rocks from the Stubby Pencil Studio, designed to 'encourage the use of the tripod grip to develop fine motor skills'. No, no. Her medium is the stuff of grown-ups: washable (thank goodness for small mercies) markers.
A few mornings ago, she toddled over to me, proudly bearing her page of painstaking scribblets, pointing and pronouncing ‘Art! Art!’. It took no less than four full minutes and eighty-seven ‘Art!’ repetitions, for me to realise my mistake. What Child Number Three was really drawing was a whole lot of ‘Heart!’. Of course.