What movie first rocked your world?, someone asked during a recent dinner with friends. Easy: 2001: A Space Odyssey, said one. Looking for Mr. Goodbar, said another, clearly remembering her fear.
Mine was The Wizard of Oz. Never mind the munchkins and the flying monkeys; I was captivated by the black-and-white horror of the dustbowl twister, the gleaming-gold yellow brick road, the brilliant glassy cluster on the horizon that was the first glimpse of Emerald City.
So when my nearly-six nephew, also a bit of an obsessive Wizard of Oz movie fan, showed me his latest paintings, all I could think of is: I feel you.
I look at the thick column of furious grey strokes going in all directions and immediately zone into his own fearful recollections of that part in the movie as he attacked the paper. That ability to connect the intensity of feeling by the maker to the viewer is the basis of successful art. Wow, I said. I can really feel that.
Mine was The Wizard of Oz. Never mind the munchkins and the flying monkeys; I was captivated by the black-and-white horror of the dustbowl twister, the gleaming-gold yellow brick road, the brilliant glassy cluster on the horizon that was the first glimpse of Emerald City.
So when my nearly-six nephew, also a bit of an obsessive Wizard of Oz movie fan, showed me his latest paintings, all I could think of is: I feel you.
I look at the thick column of furious grey strokes going in all directions and immediately zone into his own fearful recollections of that part in the movie as he attacked the paper. That ability to connect the intensity of feeling by the maker to the viewer is the basis of successful art. Wow, I said. I can really feel that.
I was thinking how great it would be to feel the twister myself, using ink on hand-pressed paper and maybe actual dust, while he trotted back to the kitchen and retrieved Yellow Brick Road. The field was filled entirely with almost mechanical vertical strokes in different shades of orange, yellow and gold, with intersecting strokes to form a grid that ran off the paper, suggesting an endlessness.
Wow, I said again, thinking already how it might look actual road-size, using rollers on stretched canvas.
Back he went, returning with Emerald City, and by then I knew this kid was really onto something. Unlike his drawings, which are these days more narratives involving figures and recalled landscapes, or — my current favourite: a bird's eye view of a baseball game — this series was expressed feeling-first. Not so much on telling the story but recalling the feeling, through colour and stroke.
Wow, I said again, thinking already how it might look actual road-size, using rollers on stretched canvas.
Back he went, returning with Emerald City, and by then I knew this kid was really onto something. Unlike his drawings, which are these days more narratives involving figures and recalled landscapes, or — my current favourite: a bird's eye view of a baseball game — this series was expressed feeling-first. Not so much on telling the story but recalling the feeling, through colour and stroke.
Kids have so much to tell us about what not to do when staring at a blank canvas. Maybe not so much with the analysis, the second-guessing, the pre-planning, the systemization.
Just attack. Jump right in. Look at each stroke as it's going down and do not bother yourself with committing to spending more than a few minutes on it. You may not feel the urge to let a puppet take over the paintbrush or let your inner Scurvy Pirate out for a song but it's good to wrap it all up in play. Like another friend, a modest but gifted artist likes to say, "I'm just playing."
My nephew's paintings remind me not to be so precious about the results. It's about the making, not the amassing. Only the adults care about keeping them.
I can see some auntie-nephew collaborations down the yellow brick road.
Just attack. Jump right in. Look at each stroke as it's going down and do not bother yourself with committing to spending more than a few minutes on it. You may not feel the urge to let a puppet take over the paintbrush or let your inner Scurvy Pirate out for a song but it's good to wrap it all up in play. Like another friend, a modest but gifted artist likes to say, "I'm just playing."
My nephew's paintings remind me not to be so precious about the results. It's about the making, not the amassing. Only the adults care about keeping them.
I can see some auntie-nephew collaborations down the yellow brick road.
American illustrator and graphic artist Mica Angela Hendricks writes about the world that opened up for her with she began collaborating with her four-year-old.
Her blog updates her creative process that is challenged by her daughter with her own ideas.
Her blog updates her creative process that is challenged by her daughter with her own ideas.
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