She finished it today.
My “little” girl is in finals week and everything is now done except for turning in her final project in her painting class. And it’s terrific, if I do say so myself. And I do. She utilized various brushes and techniques but at the last, it was her hands that completed the project. She calls it her finger painting. And she loves it – the feel, the smell, the oneness with her creation.
She has always been an artist from the earliest of days. I refused to teach her to color within the lines when she was tiny because I could never answer the question of “why?” to my satisfaction. Because someone drew them? Who cares? I watched her combine colors in ways I would have never imagined and frankly, many times thought wouldn’t work. They always did. I zipped my lip and let her go. If you know me, and you do, zipping isn’t my strong suit. But I didn’t want her to become ME. I wanted her to become whoever God created her to be. I thought that would be a LOT more interesting. And I wasn’t keen on lessons because I didn’t want her to become THEM, either. When she knew who she was, she’d have plenty of time to study.
She went through the prolific stage around five. “How do you like this, mommy?”
“Okay, I’ll go make another one,” and five minutes later there she was again, and again, and again. We told her to work on quality. Our house isn’t that big.
Then I began to ask, “How do YOU like it?” so she could hear her own voice. And she became fiercely independent and now I have to chase her down to say, “LET ME SEE!” Unlike her mother, she does not need to know if others like her work – writing, photography, painting, music, or lyrics – to like them herself. She creates for her own expression and if others enjoy it as well? Bonus.
I wish I had half her moxie and very quiet self assurance.
And as soon as it’s sufficiently dry (oil takes awhile) and the shine is gone to her satisfaction, I’ll post a picture here. But it is the most beautiful iris and truly does put me in mind of a Georgia O’Keefe, but with her own style. If you can’t afford art, just give birth to an artist. Worked for me. :)
Thanks for letting me go on and on. Wasn’t it just YESTERDAY she was starting her first year in college and I was boo-hooing? Now she is done with that year. Wow.
I’ll be all weepy again come August. Feel free to skip reading me for the whole month. I’m sure I’ll be dreadfully boring.