Pink is Emry’s favorite color. Usually, if she’s coloring a picture, the whole thing is pink. Pink grass, pink sky, pink people. If she gets to choose the colors used in her schoolwork, she chooses pink. I think, if possible, she would do all her schoolwork in pink. Unfortunately, she has to use a pencil.
Thus far, her creativity in art has been restrained to coloring pictures, occasional watercolor, and cutting paper into shreds. Sadly, she does not have an artist as a mother. Just putting together an art project takes a lot out of me and since I currently have almost no energy and spend 75% of my day feeling sick to my stomach, art projects are on the very bottom of my to-do list. But, suddenly, Emry decided to take art into her own hands.
During rest time one day, her creative genes suddenly poured over. Before the few hours were over, I had a picture of a yellow Biscuit and a pink pig on my refrigerator. In the weeks to come she drew her first family portrait: Papa all orange, Ethan all blue, me all purple and herself all pink (of course). She needed her Cubbies book so she could draw a picture of Cubbie. She erased math problems from her chalk board wall so she could draw a very fat snowman, a very skinny Santa and Christmas gifts. She has drawn farm animals, her family picking apples from a huge apple tree, and herself swinging. Tonight she told me she loves to draw.
I’m glad. I hate to draw. In so many ways, her four-year-old artwork is much better than my thirty-nine-year-old artwork. For one, she actually sits down at a blank piece of paper and starts creating. I sit down at a blank sheet of paper and…well, can’t come up with anything. Ever. If either Emry or Ethan insist I draw something, I revert back to what I’ve drawn for the past thirty-five years: a house, a rainbow, a set of swings, a sun, oversized flowers, a tree, stick people. Rather sad.
Emry may never be a great artist, but at least she enjoys drawing and creating. It makes my heart rejoice to know she will excel her mother in the world of art.
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