As my little daughter drew upon paper – I drew a breath at the fearsome and unbridled force of creation pre-instilled within this child I gave birth to and would reckon with – per diem. Said so on her birth certificate . Living up to the status of struggling single motherhood myself and recently disowned by my haughty semi practicing/semi-not catholic family– this bundle of joy was all mine to raise—alone. The really awesome part is that now my own important-ness had come to a screeching halt and I didn’t really mind.
As though she came here from somewhere else and brought her art bag with her and decided to start with injecting color in grim autumn of just 24 hours before she was born. I knew from then—this was going to be an adventure unlike any I may have conjured up on a lazy afternoon while smoking pot in my parents garden. ‘Kidding, I never smoked pot…honey”. For you see if one were to ask me to draw a flower, it would, at once, become strikingly apparent that I shouldn’t have bothered. I would insult the paper and run down a perfectly good pencil point. Much to the dismay of both myself and the one asking me to draw. So, in essence, I gave up before even trying and rightly so –mankind is better for this.
Like all new mothers, I was enthralled to meet her and loved her from the first moment. She told me of her dream even before she was born. A beautiful little brown haired girl walked up to me holding up a picture she had drawn. Now, I ask you – how awesome is that and how many times can you say that’s happened to you?
In kindergarten she would push the colored pencils aside so the other children, needy of hues to embellish their meek drawings, would have access to them. Many children and their mothers and some teachers shot death glares at me for this. My daughter preferred a pencil – plain and pointed with no color, yet not requiring any to infuse the white and expectant paper before her. For in this plain and pointed pencil my young daughter held in her chubby four year old hand –was her talent– ethereal and still raw but very insisting to change realms and – ‘become’.
Each time she drew, I drew another breath. Taken aback by the pictures’ accuracy, not only in comparison to the other children’s drawings, but accurate along the lines of the way things are supposed to be –accurate. This amount of accurate was daunting for a young mother to have to deliberate with, while trying to comb my child’s mangled hair on rushed school mornings. And if its true that with great power comes great responsibility – I was about to find out what its like to be a 3D conceptual and story board artists’ – mother.
Move over Mike Angelo, my kid is taking over – she’ld kill me were she to find out I’m writing this.