yard art

Art is something that kind of terrifies me. I've never been an artist (except that one time I took a drawing class in college and some times magic happened) and my art skills today are at about the same level as they were three decades ago. The old me would would have said I am terrible at art, but the new, mom me remembers that I shouldn't denigrate myself in front of the littles, as to not wear off on them, so I may as well make it a habit. In California, I was lucky enough to have a nanny who embraced the art world daily and I was happy to supply the endless piles, drawers and cabinets of art supplies to make their master pieces possible.

Now, there's no nanny. Just me. And art is something that terrifies me. Art experiences are also opportunities I feel are important to provide to my children. My children, before they have the chance to think they are not good artists. Before they can become just like me. This is something I hope to avoid. Each art session is kind of painful and I have to force myself to put the cups of water, the liquid paints, the brushes, the pipettes, the chalk, the glitter, the absolute fucking mess in front of the two-year old who delights in a fast-paced art session that typically ends with spilled water, stained clothing, filthy walls and floors and screaming after he finishes his piece and starts to encroach on the 4 year old's space.

All the mess, all the effort, all the screaming, it's all worth it. I love to see them to create. I love to see the pride. The confidence. The struggles. It is all a process. A process worth encouraging. Despite my fears.