When I hand my children paints and paintbrushes, I love the things they create, and you might too.
Of course, my kids ain't no Picasso, or Linsky even. Or are they?
An OmniNerd post linked to this Daily Mail article, about a boy and his paintbrush, and his mother, who was the impetus driving her son's art career. She's done an impressive job, as he's already sold a painting and been asked to exhibit in a German gallery.
And he's only two.
Mom took the piss out of the UK art world, but as far as I'm concerned, why should it matter? Seriously. If you like it, buy it and frame it. I've hung up some of my children's work, some in frames, some on the refrigerator.
Next time, I might even pick up a canvas and select a palette that will match one of our rooms, so that the next time they ask to paint, we'll get a La Raia original. Can you imagine how much it would cost to convince an artist to operate under you direction? I know Linsky doesn't work that cheap.
I loved how the mom called her son “an art critic and and a familiar face at major exhibitions“. She herself is a freelance art critic, and has bringing the lad along to galleries since he was three months old. If the kid offered an opinion at least once during those visits, then her statement is indisputable.
The driveway's been empty. The mail is overflowing out the mailbox. Nobody raked the leaves. The newspapers are strewn across the driveway. You'd think somebody died.
I've done more of these type of posts than I'm proud to admit. It's kind of like, “Oh yeah, I had a blog once. Wait a second…I still do! Oh, Shit! The blog! I forgot to feed the blog!” Some blogs are nearly living entities, when nurtured by a caring individual. I'm not certain I'm that type of individual. I'm kind of like an every-other-weekend parent these days. The one that 's not sure they want to visit the kids, but they feel obligated. I don't know how many of those there are out there, and I'm not sure I like using that metaphor to describe myself, especially since I'm married and very much involved with my kids' lives.
Now perhaps that's an accidental segway into the, you know, when you're a parent and a breadwinner, the blog doesn't come first. The blog is the red-headed stepchild. Now I know that re-headed stepchild needs love, too, but I'm just saying.
So, I'm back for at least the rest of this post. I took on another writing assignment, so this the WD-40 priming the typing fingers and working it's way through the brain.