My Mom was in her fifties, maybe even early sixties, when she began to paint. And she was really quite good. We had several of her paintings hung about the house. I remember showing an acquaintance, who was ‘in’ with the arts, a few of her works. As we walked into my living room, she pointed at a tiny print. “That’s nice. Did your Mom paint that one too?”
“No,” I replied, poker-faced. “That’s a Picasso.” And yes, I think I have a little of the devil in me because I got a great chuckle out of that. Mother and Picasso (Walmart version) on the same page. Too funny!
The lesson here, I guess, is that most of us are not art critics. We don’t know Picasso or Rembrandt or Van Gogh. We just know what we like, what touches us.
My latest art acquisitions are two originals, Stormy Seas by Sam, age eight, and Sunset by Asher, age five. Both love to draw and paint and colour but Sam is the true artist, I believe, because his art brings him so much joy.
Today, he called, quite excited. In looking for unicorn pictures, he happened upon Etsy. Upon realizing that Etsy was a place where you could show and sell your art to the world, he had his Dad help him set up shop. That in itself was an exercise in creativity. I’m not allowed to buy anything, I was told, but I don’t think he’d mind me giving him a shout out here.