Art and the Artist

Our girls are at an age now where their artistic ability is really starting to swell into blossom. Scarlett has always been the more focused of the two, and would rather color or paint than do just about anything else. She's the cerebral type, and most of the things she creates are planned and premeditated. Not long ago she was working on a redwood forest in her room. She'd paint some trees, cut some out of construction paper, devote some time every day to add to it. When it was done to her satisfaction, after something like three weeks, she picked a new project. All kids do this, but usually more sporatically, leaving things unfinished and forgetting about them. Not this one.

There's this one hard-bound sketchbook she has. Not her notebook, that's for practicing letters. Not a coloring book, not her checkbook or her ticketbook. Not her tablet, which is for doodling or whatever she feels like. This one is for her paintings. Her serious paintings.

If I sound like I'm amazed, it's because I am. But mostly because my own child is such the opposite. She makes art, she paints and colors and sculpts clay and all that but what Mazlyn makes is much more, oh, what's the euphemism here... ethereal. She excels more at performance art. Bouquets of flowers, marker tattoos, songwriting, little installations in public places, air instrument solos, monologues. She's good at all of this and practices all the time, but if it takes longer than five minutes or requires many instructions, you've lost her.

So we've decided to do a trade, Amy and I. She'll give Mazzy art lessons, and we'll give Skiki piano lessons. If it all goes according to plan, we'll wind up with a little more deliberation and they'll get used to hearing scales and arpeggios. Over and over, with intense focus.