Jackson Pollack, Move Over!

by kate on January 6, 2021

Have you ever looked at your walls and thought, blech. Since we are living in a temporary rental until we find our way (Buy a home? Rent? Travel? Live on a boat?) we are embracing someone else’s idea of art. We meaning me. I don’t think the rest of my family thinks 2 seconds on it.

And by embracing I mean cringing. Trying not to look.

That was until I covered up the icky art with a painting my 2 year old did.

In art class, which for 2 year olds is basically freestyle painting on whatever surface beacons, my girl was tasked with doing a self-portrait. A 2 year old. Doing a ‘self-portrait?’ I said, “C’mon, isn’t that a little ridiculous???”

But forge ahead she did (she had no interior editor or critic who said she couldn’t possibly do a self-portrait). Voila! She made a lovely little paining on paper that was cut out to her exact size.

A self-portrait. She even put a big hand print on the hand - just smashed her palm into her paint, moved over, then smashed again onto the hand of the paper. Ah. The freedom of a 2 year old mind.

So home she came…trailing her body sized painting. Now, tell me, what’s a mom to do?

I looked at the art I hate. I looked at my girl. Something had to be done.

After a little fussing with light grey wrapping paper (to serve as a mat of sorts), tape and the scissors…ta da…

The self-portrait now hangs in the entrance of the girls’ room. On occasion, my younger daughter points up and says, “My painting!” She’s proud. You can tell. She puffs her chest up a bit, points to herself and says, “I did it.”

Now, you can imagine, I tell my girls I love them all the time. I tell them how great they are because I’m their proud mama. But I’m their mom and sometimes I think, as much as they love to hear it, they discount my words in their tiny minds because they know I’ll love just about anything they do. Well, not anything. They are toddlers after all and the terrible twos ain’t nothing compared to the f*cking threes.

However, I think that hanging that work of art, art as in real ART framed on the wall with presence, the way it is hung in our house (OK, apartment) gives my girl a continual boost of confidence in a more tangible way than words can.

It also affects me more than I considered. I’m not only proud of her; I also admire her.

Having that painting is a reminder that at one time I, too, hadn’t met my inner critic. I was blissfully unaware of my shortcomings - as a painter or a person - and I could tackle anything. I was carefree with color and knew when enough was enough. I was proud of just being me.


photo credit: ©Modern Home Modern Baby

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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Ruby T. January 6, 2021 at 7:44 am

Is that the artwork in the photo? It’s nice — so bright against the neutral walls. Clever idea, and anything in a frame makes it look better. I did something similar with my child’s first-ever finger painting.

kate January 6, 2021 at 10:53 am

Yes! That’s what she did. And get a load of all that white space she left. I think it’s great that she knew when to stop.

Villy K January 9, 2021 at 3:49 pm

I love how she is pointing at the picture. I can only imagine how happy she is every time she see it!

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