After the excitement of the Easter weekend – church (twice); cycling; kite flying; visiting In-Laws of Mine for roast lamb and making wooden boats with Grandpa to race in the River Lavant; going to the Wildfowl and Wetlands Centre at Arundel; and consuming vast quantities of chocolate – The Family was ready yesterday to take on the challenge of creating some abstract art as threatened in my previous posts, A creative ‘first’ in art and My creative journey: the phallic phase.
So off we went in the morning to the local branch of a discount book and art supplies store to pick up some bargains – acrylic paints, brushes and bumper packs of pre-stretched canvases – ready to create our masterpieces. Artist Masquerading as a Manager will be horrified at the poor quality of our art materials: “What if you do a really fabulous painting? It won’t last five minutes let alone 80 years using that shite.” I think it’s unlikely we’ll want to keep them that long.
Home again, we set to work. I haven’t seen Children of Mine so engrossed in something for quite some time. Apart from one teeny strop from Daughter of Mine, when what she pictured in her head didn’t come out as she expected on canvas, the whole project was so successful that I think we will be painting again as a Family very soon.
So thanks to Artist Masquerading as a Manager for the inspiration and advice – maybe one day we’ll buy some really posh materials to work with. It’ll be interesting though to see what her critical eye will make of the themes depicted in the individual paintings, because there are themes, you know. Every brush stroke was carefully thought out and purposefully made. Really. Especially by Son of Mine, who relished the texture of the acrylics and loved exploring the way the paint could be moved about the canvas with brush or rag.
Even my own painting took on the theme of my subconscious. Geronimo! It’s Doctor-Who-meets-Lake-District-mountain-surrealism, inspired by The Eleventh Hour and the Atraxi spacecraft.
And the best moment? It has to be when six-year old Son of Mine commented, “This is the best time I’ve ever had painting – now that’s what I call art.”