Wednesday is Art. My favourite day. Or used to be until the cornflowers.
Ten cornflowers in a jar. I loved them. Burning blue. Impatient to be begin
I scoured my paintbox. Cobalt. Azure and Prussian Blue. I mixed them well,
and laid them on my page, and saw the flowers bloom beneath my brush.
I showed my friend. “Dad grows these in our garden. Mum's special flower,
The colour of her eyes.” The teacher pounced. “Time to talk? No need to work?
Perhaps you'll show us what you've done?” She held my painting to the class,
While I sat proudly by. But then, “Now children look at this,” she said,
“And learn how NOT to paint. Jenny calls them flowers. But what do we see?
Just ten green sticks in a crooked jar, and ten awful blobs of horrible blue.”
Wednesday is always Art. It was my favourite day,
But now, if I can manage it, I try to stay away.
Ten cornflowers in a jar. I loved them. Burning blue. Impatient to be begin
I scoured my paintbox. Cobalt. Azure and Prussian Blue. I mixed them well,
and laid them on my page, and saw the flowers bloom beneath my brush.
I showed my friend. “Dad grows these in our garden. Mum's special flower,
The colour of her eyes.” The teacher pounced. “Time to talk? No need to work?
Perhaps you'll show us what you've done?” She held my painting to the class,
While I sat proudly by. But then, “Now children look at this,” she said,
“And learn how NOT to paint. Jenny calls them flowers. But what do we see?
Just ten green sticks in a crooked jar, and ten awful blobs of horrible blue.”
Wednesday is always Art. It was my favourite day,
But now, if I can manage it, I try to stay away.
Going through my son's book, as I read these lines by Jenny Craig, I was transported back to a time when I was a young student, about five or six, small in size but big on dreams. I imagined myself being a famous painter, an accomplished pianist, a brilliant ballet/kathak dancer, a world-class singer, a legendary astronaut, ....! The list was endless. One of the things I fancied the most was drawing and painting. I would look forward to my art class. I would arrange my notebook and colours neatly in my bag, and always left it there, just in case my teacher decided to have an impromptu art lesson! But soon, I lost interest in the class and I slowly, unconsciously, let go of my dream to be a famous artist. >>keep reading...
al mother-teacher, runs Life Express - an after-school center for children. She can be reached at juhimalini@gmail.com. She also writes 'Reflections of an inner Journey'
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