AlteredIllusions

Several times a week I have the pleasure of sitting next to one of my preschool students as she paints at the easel. The delight begins as I watch her face light up while donning the paint smock and how she quickly scans the colors available to her in the squat paint pots half full of juicy colored tempera.

Never tentative, she dips the fat brush into the paint, and often starts with a large circle, allowing her to stretch out her arms to cover the paper. She proceeds to add thick globs of paint, swirling them all over the space, obliterating that initial circle. The child has learned to wipe and tap her brush along the inner edge of the paint pot to prevent major drips along the route from container to paper. Once her brush touches the paper, she flicks and turns her wrist in such a determined manner, adding splotches of color here and there.

Eventually, all those delicious dollops of color merge into rather solid blocks of color, obscuring the underlying designs. For her, this is pure process: laying on color, mixing to form new hues, and covering the surface. She stands back a bit, checks it over, and announces it is done. When I ask who will receive her lovely work, the answer is always the same and touches my heart as I remember my own children’s paintings from 15 to 20 years ago. “It’s for mommy!”