So, today I was doing some cleaning (cleaning? yeah, I know…! I must be procrastinating or something, hm?), sorting through the piles of detritus that are our home. Most of it was paper. Things to be recycled. Trimmings from books. Catalogs from Pottery Barn. Drawings of Alden’s (art is her latest enthusiastic endeavor, when she can’t be swinging). Discoveries were made.
I was most impressed by her neo-formalist conté drawing in black and orange, titled “Neo-Formalist Conté Drawing in Black and Orange”.
She did it on a piece of heavyweight pulp card stock that was used as a divider in the Makers Tiles shipping boxes. Which maybe makes it less neo-formalist and more post-minimalist. Anyhoo – I was pleased to have discovered it before it got accidentally tossed.
Feeling rosy inside about my young progeny’s budding interest in the things that interest me, I got a little emotional. A tear came to my eye. Maybe she would be the artist, after all, not the writer (actually, we’re both really really hoping for an accountant). I felt very close to her in that moment. Close in the way that two fellow artists can feel close, not just in the way a mother feels close to her daughter. And then I found this:
Right next to the voodoo dolls. I’m totally watching my back from now on.