“Do you like your drawings?” asked Florence, aged 6, as she looked through my sketchbook. Difficult question. Obviously I like them enough to keep trying but there’s usually something that I think I could have done better, however looking through the pocket sketchbook that I’ve been keeping while we’ve been visiting Barbara’s brother John over the last three months, I’m pleased that I have taken the opportunity to draw whenever it was possible.
I drew the tower then asked her: “What do you think should be on top of the tower?”
“What about the sculpture you drew on the library?” she suggested.
She drew the finial that she’d seen when looking through my sketchbook earlier and you can see that she’d taken in the whole shape, with its concave base and drawn it pretty accurately.
She also soon got the hang of using a Pentel waterbrush. Not sure that I would have gone for the pillar-box red for the colour of the building but she certainly knows how to mix greens.
I should have asked Florence whether she likes her own drawings. Children are often confident when they first start drawing then as they start to become more visually aware of the world around them, they can get frustrated and sometimes give up. But I’m convinced that Florence has the focus and determination to work through any blocks she encounters.
The Moth
I’ve just read How to Tell a Story, written by advisers from the New York, now worldwide, storytelling group The Moth. There’s a lot of useful advice on how to tell a compelling story but one tale stuck with me for the wrong reasons.
A teacher is helping a young child progress her observational skills through drawing a self-portrait. Instead of praising the drawing uncritically she looks out some more accurately coloured crayons. I would so have appreciated some input from teachers as I struggled with flesh tones. I could see that Caucasian skin wasn’t pink, or yellow or any other colour amongst my set of crayons. I remember my excitement when I came across a ‘flesh-coloured’ crayon in the local art shop and I bought it to help me with the comic strips that I drew (I’ve since learnt that you could easily use all the colours in a watercolour box to come up with a complete range of ‘flesh tones’).
The girl telling the story was horrified when her teacher offered her used crayons from an old tin. The trauma lasted into her adult life. What she wanted was a shiny brand new beautiful crayon.
I’m so glad that Florence immediately realised the possibilities of the much-battered pocket watercolour box that has traveled with me through America and Europe and more recently through hospital and hospice. Old, battered and occasionally a bit grubby can be good.
