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How Collaborating With an 8-year-old Has Made Me a Better Artist
The smallest hands make the boldest strokes
When my daughter was born, I already knew I’d share the things I hold dear with her. I thought it would be love for travel and adventure. I imagined spending time in the kitchen with her, teaching her how to bake muffins, cakes, and brownies. Poring over books was definitely on my long list of things to get her involved in.
The last thing that came to mind when it comes to sharing the things I’m passionate about is art.
Art was a very private — almost selfish — endeavor for me. I started sketching and painting in high school but I’ve never shown my work to anyone. Not even to my parents. I kept sketch pads under my bed and hid art books among my teeny-bopper novels. I never understood why I felt the need to hide it.
I also never considered myself an artist. Being a writer was hard enough, I always thought. But I secretly loved visual arts. Sometimes even more so than writing.
Even at a young age, I art stores attracted me more than clothing and toy stores. Walking into an art store made my heart skip a bit. It’s like having a secret crush that I can keep to myself. And it went on like that for 20 years. Nobody knew I could draw or paint, I liked it that way.
