work in progress
My tactile little offspring is incorrigible.
Her greatest joy (and she shares this with many, many other kids I understand is to ‘soft’ herself, under the nose with something wonderful. Ribbons, fabric, feathers, and – her favourite – my paintbrushes.
It is driving me slightly mad.
There are times when only the perfect brush will do to create the right line or smudge, and getting to know a brush and what it will do is a precise and learned act. A brush becomes a valuable extension of your heart and mind, and the trust in it and its abilities is not easily or casually gained.
I have tried putting my tin out of reach. She climbs – precarious and determined to great heights to retrieve her selection – which is done with precision and much testing. She is fickle – and tosses them to one side when done. She is unconcerned by my pleading, reasoning and growling. She is victorious in her own quiet way – sitting still, lost in the moment, appreciating the gentle swish of sable (she has good taste).
And in my precious stolen moments, lost in painting, I am frequently thwarted by the absence of a trusted friend, or new partner – which is probably lying under a table, or tucked under a pillow, to be found at a later stage.
Only 2 years until school starts. 🙂