Like
a train ramming into your forehead, you’re suddenly bombarded with an idea you must get down. This is life or death. On
autopilot, you scrabble around the kitchen, flinging open drawers. There’s a
pen! But, it’s bound to run out in nought-point-seven seconds at the most
crucial stage so just grab them all. A scrap envelope, don’t mind if I do.
There’s no time, you have to get this
down.
And,
after the said panic and a few moments of creative carnage, you’re creation is
complete: a bobbly horse – with an ignited tail, highlighted with a neon orange
Sharpie – paragliding over a castle
(a sudden extra finesse to the picture, which one feels adds a real, extra
depth). It is down. It is done. Now, back to watching Finding Nemo, or reading The
Magic Key.
These
occasions of complete artistic overhaul is what conducts the finest of paintings
and pictures. It is these that you throw into your mum’s hand and demand –
sweetly – for it to be pinned up on the fridge, with the Devon 2004 magnet. Here, it will stay, glowing your creative genius
as you reach for a Frube or Baby Bell. That is until you master a
new drawing, a better, more refined flying-flame-horse, or even a family
portrait (complete with the sun in the left hand corner, adorning its swanky
shades).
However,
a great hindrance occurs with many of these obviously fantastic and imaginative
works of art your little fingers conjure: adults. Why can’t they see what a
complete prodigy you are?
Once,
at the beach, a boy was struck, like invisible lightning laced with ideas.
Galloping down to the sea, he began to
scoop
piles of sand, masterfully sculpting, as the brainstorm unfurled.
After
a few more mad paddling episodes, his carving was complete: an entirely realistic
and characterful turtle. “Mum, look what I’ve done!” he screeched from the
shore to his family, bobbing lazily in the water. How shocked they would be
when they peered upon his genius…
“Oh--very
good James,” was his mum’s response. Typical. Adults could never see a creative
master at his best. Then, his sister came swanning over to have a glance (also,
they had both just convinced their parents for a snack, and the boy felt a Scooby Doo ice cream cone was in order,
as a means of self-congratulation for his masterpiece). “It looks more like a
turd than a turtle,” was her response, before she pranced off to choose between
the three Cornetto flavours.
His
sullen story resonates with every child genius; why can’t others understand how
simply amazing their hard work is? We
are not trying to be the next Picasso, where you must ponder dubiously, deciphering
the work: it is literally a crayon-sketch of our next-door-neighbour’s cat.
One
of the worst offenders is in fact the people you turn to for creative
cultivation the most: teachers.
A
task was set that involved drawing (not only a fun task for the year threes,
but also a welcomed break for the teacher, who had just conducted at least
twelve science experiments on mouldy bread beforehand), which was the perfect
opportunity for the young, bright minds to explode on the A4 page. As their
constructions went underway, the teacher ambled around the classroom, peering
over at her class’ pictures. Surely here she could see how gifted they all
were?
“Is
that a pizza?” she asked, smiling at the boy, clutching his now-dulled pencil.
“No,
it’s a football.”
Maybe
adults are just so overwhelmed with our intellect that their brains just implode,
allowing only a smattering of the page to be digested. Therefore, they
physically cannot process how professional your football, or sunbathing turtle,
appears. Maybe – much like high-frequency mosquito squeaks – only after a
certain age can an adult acknowledge your beautiful cubist puppy.
Until
resources are targeted at research for this dilemma, we must keep churning out literal
works of art. Become your own Van Gogh (just don’t cut off your ears – your mum
won’t be impressed if she has to wash your shirt as well as your grass-stained trousers) and paint and draw and
scribble, until the next guitar-strum of SpongeBob
Squarepants draws you away. One day, adults will understand us young,
creative geniuses. But, until then, you go and draw that water-cannon-wielding-super-powered-hedgehog-on-roller-skates.
