I remember the slippery feel of the primary coloured poster paints as they squished through my toes and fingers. I remember coating scraps of paper in flour and water paste and covering balloons to make papier mache. I remember the texture of dried PVA glue on my fingers and the delight of peeling it off. The smell of homemade play dough. The homemade Christmas cards and decorations.
And now I get to do all of these things with my girl.
We made play dough a few weeks ago and the smell of it took me straight back to my own childhood. I got as much pleasure out of rolling it and squashing it and shaping it as Emily did. In fact she was more interested in trying to feed it to the dog (not a good idea).
We made hand and foot prints with frozen paint and the feel of the paint as first melted and then dried on my hands was evocative of my first ever arty endeavours as a child. I love making these memories with Emily and I hope one day she’ll look back and remember the fun we had washing off in the paddling pool when she got freaked out by having sticky paint-covered hands.
I squirted shaving foam on the window outside for her to draw in. It was so much more fun to squish it all over her little belly and make us giggle. We both smelt like the men’s aisle at Target.
We get out markers and crayons to draw but she prefers to put them all back in the container and use a plain old black biro to make long sweeping lines and little scribbles. Her art. She uses bath crayons to make fleeting drawings that are exquisite but get wiped away in seconds.
It’s her art, her way. And it couldn’t be more perfect to me.