The faint whisper of charcoals gliding across paper with ease.
Sketches of tea cups coming to life with the weaving swirl handles belonging to Wonderland creations from the little people in my classroom.
A soundtrack of fast fiddles and angelic voices plays softly in the corner.
Everything works together.
Peace and productivity.
The sound of thin sheets of sketching paper crumpled into snowballs suddenly fills our small room.
"
I messed up...aaagain, Miss Kelly.
I will never get this teacup right.
I make terrible art."
The small girl with the black night hair and the almond shaped eyes looks at me, expectant to begin on a clean sheet of paper. I swipe a clean sheet off the wooden shelf and slip into the chair next to her. I pick up a charcoal, black as her hair.
"Why do you think your artwork is so terrible?"
"
Mine looks nothing like yours. See this swirl? I tried six times and all I have on my paper is a stupid swirl and a million eraser marks. This is not art." Arms cross her chest and she stares at me, defeated.
Think, think, think. What do I say?
I hear a still,
small voice reply, "
Daughter, what would I say to you?"
Exhale. I move the piece of hair from my eyes and tell her,
"
There is no such thing as terrible artwork. This swirl right here? Now this.. this is art. Artwork comes in all shapes, all sizes, all colors. The artist is the one who opens her eyes and changes the way she sees. When we look at our art, we open our eyes and expect the beautiful to come pouring out. The artist is the one who can open her eyes and say, Wow I made the beautiful come to life.
Tell me, where can you find the beautiful in your art?"
She grips the edge of the table with soft fingers and peers intently into her artwork.
Eyebrows furrow.
"
I see... so many colors.
I see smudges I didn't even mean to make but oh, they made new colors!
Patterns.
Flowers with floppy petals. They look happy!
And the swirl... you know, Miss Kelly, it really is beautiful. It looks like something I did all by myself. I made it on my own."
"
And that, sweet child, is making beautiful come to life."
An hour later.
Hurried hands are cleaning brushes, stacking watercolor palettes, setting damp paintings on wire drying racks.
Maternal voices fill the room. The moms are back. My little artists grab familiar hands and march out the door to the summer afternoon.
I retreat to the sink to finish cleaning brushes when I hear little shuffling feet.
I turn and meet the girl with almond eyes.
"
Miss Kelly, I forgot to tell you... thank you for teaching me that terrible artwork doesn't exist. Now I know that beautiful wanted me to open my eyes bigger to see it. And I did. Thank you."
And that is all the happy I need to remember I am right where God wants me to be.
