A remarkable thing happened at Clif’s event last night, and it had nothing to do with the campaign or even politics. My daughter was playing with a friend of hers – my daughter is seven and her friend eight. There’s a little side room towards the rear of the Scotia Inn dining hall and the kids were allowed to leave the grown-up world of politics to enjoy themselves. At one point I decided to check up on them.
The story actually begins before last night. I had met her friend once before at Arts Alive a couple of months ago. She, my daughter, and two other girls were wowed as we veered as a group of parents and kids off of the main drag to visit artists in their studios – the first time I had ventured into those buildings during Arts Alive.
One of the artists had a studio jammed full of paintings, so much so that it’s actually hard to navigate. I was nervous as the four girls started running through the place because it would have been easy to fall or trip and ruin a painting or two, but the artist wasn’t even fazed. He called the girls over to him, gave them a little bit of a tour and lesson on what he does, and then gave each of them a small painting as a gift. The girls were, of course, wowed. My daughter proudly displays her painting on her dresser. But it’s not Lilith’s first piece of original art. Her friend, whose family doesn’t have a large amount of money, was even more profoundly affected by the gift.
Last night when I walked into the room she was resting from play and I asked her if she still had the painting. She nodded. I jokingly said, “well, maybe someday it will be worth some money.”
She actually turned and looked at me in response – spoke politely but emphatically, and without a contraction of I and ll, “I will never sell it! It was the first time I ever met a real artist.”
I don’t want to name the artist, because I don’t want him put on the spot to give other kids the same kind of gifts. He does have to make a living. But I intend to return to his studio and tell him the story. And buy one of his paintings.
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March 17, 2012 at 2:13 pm
Not A Native
What phase was the moon in when the artist wasn’t fazed? Been lounging around in the cow field a little too much have we?
March 17, 2012 at 4:13 pm
Anonymous
A good story Eric !
March 17, 2012 at 4:38 pm
Eric Kirk
What phase was the moon in when the artist wasn’t fazed? Been lounging around in the cow field a little too much have we?
Oh, I meant that he hadn’t been shot at by a Star Trek character.
March 17, 2012 at 5:01 pm
Eric Kirk
Geez! I had lots of typos in there. How did spell check miss all those studeos?
March 17, 2012 at 7:55 pm
Kym Kemp
And thus passion was awakened by a gift. That is a nice story, Eric. Kind of adds a little glow to the end of a day. Thank you.
March 18, 2012 at 10:38 am
Eric Kirk
You’re welcome Kym. I thought some people might like enjoy even a small break from the grumpies, though I’ve already blocked a couple of cranky posts just because I don’t want this thread polluted with perennial partisanship even if the attack is directed at me and not the child. I only mention it so that posters know why they’re being blocked. Put them in another thread and I’ll let them through.
March 18, 2012 at 6:33 pm
Kym Kemp
Eric, sometimes I wonder if for some folk the joy isn’t taking the shine off of something a blogger holds especially dear. Bullies aren’t only found in grade school.
March 18, 2012 at 7:27 pm
suzy blah blah
-maybe it’s his karma, Kym. Ever hear of “like attracts like”? One of suzy’s favorite writers, theosophist, author, and mystic, Madame Helena Blavatsky studied the phenomenon extensively and did controlled experiments showing that the law of attraction was as dependable as gravity. What goes up comes down. What goes around comes back around. You eat what you dish out.
March 22, 2012 at 10:21 am
Cristina Bauss
Beautiful story, Eric.