My last post marked the first of several posts in which I will explore how I came to care so much about beauty. In that post I asked, “Was I born to care about beauty?” I also shared that because I had been born with congenital strabismus, I could not direct the gaze of both of my eyes to the same object simultaneously; further, when I did, I saw everything double.
My mother saved all of my kindergarten “art papers” (how she labeled them). Did she save the art papers of any of my sisters? Did she save mine because she was worried about my sight defect? Did she examine my art papers to see if my defect was progressing?
My conception of beauty took a decidedly abstract turn less than 20 days later.
I had become adept at crayons and water color, but not so much at collage . . . until eight months after my first collage pictured above.
Like my mother may have done nearly 70 years ago, I look at these art papers for clues about my eyesight. I also look for clues about how I came to love beauty. Outside of a fractured awareness of myself, I can see I was aware of my mother’s house and its environs. However, I see very little of what I would call “beauty.” I recognize as well that the art papers of other kids my age no doubt looked the same. Were mine really all that unique?
My mother also saved my First Grade art papers. Could they provide more clues?
STAY TUNED FOR TOMORROW’S POST: “First-Grade Beauty”
Being aware of your environment is a big element, I think. No one saved my stuff but I think I always tried to draw a tree with a house and the sun in the corner. I don’t think I’ve ever been visually very environment aware. I know I definitely am not today. Don’t ask me which house in my neighborhood just got a new paint color but I can pretty closely recount the content and emotional content of every human interaction I’ve had in the last month? Year? Ever?
Recounting the emotional content of every human interaction you’ve had in the last month, year or ever, is an art form, Neola. You are an artist. xoxo
Thank you for sharing these. I saved many of my children’s art pieces. I hope they someday treasure them over all the digital images that have taken over their lives. Or perhaps been deleted. Love you!
I suspect they will treasure them, Kelly, as I treasure mine. I wonder if, when your children look at those art pieces, they will search for clues about who they were back then. That’s what I’m doing with mine since I know so little about my childhood, particularly, my mother. Love you back!
Sharon I wonder if you sought a love of beauty because of something missing?
Whoa, Charlotte — very intriguing question. I just finished writing tomorrow’s post which kind of addresses what was missing literally, but NOT what was missing emotionally.
Back to the drawing board (don’t you love that DRAWING is in that phrase?) Not to get down on myself, but I really feel like I am making my way through this question of beauty — when and where — rather blindly.