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Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Blue Kid, Green Mommy

My two and a half year old son is currently in the habit of identifying people on the playground as if they were crayons. "Where did the Blue Kid go?" or "Where is Green Mommy?" is what I often hear as he refers to his new playmates of the day. Asking him to call them by their name usually results in him screaming as loudly as only an uninhibited toddler can "BLUE KID COME BACK!"

Sometimes I find myself thinking of my art in the same way (ie. "where's the blue painting with the dancer?" instead of "where is Flux?") I think that is my way of beginning the break-up phase. When I paint, I begin a very intimate relationship with my creation, as most artists do. The art becomes a part of me, and the process of creating it envelops darn near everything I do until it is finished. Then comes the Honeymoon Phase, when I display the painting for a period of time, satisfied with my efforts and admiring each brush stroke, the gradation of color, and the rhythm of line and movement. (If I am not "in love" with my art, I do not put it up for sale--it is that simple.) It is only by associating each piece in a more abstract way--by color, by number, etc.--rather than by title that I am able to emotionally disentangle myself from it enough to market it.

Does my son call me Running Mommy or my husband Biking Daddy? No. We are simply Mommy and Daddy, the labels through which all else falls neatly into place.

And it is perfect.

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