For some reason, Reba and the kids (but most especially Catherine) have become gripped with an odd fever that causes them to rush to Michael's, purchase vast quantities of acrylic paint and small wooden doodads, come home with them, spread out all over the kitchen table, and proceed to slather said paint all over said wooden doodads, and occasionally upon said table.
It all started about a month ago when Reba found some little butterfly cutouts, then some small wooden doll standups, and this madness has now progressed to a variety of birdhouses and other jimcracks. She says she has intentions of doing them up for the folks on our Christmas gift list who like handmade crafts, but as I mention, Cat has caught this crafting mania as well, and has gone off and decorated several things on her own.
Which is the problem.
Not for her--for me.
Being that I am more persnickety about architectural craftsmanship than even famously anal-retentive James Lileks is about arranging the currency in his wallet or the size of juice glasses, the objects Catherine has decorated drive me to distraction with their slapdashery of color. I mean, there's primitive art, and then there's just plain primitive.
She usually does such wonderful work when she colors or paints on paper, but this 3-D stuff seems to bring out an inner savagery in her that causes her to shower these poor bits of basswood with multiple Jackson Pollack-y layers of pigments, but without the intentional nature of someone who thinks she's actually doing abtract art. They are, after all, supposed to look something like actual houses, miniaturized for the birdish set. The prim Gothic church or rustic log cabin or whimsical Norman style conical roof house are abused with great prejudice, with wild colors running all over the place, as well as fingerprints, smudges, smears, dollops, bandicoots, llamas--giving the assemblage the overall aspect of having been created by someone who's lost all fine motor skills.
AAAGGGHHHHHHHH!
I just want to take the brushes away from her (and Reba, too, but you didn't her ME say that) and show them what they're doing wrong.
Except.
Except, well, they're enjoying themselves to no end, and too, I figure if I ever started messing with the paints myself, I would wind up with yet another out-of-control set of moron projects with no end in sight.
Best just not to say anything.
Posted by Terry Oglesby at July 10, 2006 01:02 PMAw- relax! Let them have fun.
Posted by: Nate at July 10, 2006 03:44 PMOh, trust me--they're having PLENTY of fun! And I have better sense than to say anything about possibly being neater, other than to plead that they at least get up the paint spatters off the table and floor.
Posted by: Terry Oglesby at July 10, 2006 03:51 PMPictures?? We will be the judge if you are being way too literal in your thinking. Who said a house has to look like your perception of a house? With logic like this I could judge shows or award grants.
Posted by: jim at July 10, 2006 06:23 PMIf I took pictures, then you'd know for sure I was exaggerating.
Posted by: Terry Oglesby at July 11, 2006 07:56 AM