I have a six-year-old and a toddler about to be two, and I allow them to paint on the walls of my house.
I attended an art school in Vancouver, Washington that seamlessly blended the core academics with art, and the experience I had there shaped many of my current thoughts and formations. Thus, when I looked at a bare wall recently, and glanced over to my restless children, it occurred to me that I could entertain them while simultaneously instilling a new appreciation for art in their pristine little minds.
I, like many others, was raised with the notion that painting on walls was a bad thing. Coloring on the white plaster of an apartment raised a yelling voice; drawing on myself drew scolding from whatever adult was nearby. There are many reasons not to allow your kids to draw on walls, and I felt vaguely mad as I called my spawn to me and presented them both with a little palette of colors.
My daughter eyed me warily. "Really?" she asked with an arched brow. "We can paint on da wall?" I nodded. "Yeah. Go ahead. Paint anything you want." After another moment of hesitation, she dipped her brush into the water to wet it and then selected black paint to begin the outline of her first artpiece.
My son was not so reluctant; once I demonstrated what to do, he jammed his own brush into the rinse-glass with an aggression that almost knocked it over, and then flung green paint on the wall. He punctuated his painting with loud howls and stabbings of the brush against the plaster, in stark contrast to his sister's quiet meticulousness.
I stood back to observe. This was ... fun, I supposed. It was cute to see my daughter modeling herself after a silent, focused artist painting in a quiet French cafe, her still life glowing as she painted in each careful detail. And it was hilarious to see my son all but attack the wall with his entire body, immersing himself in the art, bringing to mind the classic image of a shouting, feverish artist who foregoes even a sip of water until his masterpiece is brought to life.
If I'm being honest, beneath the very genuine desire for my children to experience art on a permanent and wide level, to open even the walls of my house to their work, there was a faint, vicarious pulsation. I had never been allowed to paint or draw on anything except paper, and in throwing wide the gate of limitations to my kids, I could live through them. There was also a vague feeling of hubris, as if I was somehow more "enlightened" in recognizing that kids should not be contained in their art. This was quickly stifled by my innate and overbearing sense of guilt; I wasn't better, only held fewer boundaries as well as an alternative view of wall vs paper.
My daughter turned to me then. "Look. I drew a butterfly. And my brother," she said, gesturing to a portrait of a smiley face with wild hair. I was about to compliment her when the subject of the aforementioned picture dipped his hands into his paint, completely eschewing the brush now, and dabbed paint onto his sister's side of the wall. This was met with much screaming. "Mommy! STOP HIM!" she shrieked, batting his hands away. I frowned. They were supposed to be harmonious.
"Why don't you guys collaborate?" I suggested. "Paint together!" My daughter eyed me with a glacial coldness typically only reserved for an interrogation room. "I don't want to paint with him," she said in a clipped tone. "His painting is bad."
"There is no such thing as bad painting!" I exclaimed, the liberal hippy within my soul reeling from a mortal wound as I grabbed for my son, who had wandered away to smear paint on his play kitchen and also the floor. She scoffed.
Eventually, with a little mediation from me, I was able to separate them and they proceeded to finish their work with a couple of resounding flourishes. Looking at the wall they decorated each day brings me a deep sense of satisfaction, a soothing coolness to my soul. I can't explain it, even if I tried. Knowing that they have helped in a permanent way to make this house a place where their imaginations are etched upon the walls warms the atmosphere around me in some way.
