Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Vision (08/03/06)
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TITLE: The art piece | Previous Challenge Entry
By Malin Boman
08/09/06 -
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My father was trying to get my attention, “Can you see it now? Can you visualize what he was trying to say when he was painting this piece?”
“No, dad, I can get it. To me it only looks like he had problems to open his red tube of paint and so when it finally did, it splashed all over the canvas. Sorry, but I can get it.”
I was having a hard time trying to keep calm and collected under my skin by now. For the last two hours we had been slowly walking through every art piece in this National Museum, trying to get inside the artist’s head every time for some deep and meaningful insight into their worlds.
This was my father’s favourite thing to do every time he came to visit, these long visits to the museum.
It was surely not my favourite thing at all, but he wasn’t interested in my opinion much so we always ended up in here.
“Now, this one you have to admire”, he shouted out from behind a large white wall, still with some hope in his voice.
With a large sigh I quickly turned the corner, hoping that something amazing would be there.
Nope, not what I would call astounding at all.
A large piece of brown cardboard had been stapled to a black canvas and then small holes had been carefully ripped out of the cardboard to make some kind of windows.
“Sorry dad, but I don’t know how to tell you this, but it doesn’t really do anything for me, can we go home now?” I said. Before he had the chance to respond I headed quickly for the large black leather seat in the middle of the room and threw my heavy backpack beside me.
He stood silently in front of the cardboard art piece for the longest time. Maybe he was angry and needed the time to cool down before we went on, or maybe he was just disappointed that we didn’t seem to have anything in common anymore.
My father had always been into ‘the arts’ and had been working with different kinds of creative projects all his life. He would much rather spend his days with a paint brush in his hand and an enormous canvas than with people.
When I was young I also had loved all kinds of arty things and had been dreaming of becoming a successful dressmaker one day, but how things had changed.
After my first mission trip to Thailand my life was completely pulled apart.
Now, art was hardly ever on my agenda.
People had become my focus and enjoyment.
My heart only came alive when I was wondering those small poverty stricken villages. Smiling faces would appear from the small huts, the rice fields or the person walking past with a chicken under their arm.
My father had never been to Thailand, at least not yet.
I wondered if he would be able to see what I see one day.
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