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“I’m hungry” is a very popular one — usually five minutes after I have cleaned up from an elaborate meal. We hear “That’s mine!” a lot. And a sighting of the golden arches never fails to elicit a whiny “pleeease?”
But it always surprises me when my daughter gets so giddy over a trip to the art museum. “Can we go again? Can we? Can we?”
“Huh?” is usually my maternally intelligent reply.
The extent of my art appreciation is limited. Like so many college co-eds, I had the requisite Monet poster in my dorm room. Friends and I frequented the downtown museum on Thursdays, but that had more to do with the free admission and hors d’oeuvres than the fine art. And yes, my transcripts will show I took an art history survey course, if only to fulfill a requirement and, more importantly, because it was known to be an easy “A” (it was).
My low-brow approach to the creative arts may have to do with the fact that I have trouble drawing a straight line with a ruler.
When I was 10, I taught myself how to draw a horse. I only mastered the head, and then, in the interest of saving trees everywhere, mercifully retired my sketch pad. Even now I am an embarrassment to my kindergartener, who would gladly trade his sandwich-making mother for a mediocre cartoon artist who could doodle superheroes on command.
All of this is not to say that I don’t appreciate art, in all its forms. I do.
And I want my children to appreciate it as well. Heck, we have crayon marks on practically every wall in the house. I want them to call to mind the colors of Giverny when someone mentions Monet, or be inspired in dance class by a Degas ballerina.
Or, more realistically, may-be I really just want to walk into a quiet place, surrounded by beautiful things and not have my kids run around and knock something over. Too much to ask? Probably.
Knowing this behavior is not innate in small children, I decided to start at their level; preferably a place where I could make a quick exit when (not if) things got ugly.
Our very own Minnesota Marine Art Museum seemed like a perfect starting point. Thanks to a generous grant from Target (I assume funded in no small part by my family’s diaper consumption), the MMAM offers arts (naturally) and crafts geared to the young art aficionado. There are even family story times that shame my own home’s bedtime ritual.
Introducing diminutive minds to famous works of art (yes, they even had a Monet) has never been easier. I could only hope my little Jackson Pollock liked it. After all, there are no neon lights, no popcorn machine and not even a hint of sugary confections of any kind. I was ready for a hard sell.
Bingo! Apparently, all you need to do is lower some tables to toddler height and throw out some sparkles and stickers to engage the left-brain of a toddler. If you manage to welcome her by name, well then, she’s yours forever.
Miss Heather — which, despite her advanced degree and impressive title is how the curator of education will always be referred to in our home — makes each child feel like the museum was built just for their petite (albeit, sticky) hands.
My 4 year-old is as comfortable at that not-at-all-stuffy museum as she is in any hamburger playland. On our walls, she proudly displays her own artwork, pouting as only the greatest creative minds can, that the pieces would look so much better in gold frames.
Trying to build on this success, I borrowed art-themed children’s books from the library and even thought about planning a trip to the big city to visit another museum.
But alas, markers and glue sticks still hold the greatest fascination for our young master. For now, I am thrilled to enjoy the museum’s works while my daughter is equally happy to cut and paste. And one day, maybe she will look up with great appreciation at the exquisite pieces of art surrounding her, and I might even look down and try my hand at doodling again.
Maybe I will start with the superheroes.
Steph Rigley has lived in four states, has three children and could use two more hours of sleep.
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