As I gaze at a vibrant drawing adorning my daughter Mia’s bedroom door, I can’t help but admire her artistic flair. At just 6 years old, Mia has chosen fruit-scented markers as her primary medium. In this piece, a rainbow swells into the shape of a wave, while a stout tree with bulbous, pawpaw-like leaves leans awkwardly. The tree appears torn between using the rainbow as a flamboyant accessory or being overwhelmed by its own size.
This rainbow has a weightiness to it, resembling something pliable, like clay. The color orange dominates the palette, overshadowing the likes of purple, blue, green, yellow, and red. (Let’s not complicate matters by mentioning indigo or violet—Mia gets a bit fidgety at the mention of those.) The orange arcs in a way that suggests it’s breaking free, eager to burst from the confines of the paper. It seems to cry out, “Let me out!” and “Where’s that pot of gold?!”
I’ve dubbed this phase Mia’s post-impressionist period. Like many budding artists, she goes through distinct stages. In her toddler days, she explored abstract expressionism, adopting a minimalist approach. As her grip on the marker improved, she transitioned to stick figures, predominantly depicting girls with oversized heads, fluttery eyelashes, and hair resembling long, buoyant balloons adorned with bows.
Mia’s subjects gradually expanded to include animals, particularly mice. I could compile a coffee table book filled with her endless drawings of stick mice—rounded bodies, arms raised in surrender, and a straight line for a mouth, giving them a somewhat dismal expression (the girl mice, sporting long lashes and cheerful bows, appear slightly less gloomy). Her older brother, Jake, has taken on the role of critic.
“Mia!” he exclaims. “Boys have lashes too, you know.”
Unfazed, Mia continues expanding her artistic horizons. She draws duos of friends holding hands, expressive heart families, whimsical mermaids with oversized hands, and cats peeking from vividly colored houses surrounded by oversized flowers. There was even a brief yet peculiar bunny phase, where Mia’s bunnies were anything but cute—big, bulging eyes, square foreheads, and crooked ears. Perhaps her dislike for carrots has seeped into her subconscious.
Influenced by her first-grade environment, Mia has recently started experimenting with what I call word-art. She creates intricate collages filled with sketches, then meticulously labels everything—cloud, bird, tree, bush, road, Eiffel Tower. The result resembles a whimsical, yet somewhat chaotic map reminiscent of Roald Dahl’s imaginative worlds.
I sit at the kitchen table, watching her concentrate with her head bent, lips slightly chapped from focus, as she carefully selects each fragrant color from a repurposed plastic container that once held artichoke dip. Mia approaches her art with a refreshing unselfconsciousness, unencumbered by societal norms or expectations.
However, I know there will come a day when Mia, much like every artist, will start to conform. She may set aside her vibrant skort worn as a tank-skirt or reconsider her choice to apply blue eyeshadow to her lips. She might even learn to draw “normal” bunnies and realize that her layered outfits could be deemed excessive. Eventually, she’ll acknowledge that indigo and violet do belong in a rainbow, and the artistic spirit may face trials.
Atop Mia’s rainbow-wave, two fluffy white clouds hover—one large and one small. Initially, they were left untouched, achieving a perfect balance of color and absence. However, after a week of contemplation, Mia decided they needed smiley faces (complete with lashes, naturally, since they’re girl clouds). It’s a testament to her nature as an artist; she often doesn’t know when to stop. Bold blue strokes swirl around her cheerful clouds as if swept by a powerful gust, filling every inch of white space and leaving little to the imagination, yet offering everything.
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In conclusion, Mia’s art is a delightful snapshot of childhood creativity, unfiltered and full of potential, a phase that will inevitably evolve yet remain a cherished memory of her early years.
Keyphrase: My 6-Year-Old Daughter’s Art
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