In which the older artist sends a message to the young artist in France...
I received some wonderful pictures of Mlle. Thelma, my french chartreuse. Read about my introduction to Thelma here, but for those of you who follow my world, you know and love Thelma already. Mais oui!
What I love about these pictures is they show the rapture and intensity of the child, and I identify with this - not only because I was a child, but because I carry that intensity with me to this day. The expression on Thelma's face could just as well be mine at age 50. The inner being is there before birth and after we die. Hang on to it while you walk the earth. Or while you stumble the earth.
When I was about 9 years old, I got it into my head that I was much too mature to have my 'young' art around and told my mother I wanted to rid the house of it. She resisted, and walked off thinking she had made her point. Being the stubbornly in dependant imp I was, I snuck up to the third floor attic where I knew my 'portfolio' of kindergarten drawings were. I ripped them all to shreds. I do not remember anything traumatic happening before that day that might have caused this, and I remember feeling no remorse over the private attic shredding extravaganza. My mother was crushed. 
It was not until years later I regretted it. I can only say it was an honest action. But I wish now I had them. I vividly remember painting a piece in kindergarten. I had painted a thick 3" or so black stripe on the left margin of the paper. The teacher asked me what it was, and I told her "it was night time coming".So, this is an open plea to my Thelma: "Ma petite fille, s'il vous plait, do not shred thy art. And if you have a moment of wanting to purge, you can send it to me for safe keeping, until you have walked the earth for awhile. Once your feet have some miles on them, you will welcome having them back in your possession, like old friends."
