Artistic

There was an envelope in Cady Gray's backpack today. Inside was a letter with a little photograph. It told us that our daughter's artwork (titled, she later told us, "A Zebra, A Rainbow") had been selected as the school's kindergarten entry in the state's Young Arkansas Artists competition.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. A family member of mine in an art competition? It was the last thing I ever expected. I've never felt confident in any artistic endeavor. I don't remember my brothers being talented in that area either, although my maternal grandmother was a very accomplished oil painter who taught art all her life. I've always envied those who can draw, who have an eye for color, who can create something with pencils or pastels.

Now, maybe being selected as a great piece of kindergarten art doesn't indicate much about Cady Gray's artistic skills. How in the heck a judge would be able choose one above another, I have no idea. But I certainly let her know how proud I was of her accomplishment. With every thing she does well -- knitting, building, coloring, writing, reading -- I tell her that she is amazing. The look of pride on her face, and her eagerness to exercise what I've emphasized is her talent, tells me that the objective quality is secondary. What's important is that someone she trusts and believes is telling her she's good at it. So far she seems perfectly inclined to believe it, and to act accordingly.