Whenever I talk to kids about being artists they know exactly what I mean. They don't need to be told they're artists. They already know it. And they can provide evidence of the fact on the spur of any moment, with whatever tools may be at hand.
Last summer when as friend and I were doing a writing retreat at one of my aunt's cabins in the Adirondacks, we were interrupted one morning by a knock on the door. Two of my young cousins had come to visit, Jamie, 12 and Brittany, 10. I was working feverishly at the computer and Annie was on the porch revising some personal essays. I told the girls that we were very busy writing and they said they understood, they were writers, too.
Then they went on to explain, oh yes, both of them had written a variety of short stories and Jamie wrote poetry and Brittany was working on a play for her friends to star in. They knew all about the writing thing.
Well then, I said, won't you come in and write with us? They joined us happily. The four of us talked for awhile about what they would work on and they each decided to do a short story. The plan was to write for one hour, then take a lunch break and read the stories during lunch.
They chose their pads and pens carefully, then scanned the room for just the right spot. Jamie picked the overstuffed flowered chair with the wide wooden arms, plunked herself down and immediately started filling up the pages of the purple pad with her story, The Summer I'll Never Forget.
Brittany spread out belly down on the bed, knees bent and the soles of her pink sneakers facing the sky. Her number two pencil was a perfect match for her yellow pad. In big bold letters she printed out at the top of the page, THE HALLOWEEN NIGHTMARE, then paused for a bit while she nibbled at the eraser and waited for the first sentence to come out of hiding.
With Vivaldi stimulating our alpha waves, and loons warbling in the background, the four of us worked at a steady pace in a lovely combination of solitude and togetherness. No one was in anyone's way. No words broke the necessary silence, and each was lost in the world she was creating. Time flew by and an hour had passed in what felt like minutes.
I got up quietly and went to the kitchen to prepare our lunch, giving the writers a ten minute warning. Heads nodded, but no one's attention left their work and no hand paused on the legal pads. This was a writing frenzy if I had ever seen one.
When I had finished making the sandwiches and warming up the soup, I called them to the table. Moans of regret came from everywhere.
"Oh no, I'm right in the middle of the most important part."
"Can't we have just a few more minutes? Is that clock right? I can't believe a whole hour went by."
"Quiet, you guys, I'm working on an important paragraph!"
These were committed artists, so rapt in the joy of creative play that time to continue was all they craved. Food was too common a thing to pull them from the uncommon fun of making something up from nothing. We took a vote and decided to hold off lunch till the stories were finished.
When the last sentence was written, I dished up the soup as the writers made their way proudly to the dining room table. We held hands and said grace, giving thanks for the time to write, to be together, and to share our stories with each other. I asked who wanted to read first and Brittany said she did. While we sipped on soup and ate our egg and olive sandwiches, Brittany treated us to THE HALLOWEEN NIGHTMARE, an exciting tale of intrigue and mystery about an amazing thing that happened to a young girl one Halloween night. It was unexpectedly funny, full of colorful details, imaginative, and hauntingly true. We clapped for Brittany when she finished and each of us pointed out our favorite parts. She beamed with pride.
Then Jamie read her story of a summer adventure with two best friends, which was seven pages long and delicately textured with pre-pubescent conflict, tension and resolution. She, too, beamed when we applauded her writing and took time to discuss the details that made it work so well.
It was a touching event and one that I never anticipated when I heard the knock at the door. What I thought would be an interruption turned out to be an inspiration. These girls were right to call themselves writers and they didn't need any one else to confirm that. Their writing was good because they did it for the love of it, for the joy of visiting their imaginations, pulling out thoughts and trying them on like clothes out of grandma's closet.
These girls did not need a mentor calling forth their creativity as many of us do who have given up play as a daily practice. They have not forsaken that part of themselves where their deepest joy lives--that part which is of the heavens, which is in all of us, and which, while it is ours, belongs still to the universe.
When I have the honor of talking to school children about making art, we talk about this part of ourselves. The part that's invisible but very strong, like electricity or love. They understand about their own uniqueness and how no one sees things in exactly the same way they do, and that that's why their art is never the same as anyone else's. And why that is good.
Children know these things while the rest of us need reminding. We have forgotten the importance of play, forgotten how not to compete, forgotten that the thing in us which makes us unique is precisely the thing we are here to express. That thing which gives us the most joy, that we do to settle ourselves, in which we find comfort and a certain peacefulness--that is our art, the work which calls us and which we are called to do.
Kids nod their heads proudly when I speak of their uniqueness. They have a certain understanding about this. They are close to their creativity, best friends with their Muses, familiar with the power of imagination and playing in the imaginary.
In the matter of creating, they are, in fact, the wise ones.
Insight to Action
1. Set aside an hour to work on a creative project with a child. Assign each other the title of a short story to write, put on Vivaldi's Four Seasons (or whatever music the child chooses) and give yourselves a certain length of time to write the story. At the end of that time, allow a few minutes to wrap it up if it is not finished and then read your stories to each other. Have a conversation about the stories and comment on your favorite parts of each one.
2. This you can do alone or with kindred spirits of any age:
Get a sketch pad with large size paper (at least 11x14). Using crayons, watercolors, colored pencils, or chalks, create a map of your life in three segments, including where you came from, where you are and where you are headed.
3. Listen to the song "Children" on Sweet Honey and the Rock's Good News tape or the Flirtations CD. Following the song, take your notebook and write two pages without stopping on what images and feelings the song conjured up for you.
4. Set aside one day that will be orchestrated by a child. From morning till evening, the child will direct all activities, including travel (within a prescribed radius), meals, and entertainment. This may need to be planned in advance in order to budget for it. At the end of the day, talk about what happened, how it felt, what you liked. Thank each other for your company and go get a good night's sleep.
5. Write yourself a letter from yourself at the age of eight. Talk about what interests you, who your friends are and what they're like, what you hope to do when you get bigger, what your mom and dad are like. Get into the feeling of being eight and see how it feels.
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