Sunday, January 27, 2008

Salvador Aftie

Enjoying the toys in drefts of paper towel snow

Afton is an artist and her medium is the world.

THAT is how I think of it lately when I must go back to scour, scrub and launder up her latest creation. Eating, sleeping, and socializing all take a second place to her artistic genius when it strikes. It doesn’t matter that 5 of her cute and energetic friends are here for preschool; that they are playing and eating and singing ABCs.
Where is Afton? She has locked herself in the bathroom to create an advent guard piece with bubblemint toothpaste and hand soap. Then, to add to the reflective element of the piece, Afton turns on the sink and initiates a reflection pond on the floor. When she hears me pleading, ordering, threatening and eventually pleading again for her to unlock the door, she "attempts" to unlock the door, happily tells me that her fingers are too slippery, then resumes her work, while the speed at which she fills up the cup and dumps it onto the floor increases.
You see, I am the enemy of her art. She knows that it will be destroyed upon my dismantle of the doornob and arrival in the bathroom. She knows that all evidences of her masterpiece's existence will be eliminated (except for my own photographic file to be used solely for my own self-pity-provoking purposes).
I have learned that when Afton is happy with her work, it doesn’t matter what punishment is impugned upon her. My disapproval does not waver her resolve to create the best smeared Postimpressionist Vaseline image of the Sistine Chapel known to man on our bathroom mirror.
So, I am resigned to feel that I am only helping the young artist prepare for the world of resistance she will face when she attempts to take her unique multi-medium artistic approach to the critical public. I challenge someone, ANYONE, to stop her then.
A carefully handcrafted hairpiece: from pure recycled chewed drinking straw
And why can’t 4 rolls worth of paper towels transform her room into a dreamy, yet dry winter wonderland? Why should Afton eat the popcorn with the other kids rather than hurl it in the air and twirl under it like she is dancing in fall leaves? She spices up our lifeless white apartment walls with colorful crayon murals, and our neutral carpet with a faux food-color rug; doubles Desitin as shampoo; and builds train track on the floor with the full bag of carrots just bought from Pavillions. Yogurt, ranch, ketchup, balsamic vinegar and even syrup are transformed from simple condiment dribbles on a plate to complete finger-painted self portraits on the table. Can there be a better use of six 1/2 pound cubes of butter than to paint a veneer on the kitchen floor and go skating with cousin Luke? And, surely, a bag of brownie mix is just as well enjoyed dumped on the carpet and formed into tasty mountain peaks, while huddled in the hidden cave behind a door with sister and emerging apprentice, Lindsey.

No . . . I am certainly not, though not without trying, the one who could stop my Afton's emerging art.
posted by Sarah


Kimberly Bluestocking said...

Gotta admire her creativity. And her tenacity. :)

jordan said...

sarah, this is such a great tribute to the little artist. I love it!