Look, mommy!!!

I made a duck today. Erm, a clay tile with a facsimile of a duck's head on it, that is. And no, today's pointless photo is not of a duck. I didn't have one of a duck.

Actually, that's a lie. I have a picture of the very same duck that I started talking about above, but it's on my cameraphone and I can't imagine it's worth the fifty cents it would cost me to e-mail it to myself from the phone just to put it on the blog.

Trust me, though. I made a clay duck and I have the photo to prove it.

It was part of an art class that I'd brought stuffed animals (the dead variety, not the fluffy bunny type) to so they could use them as models. I was there last Wednesday, too. They invited everyone to participate in the art experience of the day, so I figured what the hell.

Last week I drew an owl in charcoal. This week I made a duck head.

Yep.

Oh, and I still have a headache, if anyone's wondering. Makes it extra special to be working late tonight, but since I spent part of the morning playing with clay I guess I can't complain too loudly.

Well, I can... but it's not like anyone ever really listens.

The funny thing is that I was praised for my duck-head-making skills. I should probably mention that the other participants in the class were children, special needs adults, and their aides. The fact that I was praised for my duck head in no way should suggest that it was all that and a bag of doughnuts.

Doughnuts, yes. I'm not in the mood for chips at the moment.

In a weird way it took me back to some ECD (that'd be Early Childhood Development, for those who've never had the pleasure) courses that I took years ago at the local college. Why ECD? You know, at this point I'm really not sure. Seemed like a good idea at the time? Wanted to broaden my horizons? Dunno.

Anyway, one of the strange things about taking ECD courses is that you do things like learn how to play (ok, ok, you learn how to encourage developmentally appropriate play in children. But still. The course was called Play, fergodsake). There was also an art course called, oddly enough, Art. Wouldn't have worked if they'd called it Norman, I suppose.

Art (when you're studying ECD) involves a lot of simple techniques with plenty of scope for individual creativity. Shall I translate that into normal English? You learn how to do art like a three-year-old. The end results look pretty much the same, whether you actually are a three-year-old or whether you're just learning how to teach three-year-olds. I'm sure you're getting the idea by now.

Anyway, I had art class on Friday afternoons, and immediately afterwards I'd head into my parents' place to direct a choir practice (long story) and visit. I'd naturally bring my latest art project with me, because I wouldn't have the time to stop off at my apartment before leaving town. My mother got a somewhat unreasonable kick out of seeing my fingerpainting or whatever else and she used to... wait for it... hang the stuff on the refrigerator.

I was in my mid-twenties, and she was hanging my "art" on her refrigerator.

She was telling the neighbours, too. With glee. "My daughter did these."

Absolutely and completely embarrassing.







A little like being praised for your duck head, I guess.

Time to end this Post of Many Interruptions now (I won't even tell you what time it was when I first started typing). Sorry if it makes sense. I try not to whenever possible.