I’ll admit it – most of the time, I take the ability to draw and visualise ideas for granted. Even though I use it daily to help communicate ideas and feelings, either through my professional consulting work or my work in children’s literature. It’s become such an automatic way of getting through life that, most of the time, it’s not magical; it’s necessary.
But, this week, through the kindness and generosity of the May Gibbs Children’s Literature Trust, I ran a rare (for me) workshop with children and their parents. In that workshop of about 50 people, there were two young children who, when it came to the drawing part of the workshop, did not want to participate. I was heartbroken. If they had a shell, they would’ve crawled into it.
And I get it, the world can be scary sometimes. I’m a bit like those children when it comes to complex finance – I couldn’t think of an activity less suited to my natural strengths. But what I realised in that moment is that participation isn’t about knowledge, it’s about power, so I flipped the script.
“What about, instead of you drawing something, you make me draw anything!” I said, “Anything at all – a two-headed monster drinking coke, a space machine flying underwater, a giraffe eating ice-cream… anything!”
I saw the dynamic shift immediately but could never have predicted the response. She thought long and hard about what she would really like me to draw and then:
“How about that fire extinguisher?” she said.
Yep, a fire extinguisher.
“Sure,” I said, but you have to help me.” Suddenly, as if a switch went off in this child, we had active participation and collaboration. She ended up pointing out all the features of the fire extinguisher that I had missed; she ended up teaching me how to draw. She had power over me and her environment, making her feel increasingly comfortable and in control.
Another child who followed along with me as I taught her how to draw a penguin could be heard charging around the library at the end, asking someone for a laminator.
My heart sang.
Every time I experience this, I say, “I should do more of this. I should spend more time with children, building their confidence (and their parents’ confidence in their own child).” These are probably not life-changing moments for anyone but me, but they are profound. These moments provide me with an energy from my drawing that I don’t get when I draw in my day job or when I’m drawing for a book, alone in my studio.
Like most people who are balancing work (the stuff that pays) and art (the stuff that doesn’t pay), prioritising is difficult. There are only so many hours in a day, and I know that being ‘too busy’ isn’t an excuse; it’s a choice. I know it’s up to me to decide whether that experience I had is worth repeating and how often, and I can control it, but sometimes weighing everything up is a bit like making good sourdough; time is a non-negotiable ingredient, and using it in this way – with patience and curiosity – isn’t the same as wasting it.