When my two younger kids were small, while the older one was 13 or 14, well engaged in other older things, I devised the perfect way to go enjoy art galleries in Northampton with them, without the danger of them reaching out and touching everything- a very natural response.
We had been over-exposed to a pesticide, which had made us environmentally I'll for several years, until we fixed it all up- which necessitated them homeschooling (reactivity to school chemicals and all).
We had been over-exposed to a pesticide, which had made us environmentally I'll for several years, until we fixed it all up- which necessitated them homeschooling (reactivity to school chemicals and all).
When we prepared to enter Michaelson's Gallery, our favorite , I would ask them to fold their hands together, and keep them that way. To pretend they were glued together; to point with both hands stuck together. As we wandered about enjoying all there was to see.
In the entrance has ALWAYS been a Leonard Baskin sculpture, bronze and remarkable; quite imposing- titled 'Another Angel', and we would always encounter that first off, the three of us circling it carefully, without a touch, noting the huge feathered wings, the tiny head atop the intimidating body.
We would venture into the back room, that held the prints from children's artists and illustrators, such as Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak, Eric Carle, and so many many more. I would flip through the prints in boxes for them, and hold them up while we laughed and talked about what we loved.
The magnificent double staircase, separating at the top, always enthralled them-and we would go all about the upper level, guard rails on the edge, so that you could get up on your tiptoes if you were five and six, and peer far down into the main floor of the gallery .
Insects and owls and magical creatures and real and unreal situations of all kinds filled the floor.
My personal favorite was the local painter Linda Post , whose large paintings of multicolored individuals flying, and in dreams, over the Connecticut River, far above the Pioneer Valley, took our breath away.
Listening to a five-year-old and a six-year-old, or a six-year-old and seven-year-old, to their perspective of what on earth all of these pieces of art looked like and felt like to them was fascinating .
One day after our customary tour, we went back down the fabulous staircase, and began speaking to the people working there about what we had seen, them asking my children questions full of curiosity.
When we mentioned our fascination with Linda Post, they disappeared into the back room, only to bring out one of her newest paintings, maybe 4 x 6'? We knew that was a treasure to behold.
And we all stood ,in a semicircle around this resplendent work of art, just gazing at it.
There are so many wonderful ways of learning. One of the things that happens with homeschooling is that children become absolutely accustomed to being spoken to as an equal. Versus being spoken down to as someone less than; someone who is a child.
So they begin to approach the world in this manner, this anticipation, and often times that is the response they begin to receive. Simply due to their expectation that they will be treated respectfully.
Always, when I walk by Michaelson's gallery, I stop by the front where the sculpture of the Chimara is crouched, smiling, with it's beautiful flower-like mane about its head , and I run my hands down the golden brass back. Across the beautiful differentiated front paws. And often, I lean forward, and kiss them on the lips.
So when we would leave the gallery, they would unglue their hands, shake them out, laugh, and I would tell them what an amazing job they did, holding hands together for all that time!
And we would turn to look at the Chimera, remembering what mythological creature it is.
They would ask to be picked up, and they would hug the creature about it's neck, snuggle into its mane, slide their hands from head to tail, Or possibly ? Kiss them.
And then, as if their hands were suddenly lonely, each would take hold of mine, and down the street wit would go, them jumping, hopping, telling stories they were making up about the artwork they saw.
Once back home ,out would come the large pieces of paper and the pastels or the watercolor or the markers, and off they would go on their own magical path, creating their own stories through their own inimitable artwork.
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