Get a Grip

A few weeks ago, Annie and I were invited to attend an after school workshop put on by her school, and in conjunction with an outside arts program. It combined literature, culture and art, and thinking it would be fun for Annie and I to do together, I signed us up.

The program took place yesterday and we sat in the school library where our friend and neighbor, Marcia, told the classic tale of the “Five Chinese Brothers.” She did a fantastic job and it would have been perfect, but of course, there was a baby crying the entire time, and of course, the baby was being held by one of those mothers who appear oblivious to the disruption and who never seem to consider leaving the room. (Where do these mothers come from?) After the story, we were instructed to gather around an art table where the "Guest Artist" showed the children how to … color. Okay, okay, so she demonstrated watercolor techniques, but I'm telling you, the way she droned on and about how to grip the brush, and did anyone know what the top of the brush was called (The handle), and did anyone know what the bottom of the brush was called, (The bristle.) The woman spoke in a monotone, the room was hot and stuffy and the baby kept crying. Suddenly, I felt dizzy. I literally thought I was going to faint. I got out of my chair and headed for the door. If I was going to pass out, I wanted to do it in private. When I got into the hallway a mother looked at me, confused as to why on earth I would be leaving the event. When I told her why, she assured me that I had low blood sugar, so I went to the vending machine and got a grape soda. When I returned to the library, the guest artist was still rambling on. “Does anyone know how to make a color lighter than it is? How about darker?” I had some ideas, but thought I’d better keep them to myself. The guest artist wasn’t an unpleasant woman, and I believe she may have, somewhere buried deep down inside herself, actually been inspired. She just lacked the personality that might have helped her to inspire anyone else.

After the 30-minute “How-to-Color” demonstration, we were taken to the school cafeteria where pencils, watercolor paper and paint were laid out on the tables. We were instructed to paint pictures that depicted scenes from the story we were just told, of “The Five Chinese Brothers.” Annie decided to paint the brother who couldn't be burned, and I chose the brother who swallowed the sea. (Do you think there’s meaning there? Never mind.) We talked and painted side by side, and finally, I began to relax and enjoy myself. Just then the guest artist lady was standing next to me. "Rubbing," she said. "Excuse me?" I said. "You're falling into the rubbing trap, but don’t worry, that’s common. Just paint one stroke then leave it." I looked up at her and smiled, but my expression said, "You're not serious, are you?" Annie and I continued painting, but soon she was back, the guest artist lady. "Oh, I like how you've used the 'Wet on Wet' technique," she said to me. "Huh?" was my reply. What the hell was she talking about? And by the way, I just want to hang out and paint with my kid, are we being video taped for some research study or something? I started to feel dizzy again and took another swig of the grape soda.

Later on things were peaceful again and the kids were all painting, as was I. But I looked around and noticed that the rest of the parents had begun roaming around the cafeteria like pod people. Pod Parents. They had smiles glued to their faces and were chatting it up with one another and commenting on all the lovely pictures. And then one of them came up to Annie and me. She looked at my picture, thinking it was Annie's, and said, "Oh! You chose the same brother I did! The one who swallowed the sea! It's lovely!" Annie and I looked at each other, perplexed. "That's my mom's," Annie told the excitable woman. The woman left and made her way to the next table. There she picked up the painting of yet another parent and began praising the child for it. "That's my mother's," a little girl told her. Man, she was really blowing it.


Close to the end of the 3-hour program, we were told we could take home our Crayola paints and pencils as if we were being given keys to a new car. The items were put in a Tiffany bag along with a piece of watercolor paper. "Enjoy it!" said the guest artist, smiling at Annie and me as if she had just handed us the gift of art itself along with the map leading us to our own creativity. So, with the paint and paper in a bag, I was ready to go. But we couldn’t leave yet! We were in store for one final treat. To go along with the Chinese theme of the program, we were now going to enjoy a tasting of some authentic Chinese cuisine. And laid out on one of the tables was an array of egg rolls, dumplings and fortune cookies, imported all the way from Chinese #1 on 181st Street.

I passed on the food, Annie ate the fortune cookies, and before long, I was being approached by yet another Pod Parent. "Will you fill out this evaluation?" she asked. Of course I would. And I did. And really, I could find nothing wrong with the program or with the people who ran it. And what? I was going to complain that the egg rolls weren’t flown in from Shanghai? The truth is, the event was given by a group of decent folks with good intentions.

It’s just me. It’s always just me.