I had just finished the painting. It wasn't even dry. A mother and her son, maybe five years old, happened to be walking past my garage studio while the door was open.
The boy rushed up the driveway and asked, "Did you do that? "I said, "yes." He then asked, "Which superhero is that?" I said, "not a very good one; I don't think he'll get off the ground with that pot belly." the little boy insisted, "all superheroes can fly. Even if Superman got fat, he would fly". I said, "Well, if you say so, I'm not convinced." He said, you should know that you painted this. But, I told him, I understand very little about what I'm painting, especially while I'm painting". He looked concerned and said again, "but you painted it." I said, that's true, but I don't do much of the deciding about what is in my painting; I'm just trying to figure out how to paint it. He looked at me with his head tilted, perplexed.
I said, '"you don't decide what you're going to dream, do you? It's something like that". Quickly, the kid turned away from me towards the painting and started running with his hands out. His mother called out, and I managed to stop him before his little outstretched paws hit the canvas surface. I realized he was going to settle this debate of what was real and what wasn't by touching the image.
Although I don't relish the idea of his little fingers sliding through the wet paint, there was something profoundly beautiful to me that this picture, this two-dimensional illusion, carried enough weight for this kid to want to "feel it" for himself.
It’s a pity how being a grown up stops us from “living” in a painting, song or poem. It’s the wonderful thing about being a kid.
