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My Kid Could Paint That
Apr. 3rd, 2011 12:55 amI've been on a documentary kick lately, and I just watched one about Marla Olmstead - a four year old who painted abstract paintings that enchanted the art world until Sixty Minutes did an expose suggesting that maybe her father coached her a bit, and the art world felt betrayed.
The art world is ridiculous. If the paintings are really visionary, then surely it doesn't matter if Marla's dad coached her. Of course he shouldn't have lied about it - but I bet he didn't see it as coaching; he was saying things like "Why don't you do something with that red there?" It's the kind of thing you say to a four-year-old when she paints, to keep her occupied and interested. It would have been weird, especially before she got famous, to stick her alone with her paint set and wander off and not speak till she was done.
But, while people liked the paintings, they liked a thousand times more the story of the sweet, innocent four-year-old, imbued with the natural childhood ability to tap the mystical force of the imagination, as well with the rare gift to translate this on canvas so we can all experience again the evanescent joy of childhood.
The adults in this film are all very concerned about preserving Marla's childhood. Except for the Sixty Minutes crew - the Sixty Minutes crew seems mostly to be concerned about boosting ratings, and if they have to toss a family through the shredder to do it, well -
American culture has a tortured relationship with child prodigies. On the one hand we clearly can't get enough of them, but on the other hand there's always a heavy layer of censure aimed at the parents: Why aren't you letting your child have a happy childhood? (Children are only happy when they're wasting time, you know.) I think the Sixty Minutes crew figured Marla's parents deserved to suffer, having forced prodigy-hood on their child.
Well, actually, the media dumped the "prodigy" label on her. But never mind. The point is being judgmental about other people's parenting, and if Marla's mom and dad were good parents, clearly they would have stuck her paintings in a drawer so no one could see them, ever, and protected her from the horrible fate of having enough cash to pay for her college education twice over by the time she was five.
The art world is ridiculous. If the paintings are really visionary, then surely it doesn't matter if Marla's dad coached her. Of course he shouldn't have lied about it - but I bet he didn't see it as coaching; he was saying things like "Why don't you do something with that red there?" It's the kind of thing you say to a four-year-old when she paints, to keep her occupied and interested. It would have been weird, especially before she got famous, to stick her alone with her paint set and wander off and not speak till she was done.
But, while people liked the paintings, they liked a thousand times more the story of the sweet, innocent four-year-old, imbued with the natural childhood ability to tap the mystical force of the imagination, as well with the rare gift to translate this on canvas so we can all experience again the evanescent joy of childhood.
The adults in this film are all very concerned about preserving Marla's childhood. Except for the Sixty Minutes crew - the Sixty Minutes crew seems mostly to be concerned about boosting ratings, and if they have to toss a family through the shredder to do it, well -
American culture has a tortured relationship with child prodigies. On the one hand we clearly can't get enough of them, but on the other hand there's always a heavy layer of censure aimed at the parents: Why aren't you letting your child have a happy childhood? (Children are only happy when they're wasting time, you know.) I think the Sixty Minutes crew figured Marla's parents deserved to suffer, having forced prodigy-hood on their child.
Well, actually, the media dumped the "prodigy" label on her. But never mind. The point is being judgmental about other people's parenting, and if Marla's mom and dad were good parents, clearly they would have stuck her paintings in a drawer so no one could see them, ever, and protected her from the horrible fate of having enough cash to pay for her college education twice over by the time she was five.
