Ford is an expressive, independent kid, and I’ve never tried to squash the juice out of him by making him “draw things” or label his art. Naturally, I would think, his artwork would be as it usually appears: more evocative than representational. He usually begins a piece by slowly dabbing and stroking the paper with paint, and then begins to get physical with the medium by testing the limits of the brush against brute strength(how hard can I jab the brush into the paper? how many times can I do this over and over again before something gives? this feels GOOD!) until finally, his piece resembles a meteor storm or a hurricane, or a dance, or a race. His work is never static.
I was in a funk after Jim and Alis left, feeling vaguely cathartic, venting, and extremely tired, when I began to sob. This consumed Ford, and he began to offer to buy me various things which he thought might make me happy again. I told him that I didn’t really want him to buy me anything, but that I would appreciate a drawing instead. And continued to decompress, although I was charmed by his efforts.
About five minutes later he came upstairs and handed me this drawing. It is, according to him, a picture of me and I am smiling. Notice the long arm, of which my left is longer (I am left-handed) and the petite legs. The smile is uncontrived, very nice. This is his first fully representational drawing that he initiated on his own. And all for me, it is mine. Granted, I am not praising his newfound mastery of realism, but instead just amazed at how he has restrained this capability he already apparently has in order to be true to his art, to nurture his expressive style. I’m very proud of that.