After giving me the rainbow, Claude drew an epic diamond attached to a tree.
“The diamond is what powers the tree to keep growing and never die,” he explained.
“I made the rainbow coming into the diamond to keep the tree rainbow.”
Our kids treat art as a way to experiment with gift-giving; so many of their artworks — which range wildly from brilliance to randomness — are given straight to the parents. “It’s for you, Shaba!” And I never feel more like a fantasy parent than at that very moment. It feels like a big deal to be the person who sustains someone else’s fantasy that their creations will be loved, that their work will be deemed good. I feel like a stunt double for unconditional affirmation. If I’m ever ambivalent about the art, I never say so. I praise everything when it comes to the drawings.