My daughter had just turned five when she started witnessing my sketchbook practice. During the spring of 2015, just as I started painting one afternoon, she unexpectedly asked to borrow one of my waterbrushes and a sheet of paper and proceeded to sketch a very pretty imaginary flower. By the summer she had convinced me to buy her a little watercolour moleskine and her own paints and brushes. Some of the most enduring memories of keeping sketchbooks over the last four years were the days my daughter and I would paint side by side. (I’ll refer to her here as M.)
Often I would save my sketch practice till my daughter was home from school. M would assess whether she found the subject I picked up that day interesting enough for her. The fruit and flowers were more appealing to her than the packaging or book covers that I sometimes chose. If she decided to join me, M would go gather her own watercolour supplies from her special drawer, and we’d paint together in matching moleskines. At the time we had a circular coffee table in our living room, which we placed in front of our open patio doors on sunny days. M had a little wooden chair that she could sit on, while I would be cross-legged on the carpet. I gave her very little instruction—she just went ahead and drew her outlines, then painted how she wanted. Sometimes she’d ask how to mix a particular colour, but most often we’d just work with companionable chatter, catching up with her day’s events at school.
What I love about these pieces is her candid and impartial approach. Being five years of age, she didn’t seem too concerned how her page turned out. There was no overthinking or overworking (which I was apt to do). She seemed to have a remarkable ability to simplify the object down so it was still recognisable, yet retain a freshness that some of my sketches lacked. It was interesting to see her carefree attitude. I learnt many lessons about loosening up my sketches and making decisions quickly rather than laboriously. She was not constrained by proportions, shading, or mixing exact shades. Being unhindered, at least in my eyes, M was able to paint from a place of pure joy that was delightful to see.
Almost immediately in the period after I asked for a divorce, M took the lead in deciding what we would paint. There followed a period when we embraced a very geometric route. Straight lines were and still are out of my comfort zone, but I was quite willing to show support for her ideas. M was in her element, and she seemed to enjoy the simple forms as seen previously in her flowers and fruit. However you can see the hesitancy and doubt in my sketches from this period. Sometimes they only covered half a page and were incredibly tight. I was still learning from my daughter, who seemed so at ease and instinctive with this outlook.
M’s father frowned upon our joint watercolour practice. We viewed the time I spent painting with our daughter from completely opposing viewpoints. I was supremely proud and impressed by her sketches, and I wanted to share her glorious little pieces. I felt it made M very content to see her work next to mine on the IG grid, knowing that her page was of the same value and interest for anyone viewing. I even made up a personal hashtag for her sketches: #fiveyearoldpaints However, her father felt that posting our daughter’s art on Instagram was contemptible and a cheap ploy to attract more ‘likes’ (I had about 3000 followers at the time). Although he became increasingly vocal about his feelings, we carried on regardless.
During this time I avoided being in the same room as my ex and had taken to sleeping on cushions on the floor of the office. He was very slow in making arrangements for finding alternative accommodation, which frustrated me. Telling both my children about the divorce was actually much easier in many ways than expected. Both seemed to instinctively know why their parents had to part ways.
Those simple and honest afternoons spent with our sketchbooks in the sun will stay with me forever. At a time when I knew my marriage was floundering, it was a truly bright spot and often the highlight of my day. The simple act we shared transcended all the lousy feelings that were flying around in other parts of my life at the time. Even looking at the sketches now, I am filled with tenderness for her and her capabilities. M’s three sketchbooks are kept in the same special drawer as my other smaller moleskins because they are so valuable to me. Memories from these experiences with my daughter, as fleeting as they were, delivered lasting happiness during that excruciating period.