The experience of most children’s childhoods as documented by Caroline A. Singleton:
The boil pussed, blistered, and popped, and that is what the artist chose to focus her inspiration around.
The work was ambitious- drawing human hands always presented a challenge- the proportion of the thumb, to the pinky, and remembering five not six fingers (typically) and the detail of hairy knuckles. She took colored pencils to the next frontier, scraping, shading in the lines to form the all important pustule. A medical condition that did not receive adequate attention that it deserved in the arts.
As visions of black death steamed around the flesh tone of the sharpened pencil, a polyp of unprecedented proportions evolved. A few more twists in the pencil sharpener, a line here and there, and a perfecto boil-o.
At last- a grin and a gaze of the paper at an arm’s length away, and the tableau was ready for art critics.
“Mom!” and the young artist pridefully passed the paper.
“Uh huh sweetie.”
The lack of feedback, be it positive or negative. No signals that the nuances of the craft were noticed. Slight recognition.
The young artist sullenly bowed her head and exited the kitchen.
“Maybe the issue is I’m showing Ann (her mother) too much good work. Or maybe she (Ann) just doesn’t understand.”
And the artist goes back to the drawing board.