Family Arts Night

Inspired by Shepard Fairey
Inspired by Shepard Fairey

Well, it wasn’t the Met or the MFA, but it was pretty interesting. That’s the Young Mr’s self portrait, captured by my lousy arrogant phone. You will have to take my word for it that it’s as good a representation of a 14-year-old Providence kid as a Brooklyn-based hipster writer as you are likely to find in a public middle school. It was described to me by the creator as “discombobulated.”

TimeLine
TimeLine

I was quite taken with the posters created in one class of 8th graders (some of whom I know). This one, “Time Line,” struck me for the maker’s familiarity with the passage of time. From the EBT card to the prescription bottle, it seems this kid has grasped life’s progression.

$20,000 a Year
$20,000 a Year

I liked this one, too: Education and Success starts with Money. Everyone Should be Entitled to at least $20,000 a year. You can just hear the anti-public-school activists’ engines starting, and if this were to end up on the ProJo’s website, the anti-union comment trolls would feast upon hatred. (Those comment threads are dangerous waters.)

Black Friday Mayhem
Black Friday Mayhem

Austin, who played Toto in the fourth-grade play, took aim at consumerism and Black Friday. He likes Manga and used to play Yu-Gi-Oh with the Young Mr on the school bus. The text was hard to read even in person, but I believe there is commentary on people should be home with their families, and people don’t even know what there is to buy, but they want it. The mayhem is clear: I think this must be a drawing of the awful trampling incident. As far as I know, his parents are still a teacher’s aide and a cook, so is likely a pure expression of a basic instinct for fairness, which is probably what’s behind “$20,000 a year.”

Sad Elephant
Sad Elephant

This had no caption and no artist’s signature. I like the haunting, sort of Miyazaki-esque quality of the artwork (I saw a lot of manga and anime-inspired work), and I like the contrast between the light and dark areas, though it is probably not quite finished.

There were musical performances, one a violin piece played by a girl with twig-thin arms, and another set by a jazz trio who seemed unsure of their lyrics. Still, they soldiered on, though they may have sounded better when they slipped into a classroom and played just for themselves.

The Young Mr was wound up and bossy as an Art Guide, and had to be removed from school half an hour after the event ended so that he could be made to eat his dinner. It is fortunate that we are only two blocks from school. Next year, at least there is a coffee shop across from the high school. I suspect they’ll get to know me well.

A Digression on Lofting

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You could blame the Doctor. It’s not entirely his fault, but at an early age I discovered the Dr. Dolittle books and was captivated: talking animals, quirky illustrations, an idyllic-mythical English past without dragons? I’m moving there, please write.

I was reminded of this when Amanda Vickery tweeted about favourite children’s book illustrators and the article in the Guardian, and I thought of how much my son’s drawings have lately reminded me of Lofting’s, and how much he and I love the books. Yes, they’re racist, and they are of their time. They’re mild fantasies, they’re anthropomorphic, they’re silly, and at a certain level, misogynistic (see the treatment of Sarah Dolittle, the doctor’s sister). But really, don’t you want a duck to be your housekeeper?

20121210-184422.jpgLofting, born in England in 1886, studied there before coming to America to study civil engineering at MIT in Cambridge, MA. The clear line of his Puddleby drawings are infused with the drafting he could have learned as an engineer. He served with the Irish Guards on the Western Front during World War I, and the Dr. Dolittle stories grew from the letters he wrote home to his children.

As a child, Dr. Dolittle had all the things I liked: talking animals, adventures, English villages and cities, and a wardrobe from the past.

My son likes Dr. Dolittle because the stories are about things he’d like to doing: “talking to animals, going on wild adventures, doing all this crazy stuff, and going with the flow.” He says the stories inspire him to learn about animals, and “to get out there and be with them..” (I assume he means at Coggeshall Farm). Dumber, beware.

Lofting moved his family to Connecticut after he was wounded in the war, and died there in 1947. Most of the books he wrote were published in the 1920s, though some anthologies of stories were published posthumously. An inveterate (congenital?) literary snob, I considered the posthumous works rather lesser, even as I read them several times.

Whether you approve of him or not, Lofting remains one of the gentle fabulists of the early 20th century, and the fact that my son reads him today is testament to the staying power of gentle, animal-centric fabulist fiction.