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Easel

I had all the appropriate supplies for the writing class and I was sitting in my assigned seat. What would the prompt be?  Although I felt confident in my skills Saoirse, my two-year-old granddaughter is highly critical. I reached for the fat purple crayon. “No, Mamie.” I offered the Baby Shark coloring book only to be shot down again. It was the small book of stickers that finally got me the nod.

I reached for a section of newspaper and Saoirse happily chose stickers. My assignment was to start the peel back.   Just a little bit because Saoirse would prefer to do it herself.

There’s something about stickers that even adults enjoy. Stickers are the original, low tech emoji.  My nephew is a well-educated biologist working on medical research to cure cancer. He is an excited soon to be first time father, too. He came home from the dentist with a No Cavity sticker on his lapel. He loves a good laugh and paraded his accomplishment around the house that his wife had no choice but to send a photo on the family group text.

Saoirse was becoming familiar with the entire process. We identified each picture or word and stuck them to an old page of newspaper.  She loved the tackiness on her fingers as she manipulated each image.  It stuck and came off her fingers alternating hands.  She studied the difference of the result on the paper. Unlike my nephew, the tot’s interest in science waned and so did the space on the newspaper. The children have always been cautioned that stickers are never applied to the walls. Where? Where? Her eyes wandered. Eureka, she found it! My sweater. Lucky me.

She is number seven of my seven grandchildren so I’m familiar with the process of checking my clothing for post retail messaging before I leave the house. In moments my chest was full of cartoon cats. Meanwhile, I thought this is great, now I am an easel. As Saoirse added the finishing touches to her work, I decided that being an easel wasn’t such a bad deal as long as I wasn’t meeting a new director or producer with a dump truck sticker on my butt.

An easel supports the artist’s vision. It is there marking the starting point for whatever the artist chooses paper, posterboard or canvas. While I’m not a visual artist, writers have their own frame. It’s my notebook, my laptop that waits for me to fill the blank page. The easel is there, when the artist starts the day without judgement and holds steady throughout the creative process always beckoning the artist to experiment, continue and complete projects.

The dictionary definition fails us because we are the easel. Every parent, every teacher, every coach provides the same constant for someone.  But it isn’t always instructional sometimes it’s just for the fun. My daughter’s laptop still bears a sticker with its name, “laptop” because a mischievous runaway labelling gun at work. Sometimes, it looks like pure abandonment, like a Jackson Pollock painting or a movie night with the entire family sprawled on the sofa and popcorn flying.

The easel is receptive to all the colors in the rainbow and all the words in the dictionary.  An easel is an invitation to lift us out of ourselves and our boredoms. It is only bound by our acceptance of inspiration and a willingness to implement.

Oh yes, don’t overlook the tolerance for cleanup.  A toddler practices dexterity and small motor skills peeling and adhering stickers. While Saoirse compiled and edited her first masterpiece on my sweater a few stars and balloons floated to the floor.  Hardwood is the only place that a kiddie sticker truly sticks.