Last Saturday, I had a painting party in my basement. The artists were aged 5 to 9, four girls and three boys. We had canvases, brushes, paint and we were doing "Art". It was, as always, fascinating to see the personalities in action. The boys gathered together as if in self-defence and 30 minutes later, were done and playing with dragons! The girls took over 3 hours to finish, with a break for much appreciated lemonade, pie and ice-cream, and many breaks to torture Fatso with excessive love and enthusiasm. (The poor thing was clearly wondering was on earth was going on and what did these people want?)
Much of the girls' creations involved flowers, butterflies, suns and sticks with long hair that were proudly declared to be... me. Little Gabriel, 9 year-old, a classmate of the Papou, painted something else however.
He made a rather clean and clear painting of two tall black towers, a lower building, an a plane hitting the first tower.
It really stunned me, yet I can't find the words to say why.
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