Drawing on the walls

How important is art and creativity in your life? To me, it is neccessary as life itself, of vital, visceral importance.
Any ideas, sparks, art, words we can imagine within ourselves, and then, manage to translate them into something tangible, pulling thread by glowing thread out of ourselves, is purely magical. In a sense, we can melt and attain the literal crucible of expression.

It is not surprising that I think this way, considering this story from my childhood. It seems, my father was very, very much like me.

Strains of my moms conversation drifted vaguely over into the corner where I was playing with my toys, but the word 'walk' caught my attention. Tuning in, I heard mom mention she was going for an afternoon walk to visit some friends.
A walk? A walk was always such potential for adventure.

"I want to go for a walk," I said jumping up and running up to her.
She was still talking to the others, telling them to get their shoes on and to wash their face and hands.
Riv was six, Debbie fourteen, and I was the baby, just stubborn, contrary, curly four.

"I want to go for a walk" I said louder tugging on her long formal shabbos skirt and looking up at her with soulful eyes.

I want to go for a walk. I said more determinedly. "Can I come with you? "

Mom paused in mid word, looking down at my small, sticky form distractedly. "Not this time, Sara. You won't be able to keep up, and I can't carry you if your legs get tired, because it is shabbos." said Mom flatly.
You will stay with Mavis. Tommorrow, we can all go out to the zoo."
"...but, I like walks" I frowned at her, eyes blazing. I thought about raising the ante and having a tantrum, but saw the firm set of her jaw and decided not to bother.

She did have a point. I clearly remember wailing loudly all the way home on long shabbos walks, like a faulty car siren, because I demanded to be picked up, and nobody would listen. Religious jews do not carry on shabbat for religious reasons, there is just no question of breaking the many shabbat laws, so it was always impossible to pick me up and carry me home. So it is hardly surprising that I was left at home, absolutely furious.

Logic aside, I... still... wanted... to... go...

Well, I did not have to worry about Mavis interrupting me. The very busy housekeeper was nowhere in sight, no doubt cleaning up the dishes and detrius of a shabbos lunch enjoyed with many guests. She was probably arm deep in warm soapy lemon, scented water, washing countless dishes, and gazing dreamily out of the window.

Hmmm, they would definitely regret leaving me at home, eyes narrowed I formulated a suitable reaction to show my total and utter displeasure.
I pulled out my tub of crayons. Drawing was my favourite pastime besides adventure, but it was also forbidden to draw on shabbos, it was another one of the shabbos laws.
Shabbos was the reason I could not go on the walk, so now, I was going to draw!

I had to be fully prepared for my undertaking. I went and got a sturdy wooden chair from the kitchen. I was right, Mavis was preoccupied, and I passed by without her looking up.
I pulled the chair into my bedroom with effort, and tugged it all the way over to the stark, white wall...

Climbing up onto the chair, I picked up a pine green crayon to start, and begain to draw faces. Five feet up...I stretched my small arms out and up as far as they could go and drew with bright, bold, slashed lines. I drew large, almost life sized people, they towered over me... I drew their heads and shoulders, adding hair and ears and earrings or hats. I got off the chair to continue each body, drawing their feet in line with the floor. I got on and off the chair, pulling it over as I covered the wall. I drew no less then nineteen or twenty people all over the room. When finished, the room was very crowded. Every single wall was occupied by my wonderous crayon scrawled friends. I had done a good job too, my best work yet, maybe.

There! Now I was not home practically alone anymore, I thought with satisfaction and a twinge of fear. Not only did I draw all over the walls, but I also was not allowed to be drawing on shabbat to begin with.
I was not sure I cared either way. I frowned again, and waited for them to return.

When mom and Abba walked back into the house, they came looking for me to make sure I was all right. The walked into my bedroom and just stood there, amazed and flabbergasted.
I had most definitely protested in spectacular fashion, and the message had been received.
I stood there, trepidation on my face.

I had been a very, very bad little girl.

Before mom could bring herself to speak, Abba moved forward, and began walking from picture to picture with sparkling eyes. He turned to Mom, "Can we keep these on the wall? These are amazing. look at those expressions, they are all different. Look at the details. Look at these eyes, eyebrows and hands."
Mom leaned against the doorframe and finally said weakly, "No, I don't think we should keep this. I do think we should take pictures after shabbos though, then we can try scrub it off."

Religious jews do not take pictures or use mechanical devices on shabbos. Nor do they scrub walls. So everything would have to wait until after shabbos. Until then, my mural would remain on the wall. Abba continued to examine it delightedly.

At that point, I thought I had better slip out of the room, before my parents paid more attention to the perpetrator of this art vandalism.

By the time shabbos ended at sundown, it was bedtime, so I went to sleep, tired out from all my drawing.
I woke up the next morning and the walls were scrubbed clean, as if the pictures had never been.

I knew a photograph had been taken, and wondered if the picture had been sucked right off the wall and into the camera, like magic.
When I asked Mom about this, she laughed wryly and said, "No, it was not magic. We took the picture first, but we were scrubbing the crayon off the wall for hours."


From a practical point of view, things like making a mess, while working, becomes peripheral noise to the act of creating or forming the art. I know that, Abba knew that, he appreciated an unfettered creative spirit, which was lucky for me.

I do believe he truly understood that art created with vibrant spirit, and hands willing to follow the ideas of a beating, hot-blood heart, are to be nurtured.
Creating satisfies the deepest recesses of the glowing soul, both for the artist, and those who love to see it, feel it, and be moved by it.

My children hopefully will be creative for their entire lives. All of them draw, and write a bit, but aside from the usual toddler scrawl on the walls, mostly confine themselves to paper.
I am glad for that...
I think.