The Legacy and Love Behind a Child's First Painting
In our tiny apartment in Greece, I first witnessed the spark of creativity in my children. When Dimitra was under one year old, she would watch John and I work and always try to reach for the paints. She would sit on the bed near my easel, suck her thumb, hold her soft night, and just watch me paint.
Finally, at one year old, we let her have a go, allowing her to sit with an acrylic palette of paint and some brown craft paper to just make a mess. She squealed with delight as she got her hands full of paint and squished it all over. She was hooked. Whenever she saw us painting, she wanted to be right in the middle of it. By the time she was two years old, she had her own easel from Ikea and never tired of painting.
Nurturing Creativity in Children
Why do we want our children to be like us? We beam when others say, "Oh, just like her mother…" Our hearts swell with pride when our kids excel in school, score the winning goal, or receive an award. Of course, we want our children to do well, have integrity, raise their own families, and find a loving, supportive spouse. We wish for their happiness and fulfillment. Yet, when they are discouraged, struggling, or falling short, we feel responsible and worry for them.
When they are children, we dream big for them. We catch the tiniest glimpse of exceptionalism, and our imaginations start to picture them in the Olympics. I was always thrilled when my kids did well on a science project or scored an A on a math test, but when they excelled in art, I was over the moon. Their schools didn't have great art programs, so John and I volunteered to teach art once a week in their classes.
When Dafni came along, she liked to color. She loved big, chunky crayons she could grab with her fists and loved drawing all over everything. She would make marks and scribble anywhere she could. If she painted, she liked to hold big brushes and draw scribbly lines everywhere.
We had a half-door into our studio so we could keep an eye on the kids while we painted. They would stand on their tippy-toes and peer in over the door, trying to see what we were painting. "I wanna paaaaint, I want colors," was a constant mantra at the house. When all four kids sat on the floor and painted, it was a creative explosion: frayed brushes, goopy paper towels, paint on clothes, paint all over their bodies, paint in their hair. But there was joy and wonder and piles of colorful memories.
Significance of a Child's First Painting
Now that all four kids have grown into adults and all are artists, amazing painters, jewelers, and designers, I feel so very honored. I feel honored that I was chosen to raise such creative and brilliant young people who will touch so many lives in a powerful way. Sometimes, I feel like the school was there just for them, to nurture their desire to paint and teach them the skills they needed. Each one of them had to find themselves and, at times, deal with self-doubts and fight the calling of their purpose. They didn't always know they wanted to be artists.
Just this weekend, I was privileged to babysit Zion, my 11-month-old grandson, while Dimitra and Jake were working at Dimitra's art show. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I wanted to do something different and fun with him. I grabbed his unopened finger paint set I bought him for Christmas and a towel and went outside in the grass. In only a diaper, I turned him loose with the paint. Zion was a little hesitant at first, like he almost didn't want to get messy with it.
So, I dumped some purple paint onto the paper and put his hand in mine. I showed him he could touch it. As soon as he saw the paint spreading around the paper, he was all in—both hands grabbing fistfuls of paint and slapping the paper. I was in control of opening new colors and swapping papers before they got muddy while I wrestled with my camera, trying to capture it all.
After our paint session, Zion got a nice warm bath, and we watched the water turn blue, purple, and green as the paint left his skin. For Zion, it was just another fun day, playing in the grass, petting the horses, chasing the dogs, and having a bath. For his grandma, memories flooded back: little hands, painted bodies, mess, and joy. Most of all, I remembered my dreams for my children.
Zion will have a life full of art. He will always be surrounded by creative people, art supplies, and paintings. He has been to the art gallery a dozen times now and spends hours in his mother's studio watching her paint. One of his favorite places to sneak off to is Grandma's studio. He knows there is always wet paint on my palette and tries to get fistfuls when he can. I know when he is older and understands what drawings represent, he will be mesmerized watching his grandpa draw.
A Legacy of Artistic Expression
We all want to live a life of purpose and destiny and to know that our time counts for something. We want our children to grow up and make a difference. But most of all, I think we want a legacy. We want our children's children to somehow carry something of ourselves into the next generation. To see our lives not only make an impact in our lifetime but to leave a mark on this world that outlives us.
We want our life's work to carry the essence of our spirit, a testament to the legacy we aspire to leave behind. Legacy is not merely about the accolades we gather or the wealth we accumulate; it's about the resonance of our actions, the echo of the faith in our vision, and the imprint of our creativity on the souls we touch. It's about living out our story so authentically, with our deepest truths and highest aspirations, that it continues to inspire, uplift, and stir wonder long after we are gone.
Our children are our fruit, whether they are our natural children or our spiritual children, and our grandchildren are our legacy. What an honor and a gift that they are our indelible mark on the universe, a whisper of our existence woven into the fabric of eternity.
What moment or experience first drew you into the world of art? Share your earliest art-related memory!
The first several years of my life as a child was completely unstable, neglectful and filled with multiple traumas. The Lord had enough (me too) & paved the way to my maternal grandma’s home where we remained Stable, Loved, safe, nurtured and eventually thrived. My siblings & I ended up being raised by my grandma & my aunt (19yr old by the time I came as the 3rd kid in the household) stayed to help raise the 3 of us. I was the baby at age 4, my sister, Felicia, age 5 and my developmentally disabled brother, Jayson, was 8yr old. My mother gave birth prematurely to my brother and abandoned him in the hospital. She was 17yr old. He was adopted by my grandma then later on my sister & I were born & dumped place to place with strangers for weeks & months at a time. We endured various types of abuse but I remember being connected to something that guided me; a portal I could easily connect with, draw strength from, find comfort in & use my imagination to create the world around me that was much different from the one I was forced into. I turned to the stars and moon at night & connected with nature everyday. That was my escape, my means of survival and where I could thrive! My imagination became my new magical home where no abuse, no anger, no dishonesty & no darkness lived nor was allowed!
When my sister & I became a part of my grandma’s household we met 2 aunts & 1 uncle still living at home as they were young adults and I met my cousin. He was 3yr older than me. With a household that added 2 girls brought the balance and drama all at the same time. We were stepping stones my bro 8, my cousin 7, my sister 5 & myself 4. I’m not sure what my grandma saw but she saw something in me that prompted her to buy me more art supplies and musical instruments of all kinds. My disabled brother and I were drawn daily to drawing, coloring and playing music. We both played music by ear & self taught ourselves. I enjoyed playing the keyboard and would play songs for my grandma to guess. We got a household jukebox with microphone & the 4 of us quickly became “The Jackson 5” …. well, 4 for us, singing MJ, Prince, Phil Collins, Cindi Lauper, Madonna, Whitney, Anita Baker and so many others. We were FREE to express ourselves without restriction, without punishment and with genuine Love! With these freedoms, I started adding to my artistic expression not even knowing I was. My brother, sister & I would cut up cereal boxes, which weren’t the flimsy cheap ones like today, and we built a massive dollhouse inspired by the home we lived in that contained pocket doors, double French doors and columns. We were poor but had no idea as we were rich in Love & we lived in big Beautiful Victorian Historic homes. I later grew to learn we lived in a “gold mine” area that no one knew about. Cumberland, Maryland, it’s a gem tucked in the valley of the mountains. Growing up in Cumberland gave me exposure to architecturally crafted Victorian homes with arched doorways, pocket doors, French glass doors, stained glass windows, Tiffany lamps, gargoyle and cherubs on buildings and massive fireplaces, basements/ attics in every home, built in cupboards, bookshelves & glass cabinets in the walls and antiques galore! That was just indoor when you’d venture outside to the great outdoors exploring had no limits! Mountains in all directions, animals, fresh crisp clean air, early morning fog way up in the mountain tops, sunrise and sunsets that peek over mountains, church steeples sitting on mountain tops, big dollhouse style sheds that were designed exactly like the house and for the purpose of a playhouse. We lived on Washington St. The most prominent, Historic street in town & we were in heaven & was one of the handful of kids living on that street and the only blacks.
I explored every inch of that street, the woods and inside of most houses. Doors were always left unlocked and the homes were so big I would sneak in with other neighborhood kids and explore the home entirely and people’s possessions. We never took anything but admired things like fancy glass perfume bottles sitting on glass vanities with matching silver handled hair brush and combs. The carvings of furniture, headboards, fireplaces, crown molding indoor and out. I admired paintings and the story they told and the antiques that filled the home.
I was riding my bike one day and my big handheld bouncy ball that glittered in the sun fell out my back pocket and bounced down a driveway up the street from my house. I ran down their driveway to catch it before it disappeared into the woods that dropped down to a street below us. I caught my ball but when I stood up a Great sparkle grabbed my attention from my “first aid” checks on my ball. I find myself standing next to a huge brick pond that was adorned with greenery and big, huge, Wait What is That??? They were huge, gorgeous gold black, white, speckled and patchy reds, and black and ohh, there’s a “blue denim” patchy pink one. They saw me glaring down at them & they surfaced with their big lips puckering out the pond. I wanted to pet them but I was scared they’d for sure take my tiny finger so I took mental pictures so I could describe them to my grandma and I rushed home to do so. As I told my grandma about my “magical pond” experience she became terrified that I was on someone else’s property and reassured me that I could not just trespass on other’s property. I didn’t think it was a big deal but I was only 7yr old by then. I knew I couldn’t go back to the pond again and later on in time when I went to go one last time before we moved they were all gone. The magic was all gone and the owner walked out and caught me on the property. My Heart sink with fear. The older lady gently spoke to me inviting me into her garden where she talked about her flowers and how her Koi fish she called them all had to be buried due to the warmer breaking and they got too cold. My heart was broken and I wanted to cry but a different kind of magic happened, one in which my fears of strangers and what they would do to me lifted at that moment in her garden. I remember practicing drawing them and coloring them with crayons 🖍 I don’t know what ever happened to that drawing but as an adult who is a furniture artist I created 2 pieces of furniture with those Koi fish. One was a colorful Koi pedestal table that I sold and the other was a black one with flowered Koi fish I drew in a silhouette & cut out to form a collage of Koi fish in a flowered pond with that conversation in the form of a written letter on the 2nd tier. Until this day I create Art of all kinds drawing my inspiration from nature, life and my Journey thus far. I always dreamed I’d teach all my children how to express themselves through many forms of art just as I do. I
like to write poems, short stories, act 🎬, draw, paint, recreate just about anything and helping others. The crushing part of life is that I wasn’t blessed with children. When I tried I got breast cancer instead and having gone through chemo treatments it took away my ability to have children and although I’m crushed I truly believe the Lord will still Bless me somehow. The Lord has never left me even when I thought He did and my walk in life now is leading me to my children. I just have to TRUST & HAVE FAITH until we find one another! As I grow in my Art journey, I also grow in my spiritual journey and in the midst of creating is where I meet my creator, where my anxieties are calmed and my visions are transformed into my expression of art.
~Tosha Watkins
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Elli Milan Art replied:
Wow, Tosha! What an incredible story, and you share it so beautifully. You will find the people who God wants you to influence in this life, and He will do great things through you. I love how that special memory of the koi fish has impacted you and your art. Keep expressing your heart and conquering your fears! 💪✨
Art has been part of me as long as I can remember. Of course mine started with crayons and coloring books. I never colored inside the lines and I used my imagination to determine what color everything should be. The home I grew up in was not one filled with artists but one that allowed me to express myself freely.
My father’s side, on the other hand, is filled with creatives. Musicians, singers, and artists who draw and paint. So interesting that I grew up not really knowing the depth of creativity in my family roots.
Being creative is part of my soul and who I am … even though it is not what I currently do for a living.
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Elli Milan Art replied:
You should get back to your art and think about doing it for a living. 😊
My earliest memory was trying to draw horses because I always loved them. I was 10 and rarely I was able to ride horses especially when we lived in Washington state near lots of open spaces and farms. I can still feel the wind in my hair. I do experience similar feelings when I snow ski, ride in boats and my convertible. I love that feeling of happiness! Thanks for sharing your story!
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