I always want to be the person who will bring another dimension to the kids’ lives and take the time to do something new and different to what they might do at home on a weekend. Hopefully create many memories together.

Ayla was around 5 years old and Kaiden was either 3 or 4 years old and they were spending the weekend with me. At the time, my home was in the heart of Surry Hills and within walking distance of fabulous restaurants, cafes, wine bars, and galleries.

We walked to one of the local art galleries, and, before we stepped inside, I stopped and bent down and told them where we were. I said, “This is an art gallery. Do you know what a gallery is?” In unison, they said, “No.” “Well, you know how much you love doing arts and crafts at home?” “Yes,” said Ayla. “Not really,” said Kaiden. I smiled. “Well, when people get bigger and their paintings or sculptures are good enough, they put them in a place like this where everyone can see them and maybe buy them. This is a gallery.”

I decided this was the time to explain “don’t touch”.

“So,” I said, “because these are other people’s artwork, you cannot touch anything. You have to hold onto Aunty Tanny’s hand and remember you can look as close as you want – but you don’t touch.”

Somewhat satisfied with the explanation and instructions, with some trepidation, I motioned for the kids to move inside.

I felt happy to be taking the kids to see something new and different.

We looked at the large metal chicken sculptures and paintings and took turns voting which ones we liked the best. We moved through the rooms and the kids started to wander around more freely –within sight and grabbing distance if their urge to touch was too strong.

The gallery had a reasonable crowd wandering through – all ages.

We walked into the last room, and it was filled with artwork that, on closer inspection, looked like tightly screwed up crepe paper stuck on canvas. The art was bright and dynamic, creating fabulous colourful shapes and designs. I watched the kids look closely and slowly move to the next one.

I don’t know what it is about a gallery – but they are quiet, and people speak in hushed tones, except kids.

As we left the art gallery Ayla announced loudly, “You know Aunty Tanny, Kaiden could do these paintings, he scribbles really well.” I looked around the room and smiled at others who had turned when Ayla spoke. I made sure the kids thanked the staff at the gallery when we were planning to leave. As we headed towards the door, Ayla announced she was going to be a painter. Kaiden said he was going to be a policeman.

————————————————-

After coffee, cold drinks, and banana bread, we walked over to Brett Whiteley’s studio. Brett Whiteley was a famous Australian artist who passed away some years before.

As we approached the entrance, his famous ‘Almost Once’ burnt matchstick sculpture was by the door and the kids became very excited with anticipation. This quickly passed with questions like…” …but who stopped it from burning Aunty Tanny, who blew it out? It’s so big.” It was around six feet high.

I did not have the heart to tell him about the same sculpture in The Domain, Sydney that stands over twenty feet high.

I did not have to answer. They kept moving, pushed open the front door and stopped to take it all in.

I bent down and took their hands. With a big smile on my face and a slight plea in my voice, I told them, “Like I said before, you can look at everything… just please don’t touch!”

There were quite a few adults wandering around and the studio has a mezzanine level where kids can draw their own pictures.

As we moved into the main room, I watched the kids take it all in. They commented on the paintings with excited voices of “Look at this one Aunty Tanny,” or, “Come and see this.” Their energy was high, and it was fabulous to watch.

Along the right-hand side of the wall was a very large canvas. I had not even glanced at it before hearing Kaiden in a very, very loud voice… “Look at this picture, Aunty Tanny, this man has got an arm in his bottom.”

He was standing what seemed like inches from the painting. People turned and it was suddenly deathly quiet. I could not move quickly enough to grab him. Panic raced through me. It was a mix of fear. One, I was petrified he would touch the painting and I would lose my home in order to pay for it, and two, I did not want him to ask me another question about it. While I didn’t spend more than a nanosecond looking at it, I am pretty sure it wasn’t an arm.

I redirected. “Hey kids… let’s go upstairs and draw our own pictures.” Outwardly I was calm and trying to be so cool. I was protective of the kids, and I felt the judgement in the stares from others.

I took the kids’ hands and we walked the stairs to the next level.

I don’t know if they are budding young artists at heart, but at worse, I know they scribble well.