The other night, I had a dream about Pippa’s art. When my recollection of the dream comes into focus, I had gone to a gallery where a prestigious juried exhibition was about to open. I brought one of Pippa’s works — in the dream it was a shallow cabinet that she had painted and decorated — to show it to the various volunteers, ushers, and other interested parties standing around before the opening. All were enthusiastically impressed, and one of the young, black-clad art-student types urged me to get her involved with some outstanding art instruction program, “because it’s already happening right there” (pointing at the painted cabinet). Eventually, I headed for the door so as not to intrude on the formal opening festivities, but as I was leaving, one of the curators touched my arm and told me, “If you can leave that with us, we will find a place for it in the exhibition.”
That’s when I woke up. Pippa, when later informed of this auspicious dream, grimaced and rolled her eyes.
Yeah, no parental pressure there! 😉
Parental pride and enthusiasm can backfire. My Dad was constantly telling me that he expected me to grow up to be a writer. I developed quite the complex about it (to be fair, only partially because of his boosterism). Only late in the day am I gradually feeling okay about writing again.
I sure Pippa is much better adjusted than I am though!
It doesn’t surprise me a bit. One of her ‘jobs’ when she comes back in Aug, is to sign the drawing she made for me!