I was wandering through the Parish Hall at my little one’s school when suddenly I stopped right in my tracks.  There were tables lined up full of the same type of art work, only each one varied.  They say that’s the beauty of art; two people can paint the same thing and they can both come out completely different.  Someone had thoughtfully made official looking art tags with the child’s name and a set price for all at the bottom of each piece.  I found myself scanning the rows until my eyes lit upon my baby’s work.  Like a mad art collector at a Sotheby’s auction, I knew I had to have it.  Of course there was no competition.  I looked around and conveniently found a woman manning the proverbial fort armed with a four square iPhone credit card acceptor.  I snatched mine up and could not pay fast enough.  Asking how the kids did it, the woman said the art teacher called it bubble art with paint and straws.  Suddenly I had a flashback to the week earlier when I wondered why my little one came home with blue and orange fingernails; mystery solved.  I believe I have mentioned before that when I was little I never could get why something I’d made meant so much to my parents.  Now, with a mother’s eyes, I understand.  The American writer and retired pediatric surgeon, Bernie Siegel, once said:

“Feelings aroused by the touch of someone’s hand, the sound of music, the smell of a flower, a beautiful sunset, a work of art, love, laughter, hope and faith – all work on both the unconscious and the conscious aspects of the self, and they have physiological consequences as well.”

Then it occurred to me — THAT is what makes art so priceless to someone.  And I was very fortunate to have my masterpiece.