That afternoon, shortly before I had to rest, I had a lovely visit from four young children. A neighbor girl and boy, aged seven, and two sisters, aged seven and nine, who were visiting the neighbor boy.
Just before that, when I had drunk some water from the kitchen tap and looked out through the large kitchen window, I had seen a group of children waving at me from behind the fence at the back of our deep garden, in the chicken garden, where no chickens of ours have been walking for years, but our neighbors’ chickens have, so they can keep the weeds nice and short.
When I waved back, they came over to me. They neatly closed the gate of the chicken garden behind them and after crossing the back lawn, they also neatly closed the gate to the front lawn behind them. Then they walked across that grass and over the asphalt patio toward me at the back door. I could hear the neighbor girl and boy bragging from afar about how beautifully I could draw. They all asked busily at once if they could come and have a look. Of course! If they took of their dirty boots and shoes first.
It became very cozy. The children were enthusiastic about the watercolor paintings and the drawings that I showed them. And they asked all sorts of questions, about what I’d made, but also, for example, about my health, because ‘Why do you always have to rest in the afternoon?’ ‘That’s not much fun, is it?’ They kept asking questions and wanted to know everything. They also asked about my children, how old they are and what kind of work they do.
As generous as the children were with their enthusiasm and their compliments, the two sisters were equally honest in their criticism. ‘I don’t like that red bit near that mouth very much, because it makes it look like blood is coming out’ and ‘I would add a bit more shadow on that side’.
Now I’m just working on a series of three self-portraits in colored pencil and although I have a rather pale face, with once red-blonde curly hair that is now thin and mostly light gray, I decided I was going to make portraits colorful. So, of course they noticed. ‘Your face isn’t that red, is it?’ and ‘Your hair doesn’t have that many colors, does it?’ ‘But that’s art, right?’, the eldest girl then said, understandingly. Indeed!
They were sad to have to leave so soon. Not only because I had to rest, but also because the sisters were about to be picked up by their mother. Could they come back another day? Of course! And in the meantime, I told them, I’d appreciate it if they would make a drawing for me, or write me a little poem or a short story, and put it in my mailbox.
‘Bye Bea!’, ‘Thank you Bea! I like you very much!’, ‘Me too!’, ‘All of us!’ ‘Bye bye!’