Pollock, Esher, Monet, O’Keefe, Calder, Rousseau. And more. Actually, I don’t see a single Picasso. I was skeptical, but look what ten year olds can do.
This last O’Keefe is by my grandson, Francis. He stuck it one more day, but when offered the chance to give up his paint brushes to Caroline, he headed for the exit. He fiercely avows hating painting, but I bet he also dislikes being the only boy in a class of three.
Caroline had a glorious two days, telling France he missed the splatter and the dribble day. Without further ado, artists of renown, re-rendered by some enthusiastic little girls:
Oh, yes, they painted the picnic table, too.