Among my few absolutes, this I know to be true: I can never be an artist. I can't, for the life of me, draw. While I love to doodle, I can't go beyond stick figures, stylized suns and flowers. And my "drawings" do not go beyond the logbook where minutes of (seemingly endless) meetings are jotted down.
Years ago, while sifting through papers that my mom religiously kept, I realized that I didn't have a single drawing. Ma said it was probably because I never drew; I wrote. To her eternal dismay, I wrote on walls, on chairs and tabletops, on books.
What about my art projects?, I asked. She rolled her eyes, and then I remembered: technically they were not really my projects. In short, I was not, I am not and I will never be an artist.
I resolved that this will not be the case with my daughter. As soon as she learned that they weren't food, I gave her crayons and all those artsy stuff. She seems to have taken well to scribbling and doodling. It's quite too early to tell, but this much I know: she'll make her own art projects.