Actually, as it turned out, I wasn't an artist. I was remarkably average if truth be told. I probably hit my peak at about 13 and anything I attempted to draw on paper after that, still looked I had drawn it at 13.
But through the years I have yearned to reignite my 'talent' and purchased watercolours, oils, pastels in a misguided belief that perhaps my artistic career faltered at 13 because I just hadn't found the right medium. No. Still remarkably average.
The Big One was given an art project at school and wanted to draw a pyramid. This had also coincided with his newfound knowledge about shading. I remembered I had a box of pastels hidden at the back of a cupboard and I offered them to him to use.
As I opened the box, his face lit up, he sighed at the beautiful array of colour offered to him. He picked up a pastel and drew a line on the paper for the first time, snapping it in two. I gasped. He had broken the pastel. I breathed deeply to calm my anxiety. He had broken the pastel. I forced myself not to snatch the box back from him. He had broken the pastel. I reminded myself that they had been in a cupboard for at least 10 years. He had broken...
I let him carry on. Those pastels are now his. The younger two children are not allowed to even breathe over them. His rule. Not mine.
I hope he will continue with his art. He loves it so much. It is the only thing that he concentrates on. He enjoys putting pen to paper as much as his Mum and even if it turns out that his talent peaks at 13 too, he will have enjoyed creating his master pieces.
Incredibly, with all that colour at his disposal, he drew a panda.