CHRIS FLECK 

One day, my five-year-old daughter, Marissa—she’s now over 30—tried to convince me she couldn’t paint or draw. I promised her that if she gave me one day, I would prove her wrong. And I did. Her portrait of me remains one of our favorite memories.

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Once I freed her mind from those negative limitations, I told her to paint the shapes, edges, and colors as she actually saw them—not according to her preconceived notions of what she believed to be true.

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“Eyes aren’t shaped like footballs,” I said. “Paint what you see.”

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And she did. Her painting of me still hangs in a frame as a reminder of the day she discovered her inner painter.

 

This is the same philosophy I share with my adult students in my attic studio on Saturdays.