So, I’m standing in front of a drawing that’s taped to my daughter’s bedroom door. This particular creation is done with fruity-scented markers, and she’s just 6 years old. The artwork features a rainbow that curls into a wave shape, and a big, chunky tree with bulbous leaves similar to pawpaws leans awkwardly under its own weight. The tree seems to be either trying to use the rainbow like a flashy scarf or is moments away from being crushed under its own size.
This rainbow has a certain weight; it feels tangible, almost like clay. Interestingly, orange dominates the piece, far more than any other color: purple, blue, green, yellow, and red are all eclipsed. (Let’s not get into indigo or violet; that just makes Tate cranky.) The orange is thick in the center and tapers at the ends, with lines that burst upward like rays of sunshine. Clearly, orange is breaking free, refusing to conform to the usual color palette—it’s practically yelling, “Let me out!” and “Where’s that pot of gold?!”
I’ve dubbed this stage of Tate’s artistic journey her post-impressionist phase. Like any budding artist, she goes through different styles. As a toddler, she explored abstract expressionism, and once she could grip a marker, she moved on to stick figures. What makes her early works distinctly hers is that most of her characters are girls with oversized heads, long lashes, and hair that resembles colorful balloons, usually topped off with a bow.
Eventually, her stick figures expanded to include animals, particularly mice. I could fill a whole coffee table book with her endless pages of these little creatures. They’re round with arms raised in surrender, a simple line for a mouth dividing their faces, and they all look a bit glum (the female mice are less gloomy because of their fluttery lashes and cheerful bows). Her older brother, Jake, has taken on the role of her critic.
“Tate!” he often exclaims, “Boys have lashes too!”
But Tate remains unfazed.
She also started to draw scenes with friends holding hands—always pairs; families represented by hearts; mermaids with hands as big as mitts; and cats peeking out from houses painted in tropical colors, where oversized flowers float like clouds. She even had a brief but wild bunny phase. These weren’t the sweet, cuddly rabbits you might expect—Tate’s bunnies have bulging eyes, square foreheads, and necks that seem to stretch unnaturally, not to mention crooked ears and scarecrow-like arms. I can only guess her dislike for carrots influenced this design choice.
Like any true artist, Tate absorbs influences from her environment—in this case, first grade. As she dives into letters and words, she’s created what I call word-art. She fills her pages with sketches and then labels everything: cloud, bird, tree, bush, road, Eiffel Tower. The final result is a whimsical map reminiscent of something Roald Dahl might conjure.
I watch her at the kitchen table, her blonde hair bent in concentration, carefully selecting each scented color from a tub that once contained artichoke dip. She’s completely at ease with her art, unburdened by self-doubt. No boxes or societal norms stifle her creativity.
I know there will come a time when Tate might hesitate to wear her skort as a tank-skirt because, well, people don’t usually wear pants on their heads. She might pause when Jake points out that putting blue eyeshadow on her lips is odd and flowers don’t come in those colors. She may even learn to draw “normal” bunnies and decide that layering a dress over a skirt over capris is a bit much. Eventually, she may even have to accept that indigo and violet do belong in a rainbow. The survival of her artistic spirit may be in jeopardy, and she’ll need to dig deep to find her voice again.
Two fluffy clouds sit atop Tate’s rainbow-wave, one large and one small. Initially, they were pristine, perfectly balancing color with the absence of it, but after a week of living with her artwork, Tate decided they needed smiley faces (with lashes, of course, because these clouds are girls). This shows that, like a true artist, Tate often doesn’t know when to stop. Bright blue strokes swirl around her cheerful clouds, filling every blank space with sky and leaving little to the imagination yet somehow everything.
In sum, Tate’s artistic journey is a delightful exploration of color, form, and imagination, showcasing her uninhibited view of the world. It’s a reminder that creativity thrives best without the constraints of conventionality.
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