about the only thing i liked about teaching art to children of a certain age (11-12), which i did for a few years in the early nineties until i switched to teaching people who were allegedly adults, was that the kids didn’t care whether what they made was any good or not. it existed for them in a space which was beyond quality and beyond judgement. they loved making something, and what they made, for its own sake.

the painting is by a kid called basquiat


the seventh time








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