And last but not least on our museum tour, a piece in crayon entitled “ejdyjrhshdb”.

As you can see, the mastermind behind this portrait used green scribbles to represent a two-story house. They portrayed a dog in a very interesting way, which would be an orange blob. Very artistic. Now, if you look very closely, you can see a stick figure wearing a dress, with circles for hands and random lines for fingers. I this particular piece, this imagry is meant to represent a mother figure.

That concludes our tour for this evening. What a wonderful, masterful sketch to end on!

That day I had left work early to collect my 4year old son from his fall art camp at kindergarten. At 3pm I found my self in my Blue Nissan note with the radio on medium tone, vibing to a country song. I relaxed in the traffic for some time while the sun boiled down and waited for the wardens to direct us to the best route. I made it 3:45 at Caden’s school and was greeted by Ms Garcia his teacher that did not mention Caden’s unmatchable talent I had never seen before. My footsteps made their way into his classroom and my eyes traced his hands onto his vibrant orange and yellow painting of fall. This discovery had me questioning if this four year old boy was my son. Caden had a profound painting skill, one similar to an experienced painter. The leaves in this painting had texture which brought it to live. It was perfectly crinkled and cut to mimic those that lay lifeless beneath Sycamore trees during fall season. I yelled to Ms Garcia and asked her if she had known how well he could paint and she said “ He must love fall”. Before I knew it he turned to me and said,“Daddy I want to be a painter”. I smiled cheek to cheek being able to see my son’s future through his painting.

Let us consider the composition as a whole. At first glance, one might dismiss it as a mere scattering of blots and wayward lines. But upon deeper inspection, one becomes aware of three dominant 'focal splotches'—a term I have recently coined to describe this artist’s manifestations of painterly prowess. These focal splotches vary dramatically in color, texture, and medium, lending the piece a dynamic visual tension.

The upper left quadrant is particularly striking, boasting an apple-sized splotch in a fiery reddish-orange hue. Scientific analysis reveals the medium to be none other than "Chef" paint—a mixture sourced from a can of the beloved children's pasta, Chef Boyardee. Here, the artist deftly employs this unconventional medium to evoke a profound sense of childhood exuberance and unbridled innocence. Look closely, and you will notice that this splotch is, in fact, a delicate layering of two distinct blobs, each offset from the other to create a masterful play of dimension. Encircling this central motif, a jagged, dark circle made with a fine marker undulates in varying thicknesses, its irregular, incomplete form teasing the mind's eye, engaging both hemispheres of the brain as it beckons the viewer to fill in the missing fragments.

Moving to the upper right quadrant, we encounter a simple blue squiggle made with crayon encased within an open oval. The deliberate lack of topological accuracy serves as a poignant counterpoint to the elaborate Chef-based blot. The intentional misalignment of these elements injects a playful spirit into the composition, a whimsical wink to the viewer.

Below, across the bottom hemisphere, we find the pièce de résistance: a nebulous, cloud-like circle that functions as the mouthpiece of this enigmatic face. The choice of a humble No. 2 pencil here is nothing short of genius, steering the eye upward toward the more vibrant orbs while simultaneously creating a shadow effect through the liberal use of hand and feet smudges. One cannot help but admire the artist's restraint and finesse, blending bold strokes with a otherworldly vibe.

Around the perimeter and strategically interspersed throughout, we find what I refer to as “tiny moments”—micro touches that elevate this work to a realm beyond the ordinary. The carefully placed Chef paint in the top left of the canvas, the greenish grass and broccoli stains that bisect the horizontal center, and the minuscule pencil, chocolate, and gummy bear globs that serve to mimic facial markings, birthmarks, or even the imperfections of a soul. These details are not mere embellishments; they are the artist's way of inviting us to linger, to revel in the imperfections that make life so achingly beautiful.

In sum, the artist has crafted a visual odyssey—a journey that reflects back upon us, a face that seems both familiar and foreign, inviting us to reclaim our own sense of wonder. This work is a celebration of life's messy, joyous moments, a tangible testament to the sublime dance between chaotic complexity and minimalist mirth. One might even say it heralds the dawn of a new era—an era in which the next generation of Picassos find their voice amidst the joyful cacophony of childhood.

Truly, a masterpiece for the ages.

Squiggly lines in every colour of the rainbow Jagged sharp edges that speak to a deep seeded anger Bright yellows and oranges that remind us that joy is always present if we look for it A portal into another world As seen through the eyes of a child

I had been scanning my eyes upon the wonderful pecies of art in a gallery. when all a sudden a huge bright light dawned upon one of the art works. It was like god had descended from heaven to astow upon me this wonderful opportunity. Sprinting to the painting casted with light I closed my eyes and prayed before looking at the painting. “Thank you for the opportunities that I have been given and for the strength to make the most of them” I cried my hands pressed together against my chest. Then opening my eyes, I fell to my knees in utter awe. It was a miracle, a prodigy, some would even say destiny to come eye to eye with this painting. In front of me hanging on the wall was a phenomenal, a eqsuiset art of scribbles and stick man’s. It brought a tear to my eye because how beautiful it was.

I always thought art was… abstract. But this is pushing it, even as someone who works with previous mentioned, very abstract art all day. Which is a long blown out way of saying I worked at an art gallery. And sometimes my job required me to make up meaningful descriptions for random-ass artwork.

Who knew my master in art history would become a masters in bullshitting.

The artwork I had not only looked like a child drew it, but they actually did. My boss came in with his son, only for the boy to throw a tantrum demanding his art be featured.

What was handed to me was a variation on what I assume we all drew as children, a family portrait. The kid didn’t even have the decency to give them proper bodies, no semicircles with long stick legs.

I was starting to get worried. I thought the kid would do some crayon colours and it would be the mental cloud of a nation or something. But the one by two meter canvas is just filled with semicircle figures, all surrounding the massive little red headed boy who created the piece.

No I could do this. The massive boy in the middle became purposeful. A representation of a child surrounded in his world, at the centre of it. The egocentrism and narcissistic bliss of childhood that so many adults fail to recreate within their own lives.

This is what that piece stood for. The very adult artist’s very intentional back to his roots artwork. All in the pursual of the narcissistic bliss, freedom and respite of childhood.

It was my pride and joy. I had been working on it for a whole five minutes, and my teacher had only checked on me twice. I had used every color of the rainbow, and had managed to put all the caps back on the all the markers. I had planned to give it to my mom. I hoped her would put it in the fridge. It meant she loved it. And I love her.

It is not a new concept, but I often find myself wondering where the road not taken may have lead.

When focused on one element of your life, there is a tendency to shift other elements to the side.

But there is no way to know if one of those elements was an immensely important road in life for you.

While now it is naught but a page of your week, maybe it had potential to run for many happy chapters if you weren’t so focused on other things to let it slide.

It is a terrifying thought, missed opportunity.

Oh, and this has nothing to do with the prompt, by the way.

. He gasps and points with a Wizened finger “This stroke here is just brilliant.”

She narrows her eyes in Utter confusion “Uh sir, this was made by a toddler.”

    He gazes at the paper, colors
    Scribbled in
   “Does that mean it can’t be brilliant?”

She sees random and strange lines.

    He sees a child’s joys spread out on paper, and what’s more brilliant than joy?

In this masterpiece, a young Picasso emerges, Splashes of vibrant hues, a true color surge. Abstract lines dance with pure glee, A chaotic symphony, wild and free.

Brushstrokes bold, like a toddler's bold dreams, Fingerprints scattered, or so it seems. The composition, a playground of spontaneity, A finger-painted marvel, full of sincerity.

Notice the juxtaposition of chaos and order, Fingerprints that stray, a creative disorder. A juxtaposition profound, or just child's play, In this gallery, it steals the display.

Shapes undefined, yet a story untold, A masterpiece young, but oh so bold. A whimsical journey on paper embarked, In this toddler's creation, creativity sparked.

So, behold this artwork, not just scribbles on a wall, It's a masterpiece, toddler-style, standing tall. A gallery sensation, chaotic and smart, In this tiny artist's world, a true work of art.