2 hours ago
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There’s a book about Miffy – the little white rabbit created by Dutch author Dick Bruna – going to a gallery that I can recite by heart. A fellow art critic friend posted it to my son soon after he was born; back then its pages were pristine, now they’re crumpled and torn. Another Miffy book on our shelves (the bunny’s a firm favourite) follows her as she makes half a dozen pictures at home, and, at the end of the day, puts them up on the wall. “That looks wonderful, Miffy,” says Mother Bunny. “It’s your very own gallery.” Her very own gallery in her very own home.
We’ve been to museums and sculpture parks across the country. We’ve braved family drop-ins and an underground gallery dedicated to digital art. We’re lucky – so very lucky – that there’s great art on offer out there. But what about those days when it’s just easier to stay home? Days when it’s raining or the trains are cancelled or your child is refusing to put on their socks and shoes. Can we introduce small children to art without the faff of packing a changing bag, planning snacks and nap times and hopping in the car or on the tube?
To answer that question, today I’m going to be spending the day at home with my toddler making and looking at art, beginning from the moment he wakes up in his room. Hanging on his walls are three playful prints by the artist Moira Frith, and a William Nicholson print of the Velveteen Rabbit. Dangling from the ceiling is an elephant mobile and a bee mobile and a bunch of Japanese paper animal balloons. Not forgetting the painted crab plate and the picture of jelly on a plate. When it comes to decorating kiddy rooms, more is more, I tell my husband.
It’s 6.30am, and the boy is in our bed now, surrounded by books, specially curated for today’s theme. All is well – we get through Miffy one and two, Mildred the Gallery Cat and an interactive board book about mixing colours – when he spots his plastic tractor across the room and demands to be freed. No amount of art will keep this boy from his wheels.
For anyone worrying about the poor child being force-fed art like a goose, fear not – he also has farm animals (remember piggy?) and toy cars and too many teddies to count. Art isn’t mandatory in our house, but it is a part of the furniture – in the paintings and drawings and prints on the walls, and the books on the shelves. Sometimes he likes to look through those books, especially a recent addition on dogs in art history. At other times, he’s more interested in the black box beneath them: “Peppa Peppa! Piggy Piggy!”
One of the beautiful things about children is that they don’t have a sense of hierarchy when it comes to what counts as art. Which means that anything goes. Our morning involves making a house for the farm animals out of colourful magnet tiles. Stacking wooden blocks before sending them flying. Pressing stickers, one on top of the other, on to one tiny scrap of a big, blank page. All that before we even get to the crayons.
If you’re wondering what the time is, it’s 9.50. You might think that it’s easier to stay home with a child, but, my God, can the day drag. Somehow, we manage to stick it out until lunch, with a brief outing to try out some new chalk sticks on the pavement – delightful! But by the time lunch is over, and he’s had his nap, we’re both eager for an escape.
Luckily for us, we’re within walking distance of the William Morris Gallery, which my son knows, simply, as “the gallery”. He comes here almost every Wednesday with his granny. First, they go to the nearby playground, then they spend some time with the ducks in the park. At the cafe, they share a cheese toastie. Every time they visit, they bump into a gallery attendant called Keith. “Keith upstairs,” my son informs me as we pass through the entrance (I’ve still never met Keith, so either he only works Wednesdays, or he’s a figment of my son’s – and mother’s – imagination).
When he started coming to the William Morris, my son had to be carried up the stairs; now he can walk up them by himself. Awaiting him on the landing are crayons like the ones we have at home, and blank sheets of paper begging to be scribbled on. Wooden building blocks. Soft toys and puppets. Books. All with an arty backdrop.
Of course you can introduce small children to art at home, and there will be times when it’s infinitely easier than getting out of the house. But if you’re lucky enough to have a public space nearby – a gallery or a museum or even a local library – that can be stitched into your home life, too. If only we lived within walking distance of the Miffy Museum. Maybe we’ll take the toddler to Utrecht for his second birthday.
Three books for bringing art into the home
Miffy the Artist by Dick Bruna (also, Miffy at the Gallery, and Miffy and the Artists)
Famous Art to Colour by Susan Meredith
