An artist's child

People are often curious about where artists come from and how they first started making art.
But according to South African painter Marlene Dumas, what really matters is not where you begin, but where you end up. She once said that everything between the beginning and the end is just shadows.

I went to see her exhibition, “Measuring Your Own Grave,” at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York with my child. Dumas once said that “the canvas is the coffin of the subject you’re painting.” It was a powerful idea.

While my husband and I looked at the paintings, our child began to draw too. If we used brushes, the child wanted brushes. If we used colors, the child demanded colors and painted wildly. At home, in restaurants, on napkins, receipts, even on shopping bags—my child drew everywhere. I always carried materials, but even without them, my child found a way to draw.

At first, the drawings were simple lines. Then shapes—circles, squares. Soon, dinosaurs appeared, then sharks under the sea, then tigers in the forest. The soft lines turned rough, and the drawings became full of tanks and airplanes. My child made loud sound effects—explosions, gunfire—while drawing dramatic war scenes. I never taught my child how to draw. I never asked, “What are you drawing?” The only thing I did was place different tools nearby—crayons, pencils, paper.

As my child got older and had more opinions, we even made drawings together. My child would doodle on the edge of my own work, making it a kind of collaboration. During the teenage years, the drawings turned into comics. Eventually, my child was accepted into an art high school. Since the child had been drawing from the moment they could hold a pencil, it felt natural to expect that art would become their future.

But then one day, my child said:
“Art is something you can do without going to school for it. It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to the art high school.”
“Won’t you regret it later?” I asked.

“Never. I hate artists. They’re all just losers who care more about looking cool than doing anything real.”

Honestly, it wasn’t completely wrong.

Instead of studying art, my child chose a college major that had nothing to do with it.
But once at university, they began taking electives in drawing, photography, and even minored in film. They started posting their own drawings on a blog, sometimes staying up all night to work on them.

One day, I heard something surprising—and a little exciting—from my child:
“I think being an artist might be one of the coolest jobs ever.”
But instead of feeling happy, I found myself saying,

“So what are you going to do about it? Are you saying you want to change your major now?”

“No,” my child replied. “I’m just saying it’s cool.”

Now, watching my child figure things out, I wonder: Was Marlene Dumas right all along? Is it really not about how or where you start, but how and where you end up that truly matters? Maybe it’s time to let my child have another chance—and trust the path they choose.