It started with The Weeping Woman, and ended with an entire class of eight- and nine-year-olds laughing hysterically. Who would have thought Picasso’s portrait of his mistress Dora Maar would inspire such radical creativity and artistic ingenuity in a boy like Mitchell? It’s almost a pity to ask him to destroy the fruits of his genius, but unfortunately the world is not ready for it.
I suspect Mitchell’s mum won’t be either.
“What do you think she will say if she comes to pick you up from school and sees that?” I ask. His reply is a grin. At least I think it’s a grin. It’s hard to read someone’s expression when they’ve painted their entire face red.
I send Mitchell to the washroom and threaten any residual laughter with a spelling test. Like Uncle Albert’s tea party in Mary Poppins, everyone reluctantly descends to earth. Before we continue with our portrait painting, I need a little chat about the rules.
“The first one is that we never paint our faces,” I say.
Before I get to rule two (we don’t paint our friends’ faces either), Kira has anticipated me and points out that she had her face painted by a teacher at the school fair and, on that basis, would like to scrap her interpretation of Girl with a Pearl Earring on A3 cartridge paper in favour of a butterfly with spread wings on Demi Goodwill. I have no choice but to nip this idea in its pupal stage.
“School paints are not the same as face paints,” I explain. “Face paints are scientifically developed to be used on skin with minimal harmful side effects. School paints are designed to go on paper.”
The children take up their paintbrushes again and I wander around the classroom doing my best to curb art-surface innovation by actively praising traditional paint-on-paper modes of expression.
“Corey, that Mona Lisa has never looked so enigmatic… Your Berthe Morisot could have been painted by Manet himself, Danielle… Bailey, that interpretation of Da Vinci’s Portrait of a Man in Red Chalk looks like…”
I want to say Mr Twit but settle for “…a masterpiece”.
Only Alisha - who has lost interest in Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer - is still pondering the subject of body art.
“Having tattoos is like being painted,” she says, and explains how her mum has loads of tattoos - including Alisha’s name in a heart shape - and how they stick needles into your skin and how you can get blood poisoning from it and how you have to have injections if it gets infected. Although, on reflection, she thinks that might have been when she had her belly button pierced.
Before Alisha can reveal any more detailed personal information about her mum, Mitchell returns and we stop to make a careful inspection of him. Though there are areas of ingrained red around his eyes, ears and hairline, his face is mostly shades of pink. It is a theme that has now been extended to include his school shirt and is evocative of the time I washed a red sock with the whites.
Steve Eddison teaches at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield
