They were having trouble coming up with ideas.
They were midway through fourth grade now, and Leslie had designed a new session of Art Explorers just for them. It was called Terrific Tricksters. Week one, she read them stories about Anansi and Coyote and Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. They looked at examples of traditional Ashanti and Miwok and Chinese drawings, and then the kids made illustrations for each of the stories in imitation of the different styles of artwork. That was not the problem.
The problem came in week two, when Leslie announced it was their turn. The kids were supposed to come up with their own trickster figures, and choose any medium they wanted to make them. By now they knew what medium meant, and they were well acquainted with the studio’s supplies: paint, FIMO, Popsicle sticks and yarn, tissue paper and Mod Podge, colored sand, calligraphy pens, fabric, needles, thread, whatever. They loved it whenever Leslie gave them carte blanche, which was the Art Explorers way of saying free choice. This was not the problem, either.
In fact, they were eager to begin.
“I’ma do the Monkey King,” announced Carla right away.
“That’s been done,” said Leslie. “You need to come up with your own idea.”
“How about a leprechaun?” suggested a boy named Edson.
“Your own idea,” Leslie repeated. “From your heeaaad.” She tapped her yellow-and-black head wrap.
“It has to be something that doesn’t exist?” asked Renu.
Annamae laughed. “Leprechauns don’t exist.”
Renu made a dainty, annoyed sound with her tongue. “I mean it has to not even exist in pretend?”
“Well,” said Leslie. “I’m not the art police. But inventing your own thing is part of the fun. Isn’t it?” She looked at each of them in turn. “You get to make up any kind of creature you want. What’s your trickster going to look like? What kind of things does it do?”
They were stumped.
“Really?” said Leslie. “Usually you guys are full of ideas.”
Not today.
“Okay. That’s okay. That happens. You know what? This is good; this is part of being an artist. I’m going to show you a cool way to get ideas. Everybody, get off your stools. Come on. Come down on the floor.”
“That’s where the ideas are at?” said Carla.
“Come on, Miss Carla. Everybody, come on. Come sit.”
They all climbed down and sat on the floor. Leslie turned off the lights and sat with them. From down here, the studio felt like a cave. The only light came in through the two high windows with their wrought-iron grilles that looked out on passing feet. For some reason they had all gotten really quiet, like they were hiding. A little sloppy-haired dog came over to the window. It seemed to be peering in at them. The kids giggled, then hushed themselves.
Leslie said, “I invite you to close your eyes.”
Annamae did. Right away she felt different. The giggles left her stomach. She felt herself grow hollow and expand. Everyone else must have felt it, too, because no one was making a sound.
“Let yourself take a deep breath,” said Leslie. “Fill your lungs. Feel the air travel through your whole body.”
Annamae felt it swirl through the hollow space inside and carry her out beyond her skin. It was almost frightening. As if she was not herself only but also part of something else she could never name.
“Now,” came Leslie’s voice again, “I’m going to offer you two good ways to receive an idea. One is to visualize it rising up through water.”
Annamae found herself visualizing Shayna’s tea party game. Trying to remain on the bottom long enough to drink her pretend tea. Here in this underwater cave, all quiet and liquid and cool. Light played across her eyelids, same as the light that wavered beneath the surface of the pool.
“The other,” said Leslie’s voice, “is to visualize it floating down from above. Go ahead and turn your hands palms up on your knees.”
Annamae did.
“See if you can feel it float … right … down … into … your hands.”
But it was she who seemed to be floating. She who seemed to be no more than an idea, adrift.