My Little Artinya Novels & Stories

It has filled the entire car within seconds. "So, how was your day, Mierta?" I ask, pulling out of the school parking lot, taking the winding road to the main street. "It was better than I expected. I really love my art class. We got to do the bowl of fruit sketching and Ms. Tawnie, the teacher, is so much fun. It was my favorite class." She smiles. "I didn't know you were into art? Do you have a favorite artist?" I ask her. "Oh, I have a few! African American artist Henry Ossawa Tanner and Mexican artist Maria Izquierdo. They both were skilled with freehand. Sketching and artwork like what I like to do."

The small theatre room buzzed with life. Artworks lined the walls and stood on display like a gallery exhibition. Johnny’s piece stood out—a painting of a boy sitting by a riverside, watching the sun set, the original sun painted in deep orange hues. Such a creative, Nat thought to himself. When he first entered the room, scanning it, his classmates spotted him, as if on cue and on alarm, they all shouted: “Cupcake Daddy!” Nat beamed. He laughed. “Hahaha.”

His family. He watched with a small smile on his face as he observed them through narrowed eyes. Aarunya was on her knees, her hands shaping the damp sand into a castle after she had made a Sweet little sunshine sand art for little Aranya as their little son clapped his little hands, giggled in his baby voice and babbled happily 

“It doesn’t.” Rina’s head reeled from the situation that had been dumped onto her lap. Pushing away the worries that were arising in her head, she leaned in closer to the painting, looking at the signing at the base. “R,” she whispered to herself. “Who could this be?” “I don’t think I have ever heard of this artist,” Isaiah murmured. “R. It’s not a very popular name. Maybe it is a young artist.”

“They’re beautiful. Imagine the stories they could tell if they could talk.” Arthur said, "I bet they wouldn’t tell as good a story as Gina Gentlehammer.” I laughed. Mia laugh-snorted. “Daddy, you’re being silly. I didn’t know you could be silly.” “I can be silly,” Arthur said, but something grabbed his attention, and he was distracted. “Let’s go in.” Arthur had found a small painting, barely bigger than my palm. It was a mother and daughter looking at a mama and baby swan. “I’ll take it,” Arthur told the gallery clerk in Italian. He looked at me and then at Mia. “So we can remember this trip.”

"Remember the big painting of the forest? The green and gold one?" She nods vigorously, messy braids bouncing. "It’s going to be in a real art gallery. A special place where people go to see beautiful things." Her eyes grow impossibly round. "Like a museum?" "Almost! A gallery. And two other paintings of mine." I pull a small, carefully wrapped package from my bag. "One of them is this." I unwrap a miniature replica of "Aino’s Crown," the sequins catching the fluorescent lights. "This one is yours. Always."

I just took a breath. The next morning, I found myself in the little gallery downtown. The one Claire told me about. Kids' art hung like declarations of hope with bold colors, uneven shapes, fearless strokes. I stared at one drawing for too long. A messy watercolor of a bridge, collapsing on one side, rebuilt on the other. The artist had written, in shaky pencil beneath it: "You can fix things if you try again the right way." God. Out of the mouths of eight-year-olds. I wasn’t looking for signs.

“I want to name her Contasina, after my mother’s name.” Arturo smiled, learning this new fact before he nodded. He leaned in and kissed my forehead before pulling away to look our princess in the eye. “Contasina, it is, baby girl…”

“Alright. Time’s up. Go back to your seats. When your name is called, come in front and share with the class.” Sounds of the chairs scraping the floor could be heard for a while until they were all seated. Aria was the first to go up since the teacher decided to call by alphabetical order. Naturally, everyone was amazed at the deep meaning behind the art that used mainly charcoal. She described the life stages of a person. That we were born here in this world then we’re made to undergo so many obstacles that let us be all tangled up and in the end we all face death. Dawn was also amazed with her talent. She wondered if there would be an addition to her art if she knew that rebirth was possib

I say, turning my body to give her a side hug. “As if anyone could crush this giant pup,” she says, running her hand over LJ’s head. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, smiling up at me. “Me too. You seem to be doing well here.” Artis was always sweet, but now there’s a twinkle in her eye and the smile on her face reaches her eyes. “I love it here! I’m so happy. They have a HUGE library. Buppig, he’s a leprechaun and a scholar, he’s teaching me so much.”