The Artist in All of Us

As I said before I was very happy to see that the book The One and Only Ivan won the Newbery Medal this year.  I recently read it again and I must say I found it more enjoyable the second time around.  Here is actually one of my favorite excerpts from the book and it reminds me of what it feels like to be a writer.  How your biggest supporters are always there for you now matter what.  And that even at young ages you sometimes just know you want to create.

I think I’ve always been an artist.

Even as a baby, still clinging to my mother, I had an artist’s eye. I saw shapes in the clouds, and sculptures in the tumbled stones at the bottom of a stream. I grabbed at colors–the crimson flower just out of reach, the ebony bird streaking past.

I don’t remember much about my early life, but I do remember this: Whenever I got the chance, I would dip my fingers into cool mud and use my mother’s back for a canvas.

She was a patient soul, my mother.

I do hope that you take the chance to read this book. It is brilliant.

Ivan

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