“Are you sure it should be that colour?”
The five year old studied his drawing. His grass was coloured red, his sky green. The oddly shaped trees were blue of trunk, pink of leaf. The square sun shone bright blue.
“Look what the others have drawn. Do you see their colours?”
He looked at his neighbours’ drawings. All trees looked normal. All colours were ‘correct’.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you used real colours? Wouldn’t it be better if the trees looked like trees?”
The boy smiled, “If we were all meant to draw the same, God wouldn’t have made us different.”
“God didn’t make the grass red, nor the sky green and those hardly look like trees,” the teacher frowned.
“Why, miss, you passed each student and smiled, sometimes making a short comment. With me, you stopped and took in my picture. It made you think.”
“Pablo Picasso, you’ll be the death of me,” the teacher smiled.