Paint Process.
Watercolor paints are, legitimately, one of my favorite materials both professionally and personally. They are inexpensive, allow for a great deal of experimentation, washable, and often easy to carry, transport, and engage with just about anywhere with minimal setup. There is also something so genuinely mesmerizing about watching colors mix, meld, and find their boundaries in concert with one another.
However, teaching is often an act of letting go, inquiring about the process of the child, and inviting oneself to consider and allow space for what a given action means to a child at a specific time. And so, the other day, watercolors became a sensory activity when the individual watercolor cakes were taken from their plastic, squished and smashed between four-year-old fingers, and mixed into a rainbow slurry.
The principal investigator in this program of research was a child who is, in general, so excited about the world that their actions in some moments can appear haphazard. And, admittedly, I had been struggling to find moments of connection that didn’t feel like a redirection. My patience with this child’s lack of regard for our materials and other children’s space was already thin. So, when I saw this, I was surprised by my own reaction.
Between deep breaths, as I watched the yellow oval crumble, I noted how, for this child, it was one of the first instances of extended connection with other children that was not adult-mediated all day. I also said aloud, to my coteacher, how it was nice that we had a large store of watercolors in storage due to a generous gift made by another school earlier in the year. She validated my feeling of discomfort, and then we entered into the wonderful dance of educators genuinely concerned with the holistic growth of a child—the dance where nuance prevails and the atmosphere is one of possibility and wonder rather than judgment.
My coteacher validated my feelings about the material. I was grateful for this! These were, after all, watercolors!
Next, we wondered: Was this instance of connection—multiple children were enjoying themselves!—more valuable than the so-called proper use of a classroom material? My gut said that this instance of connection was infinitely more important than the way the children were using watercolors. Besides, now that we had eyes on the children things wouldn’t get too out of hand. Further, some of the most ingenious uses of materials come from their so-called “improper use”. The goal of materials is to facilitate expression and connection, and these were doing so successfully.
We also asked: Would this become a regular occurrence? I also identified this as my own biggest fear. In early childhood, we often wonder how many times something takes to become embedded in the classroom culture and ways of doing. If this were a burgeoning cultural movement of mixing paints it would have to be redirected—we could find other ways of mixing colors than watercolor paints. But, if this were a cultural anomaly so to speak, then there would be no lasting lasting harm or impact other than the few extra moments it would require to clean up the mess.
So, what happened?
Eventually, I walked over the the tray where the children were set up, remarked that that would be a lot to clean up, and then filled the tray with water to extend their exploration. In for a penny in for a pound, right?
Happy painting!
Ron