When it’s half term and all the playgroups are off, what do you do? I mean, apart from watching Frozen? There’s the park, but it’s muddy and there are other children there; other children who also expect to use the slide and the swings. I don’t like mud and my two-year-old doesn’t like other children. At least not when they try to have go on what she believes to be her slide and her swings. And then there’s the cold, the excruciating cold. So we decided to stay in and, as much as I love Frozen, I knew that at some point I’d have to get up and see what the 2-year-old was doing in the other room. However, just as I was thinking that, she came running out of her room with a tub of Play Dough – the tub of Play Dough she got in a party bag; the only tub of Play Dough she owns. I had planned to hide it away until she reached an age where she could be trusted with Play Dough (sixteen), but it didn’t get hidden because she is now two and only about 5% of the things I plan to do actually get done.
Anyway, there was no way around it now. We were going to play with Play Dough. D’oh.
Bracing myself for a Play Dough vs fluffy rug disaster, I placed my daughter in a high chair with a lump of dough in front of her. And it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had feared. She only tried to eat it three or four times and, in the 15 minutes before she got bored with it, she managed to create some very interesting pieces. While I was messing around with conventional things like a snowman and pancakes, just look at what she achieved with 28 grams of Play Dough:
This work, provisionally titled “Some Rubbish,” is a remarkable piece of social realism, insightfully portraying the streets of the town we live in.
Entitled “A Bed Where the Play Dough Goes to Sleep” this work explores the artists own feelings of boredom with the task before her and the viewer senses an implicit critique of Play Dough itself, which is becoming irrelevant as a medium.