Extreme emotions seem to be the prime motivation behind her pieces. When she finds herself in a bother, is very sad or über happy she disappears off to her room emerging some time later clutching a wad of paper and keen to show and tell. Yesterday, following a minor incident, she was asked to go and have a "good think" (yes, I really said that) about her behaviour.
What followed was a serious (hormonal) mum-fail succeeded by a steep learning curve. In my defence it isn't always immediately clear exactly what Finje-The-Artist is trying to convey in her pieces, but my short tempered snappy tone was uncalled for and I regretted it immediately:
"What is that? It looks like scribble to me. I know you can do better."
Disappointed and frustrated she nonetheless attempted to explain. What I had dismissed as scribble was her attempt to make the sky look dark because it was supposed to be night time. It was only then, prompted by my conscience, I took a moment to really look at her drawing. Sinking into a pit of guilt and shame I took in the detail of her pictures.
The night sky was the background for a space ship and a rather impressive ringed Saturn and Jupiter with her distinctive red dot.
What I'd taken to be erratic doodles told the story of a yellow elk visiting his friend (blond) Finje in a castle with a gigantic staircase.
By the time I got to the obvious family portrait (breasts and all), I was appropriately contrite and found myself, by way of purging the guilt, considering the unthinkable.
I did contemplate, just for a second, sticking the pictures on the fridge door. This, an act, in my opinion, perilously close in cringe-factor to showing a photo of your child from the see-through compartment of your purse to a complete stranger you found yourself chatting to on the train.
But I didn't do it in the end.
Note to self, it's all in the detail.