We are the artist: interactive face painting

I'm face painting outdoors in the Windemere housing development in San Ramon, CA. It's hot, and quiet. Small Kate is working steadily to design a clown face for herself. She's using a template I made with a big oval smiley face on it. We'll paint her design onto her face together as soon as she's signed her innocent masterpiece. Her magic markers touch the page with determination, "The man has to make a big mouth. Two times as big as his mouth." OK, I tell her, we can make you a big, big mouth. "And he has to put some blue on his eyes." OK, I say, blue eyes. "And then the man has to put on some fake hair on his head." I am laughing. She is so sincere about how a clown must look. She was visited by a clown at school, so she knows.

Kate's parents are out strolling among the housing models with their younger daughter. Each house is royally appointed with soft chairs and big swaths of earthy, yet cultured, fabrics. Today is an open house and I've been brought in as a face painter to amuse families.

Face painting is practiced art, though it has a more casual reputation. Body painting is more recognized as fine craft in adult circles. It marries artisan and adult content, raising eyebrows and aesthetic respect. It's immediately interactive -- you can talk to the artwork!

Interactive Art is a wide field. Street performing, Burning Man, additive sculptures, participatory dancing, community parades. San Francisco is a hub for immersive art experiences. Brides of March is a dramatic example, in which hundreds of brides of both sexes tear through the streets on March 15. Pillow Fight is another, in which, again, hundreds of frolicking pillow pirates pummel each other in public. I look forward to sharing here San Francisco's irrepressible whim for collective art-making.

We begin with a gentle example -- interactive face painting. I'm including the children as artists designing their own faces for tandem painting. Kate fills in white lips inside the super-big red outline I've made for her clown mouth. She's an expert at drawing inside the lines. She took a full minute to color in her clown design's red cheek and devotes equal time to it's twin on her own cheek.  I could be the artist, but I love the improvisation of collaboration. We are the artist. 

Kate's parents return just as I am adding the crowning touch - fake blue hair. I draw quick cool lines down Kate's forehead, giving her ticklish giggles. We're all smiling. I calmly explain, "Kate said clowns have to have fake blue hair." Her mother gives a nod conveying, "Of course!"  Painting with Kate is a joy. Watching her walk away carrying her clown picture is pure bliss. She's holding up the paper to her face, showing her mother how they are the same. Her small, pretty pride in her work is all I need to keep my heart light for hours. I was once part of an all women's clown troupe called Only Fooling, in Boston. I remember one of my company compatriots musing, "You don't choose clown, clown chooses you." Kate, will I see your fake blue hair under the lights in 15 years? Or in a show on Market Street if it ever does close to car traffic in favor of strolling on foot?

In San Francisco, we are the artist.

 

 

Topics: visual art , family