Sacredly necessary art.
When I was a young teacher, I not only nourished and guarded my kindergarten children like a mother hawk guards her nest, but I was protective of the art area as well. Not in an orderly, spic and span sort of way, but in a sacredly necessary sort of way.
To me, the art area was a living thing. The shelves there were not stocked with things to be had, but materials to be interacted with. My kindergarteners always had paint, even if I had to buy it myself, which was often the case. The classroom didn’t have an easel (which horrified me), and so, if memory serves, I built my own. Details are fuzzy, but somehow cup hooks were involved.
To me, the art area was a living thing. The shelves there were not stocked with things to be had, but materials to be interacted with. My kindergarteners always had paint, even if I had to buy it myself, which was often the case. The classroom didn’t have an easel (which horrified me), and so, if memory serves, I built my own. Details are fuzzy, but somehow cup hooks were involved.
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