The Wrong Question

My daughter dabbed and swiped, occasionally 

changing brushes. The arc of her hand 

seemed effortless but deliberate. I watched 

as the painting took on form and colour but I 

could not yet discern a meaning.

I left and returned some time later to find a 

spectacle that engrossed me. My eyes roamed 

the canvas looking for the focal point. I knew 

it was telling me something but I did not know 

what it was. “What is it meant to be”, I asked.

“Oh Dad, you are asking the wrong question”, my daughter replied. 

“What do you want it to be?”

MDC December 2020