All Super Daughter wanted to do at Star Wars Celebration was to see the artists. Those daring souls who attempt to capture Dewbacks in oils and Blurrgs in pastels, the rebels who imagine the wedding invites to the Solo wedding, the dreamers who sculpt TIE fighters and Yavin sunsets. While all Awkwards love Star Wars (we don't speak about Super Preschooler's anti-Lucas phase of ages 2-4), Super Daughter is the one who has embraced the visual delights of the world. She is the one who wants to know how to make Twi'lek dresses, Ewok armor, Rey hair styles. She's the one who doodles storm troopers next to her unicorns and mermaids and paints forest scenes saturated with swirling Tatooine yellows and deep Endor blues. She'll sit in the middle of a clone war, with light sabers inches from her head, and just trace force ghosts in the dirt. She's moved by the story, she loves the characters, she thinks the script of Episode 3 is unfortunate; she's just like us. But unlike us, there is something special in her eyes when she watches the Millennium Falcon soar or the fires of Mustafar rage. We are content to watch. Maybe discuss. Even fight about why Lando did not betray Han at all but did what he had to do for his people. (Come on, fight me. You know you want to.) We may be loud, but we're happy in the audience. Not Super Daughter. Super Daughter is an artist and she's got a X-wing to catch.
Which is why, armed with a handful of colored pencils, a homemade sketch book that says STAR WARS across it in rainbow letters, and one very prized gel pen, all stuffed in a crochet bag with a yarn llama on it, Super Daughter strides into the artist section of the convention, stars in her eyes and purpose in her feet. She looks around for a moment, and then, as if pulled by a tractor beam, finds herself in front of Karen Hallion's booth. It is crowded there, but Super Daughter gently eases her way to the front of the table and patiently waits for her artist-sister to finish talking to someone. Eventually, Ms. Hallion notices this tiny girl in front of her and smiles at her. Super Daughter meets her eyes with her own ocean ones, takes a deep breath, and says, quietly but firmly, "where did you get all those marker pens?"
Ms. Hallion looks confused, so the man with her, nudges her softly and points to the huge selection of beautiful artist markers next to her, just behind a large pile of her art that fans are rummaging through. He winks at Super Daughter and says, "you must be an artist too, to notice all these." Super Daughter smiles her slow-building smile that starts in the left corner of her mouth and rises into a lopsided grin so lovely that it has been known shatter stones. Its affect is not lost on anyone present and you can feel the collective breath hold, as Super Daughter reaches up and touches the marker tops, while whispering, "I use pencils, but someday..." Time stops and the crowd behind her does something I have never ever seen at a convention; they step back. They seemingly recognize in her the children they once were, those small spirits so moved by alien bravery in a galaxy far far away that it would stay with them long after the credits rolled and the world told them to be sensible.
Ms. Hallion reaches over and taps Super Daughter on the hand; "pick one," she encourages. Super Daughter points to a winking silver, which is pronounced "a good choice," with a follow-up, "do you like BB-8?" Super Daughter nods, and Ms. Hallion eases into her own magic. Awed murmurs rise up around us, but Super Daughter is focused on what is before her, with a laser curiosity only a fellow artist can posses. Once finished, Ms. Hallion waves the card to dry it and then flourishes it into Super Daughter's hands. Their eyes meet again, hold, and crinkle into identical and knowing smiles; they will meet again. Someday, in a galaxy maybe not so far far away.
Someday...
That is SOOOO sweet and wonderful.
ReplyDeleteIt was a really special moment that I was not expecting!
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