He dripped and shook the paint over his paper with joyous gusto. Just as I was thinking to myself how beautifully the colours were falling, he grabbed a tissue and wiped all the colour together, his whole body moving with the rhythm of his arm. My instinct was an intake a breath and a desire to say, “No, stop, it was perfect just as it was.” And if that didn’t work then, “That’s not how Mummy did it.” Instead I gagged my Inner Control Freak and kept quiet. I looked at Jake. He’d forgotten everything but the moment he was in. It reminded me of something Keri Smith quoted on her blog, “Art is a quality, not a product.” Jake’s still at the age where he lives that quality without even knowing it. I just have to get out of his way and try not to spoil it for him.