You could make the case that my five-year-old isn’t an artist.

You could make the case that my five-year-old isn’t an artist.

But he is living and breathing creation. Simple images scratched out with markers being held wrong. Wrong? Or different? Either way, when he is concentrating on bringing his ideas onto the page, there is magic in the air. Tonight he presented me with his first book.

“There you go dad. Here’s my first book.”

When starting a fire, it takes just the right amount of breath to give the flame life. Too little, and the spark doesn’t catch. Too much, and the flame is extinguished.

So here we are with my five-year-old and his creativity. Let us tread carefully, so as not to spook it.