The night before last I had the pleasure of watching a movie I’ve wanted to see for a long time - and all through the power of iTunes rentals!

My Kid Could Paint That is a movie about art, and about truth. It is one of the best documentaries I have ever seen, as its’ layers upon layers of meaning still need peeling long after the end credits.

On the surface, this is a movie about Marla, the then-4-year-old painting sensation from the USA. You can read all about her on her website at http://www.marlaolmstead.com/. Marla was hailed a child prodigy for her abstract paintings, which were selling for up to $25 000 once word got out. Collectors from all over the globe bought up everything she made, and created a demand for more. That created a bit of a problem, when commercial demand met the work ethic of a 4 year old girl who just loves to paint.

Conflicts like this - the demands of corporate art, celebrity and finance clashing with the innocent purity of “creation for the love of it” - carry the film along through its’ various questions and discoveries. As we watch Marla, we see something fragile and pure in her that this media circus might just break. And yet, I want to know about her - I want to see and experience her work, and I need the circus to come to town in order to do that.

From the outset of the film, we see there is something special about Marla and we least we see that other artists see that. Here is a quote from Marla’s website as an example of this reverence …

“”When I am in Marla’s presence, there’s a weird feeling ’cause I know there’s something inside this girl that many artists look for their whole lives and never have.”
Anthony Brunell”

That type of sentiment permeates the early parts of the film, as we share the filmmakers’ wonder at what this young child - unaffected by our jaded world can create.

But the jaded world has its’ say, too. Many rise up and declare Marla as proof that modern, abstract art is really a grand ruse, after all. Her innocence peels away our pretension, because if a child can do it, with no training, how good can it really be? Those who have said, “why would you pay for that? My kid could paint that!” are vindicated in the most literal way.

That tension is dealt with masterfully, as we do see some of that art-world pretension rise up to be exposed in the light of director Amir Bar-Lev’s lens. And yet, he believes there really is something special in Marla’s work. So do many others. So do I.

That is, if it really is Marla’s work. The shape of this documentary changes after 60 minutes runs a story questioning the authenticity of Marla Olmstead’s genius. You see, no one could ever capture Marla painting one of her masterpieces, start to finish, on film. Her parents would excuse her, saying she clams up in front of the camera. Her process, observed, ceases to be her process. And so 60 minutes hides a camera while she paints, and what she paints for their cameras is indeed not up to par with her previous works.

From then on, we side with Bar-Lev, a director who started out in wonder at this pure creativity, and who now desperately wants to believe in it still. But his conscience won’t allow him the luxury of belief. The skeptic needs proof. The rest of the film seeks that proof and seeks, in my mind unsuccessfully, to vindicate Marla and her family, the Olmsteads. Bar-Lev does not condemn or demonize them, and the film is as much about his wrestling with their portrayal, and their trust of him as an artist, as it is about our trust of Marla and her family. The final scenes show Bar-Lev laying all of this out on the table for the Olmsteads, and having them declare, in tears, “I need you to believe me”. Bring on the layers.

We get fascinating scenes of Bar-Lev talking to his camera about where he will take this film and how it will all come out in the end. We are along for that ride, wishing it all were true - wishing no one would be hurt. We are longing to believe in beauty and the power of art.

Thinking about this film after viewing it, a lot of themes come to mind. Here are just the ones that come to mind most quickly;

• Why does the creator of these works matter? Why, when the buyers find out that Marla may have had some help, do they want their money back? What has changed about the painting, really? Is it not still an excellent work, regardless of who created it? This raises interesting questions about the interplay between a creator and his creation. The piece itself cannot fully exist outside of its’ context - who made it and why and under what circumstances. Does an artwork’s power come from withing itself, or also from its’ maker and her intentions?
• Is there really “good” abstract art and “bad”? If it’s all just squiggles and splotches, what does it matter? Ironically, this movie showed me clearly that their is indeed a standard for modern abstract works, and that there is an absolute sense of excellence. There is a sense of shape and narrative and intentionality that is absent in some of Marla’s filmed works, but present in her more popular, “disputed” works, for instance.
• What does our demand for art and the introduction of money and pressure do the the artist? Seeing Marla paint on video, I have to agree with Bar-Lev that the work created is substandard to the earlier works. But is there another explanation for that? The early works done by Marla were done from her heart - without her knowing that she was a good painter whom people loved. Once she became famed and KNEW that she was a good painter, she became conceivably worse. Was this because she started to think, “what would my public want? What do I consciously think looks nicest on a painting?”, rather than just letting it flow from her naturally. I think that would explain the use of more forms (a mickey mouse head, a sun), and colors that seem typical of any 4 year old girl. When she was painting knowing she was good, she was not as good. I wonder how that can apply to us as artists?

One other theme that rounds out the film is the nature of the documentary itself. Are we being told the full truth about the Olmsteads here? Does it matter.

In voicover near the end of the the film, New York Times Cheif Art Critic Michael Kimmelman tells us,

“All writers, all storytellers are imposing their own narrative on something. I mean, all art in some ways is a lie. It looks like a picture of something, but it isn’t that thing, it’s a representation of that thing. Your documentary is on some level going to be a lie. It’s your construction of things … It’s how you wish to represent the truth and how you’ve decided to tell a particular story. By that I don’t mean that certain things don’t happen. Of course they do. It’s not that there’s no such thing as truth. But we come to like and trust a certain story, no necessarily because it’s the most absolutely truthful, but because it’s a thing we tell ourselves which makes sense of the world, at least at this moment.”

If all that isn’t enough to entice you to see this film (writing it is enticing me to see it again already), then don’t bother. But, please, do bother. And then, come share your thoughts on our forums.

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Yes, I was just thinking of this on the weekend.  Let's make the date to start discussing it October 20th (Monday) - that will give all interested some time to see it and get in on the action.

I'll put another call out so maybe we can get more people involved this go around.