The summer I was ten, my mother decided to bring us to the world of art. My brother and I were not very excited when we realized what my mother meant. What she meant was not that we could take drawing classes or painting classes but that we would have to spend one afternoon a week with her at the Fine Arts Museum. Before each visit to the museum, she made us read about artists and painting styles(风格). It was almost as bad as being in school. Who wants to spend the summer thinking about artists when you could be with your friends at the swimming pool?
First we had to read about ancient Egyptians(古埃及人) and their strange way of painting faces and then go to look at them at the museum. My 12-year-old brother thought this was so funny, but I was not interested. Later we had to learn about artists in the Middle Ages who painted people wearing strange long clothing. We had to look at pictures of fat babies with wings and curly (鬈曲的) hair and with no clothes on flying around the edges of paintings. I certainly couldn't see what was so great about art.
