Art, in whichever form it occurs, has the ability to calm our thoughts. Be an observer and you will see yourself differently. Art is an incentive to meditate, to play with thought and imagination in the precise moment that we are looking at. We stand in front of a picture, forgetting for a moment what is real, in order to be carried away by what we see before us.

One sentence from my son’s teacher haunts me: “Today, children don’t know how to imagine any more, they are simply unable to generate a mental image!” His teacher had invited me to give a presentation during my son’s literature lesson; at the time, I was in the middle of writing a children’s book, so I read them some excerpts and talked about publishing books. The story moves through my subconscious fantasy. The previous row inspires the next; nothing is planned. The rhythm of the thoughts of the protagonist, a 5-year-old girl named Anna, is important. The girl’s real world and play world intertwine with each other perfectly, naturally and obviously. The children liked it. I was happy when I left the school, but the sentence – that children no longer know how to imagine – still worries me.

If you have time around New Year’s Eve, take a look at a picture with your children – a good picture that you like – and allow your thoughts and imagination to wander. Play. Play with it one way and then another; create a story out of the picture and a picture out of the story. Be artists, observe. Art is not always knowing, but foremost seeing. In order to look, you don’t need to know. However, looking can lead to knowing – searching for facts that most open the creator or the story and give a taste to the viewing.

Here is one idea for playing. Look at this picture. I write about what I see or experience, and regardless of my thoughts you can create your own story.

One late afternoon she decided to exit the frames surrounding her, although she had put a lot of effort into making them. Frames are still uncomfortable. It was tedious to carry them around everywhere. Everyone always got stuck in the frames on the street. It was often the case that someone stumbled into them, preventing either of them from moving forward. It was especially difficult on public transport, in cafes, around a meeting table – at the end, everything was inside frames. Every thought was in frames, every movement, every sentence, every person who could reach her only through those frames.

With a firm step, squeezing her lips together, pushing her hand deep into her pocket, she decided to step out of those frames. Walk quickly on the street until the street ends; run through the city until the city ends; on all roads until the roads end; across thoughts until thoughts end – Run, Forrest, run!