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    Noonie's Masterpiece
    Noonie's Masterpiece
    Noonie's Masterpiece
    Ebook209 pages1 hour

    Noonie's Masterpiece

    By Lisa Railsback

    5/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Fantastic illustrations with a fresh, contemporary look enrich this debut novel about a 10-year-old aspiring artist stuck living with an aunt, uncle, and cousin who clearly don't recognize her genius. A humorous and heartfelt reminder that "a brilliant artist is never afraid," this book reveals that sometimes our greatest masterpieces are the bonds we unexpectedly forge with the people in our lives.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChronicle Books Digital
    Release dateSep 24, 2013
    ISBN9781452133973
    Noonie's Masterpiece
    Author

    Lisa Railsback

    Lisa Railsback was a Jerome Fellow at the Playwrights' Center in Minneapolis and a Michener Fellow in Writing at the University of Texas at Austin. Her plays have been performed across the United States. Noonie's Masterpiece was originally a play. She lives in Austin, Texas.

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    Reviews for Noonie's Masterpiece

    5/5

    8 ratings4 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Noonie lives with her aunt, uncle, and cousin because her archaeologist father travels a lot. Her artist mother died when she was very young. Noonie has proclaimed herself an undiscovered artist. I loved when she went through her blue or purple periods. She dreams of winning the school's art contest because she's sure this will bring her dad home. Noonie uses her art to help her understand what family and art is. I know this book is geared for upper elementary and lower middle grades, but as an adult I really enjoyed this book. The artwork is fun and whimsical and adds so much to the story.
    • 5/5
      I loved this book! I was looking for a light break from a slighty heavier current read and this was just the ticket. The creative way Noonie's story is presented combined with a message good for both young readers ("a brillant artist must try not to be afraid") and adult readers (the story presented has many underlying themes as well)....definitely a book to check on the next time you are out and about. Happy reading!
    • 5/5
      Fantastic story about a girl named Noonie Norton. She's a quirky kid with art on the brain. She misses her parents, and struggles to find her place in the world with family and friends. Art is her outlet and salvation. The art history descriptions of actual art Masters is a bonus. This story is inspiring and I loved all the eclectic illustrations! Thumbs up!
    • 4/5
      Grades 3-6Noonie Norton is a brilliant artist, just beginning her Purple Period after years in a Blue Period. The only problem is, she's constantly in trouble at school for her art - and she always ends up in Principal Baloney's (oops, I meant Maloney) office during art class and missing it. So she misses the announcement that her school is having an art contest!!! Now she only has TWO days to create a brilliant piece of art showing... her family?!?! But Noonie HAS no family! How is even a brilliant artist like Noonie supposed to paint her family when her mother is dead and her father is halfway across the world?

    Book preview

    Noonie's Masterpiece - Lisa Railsback

    Dear Art and History People, My name is Noonie Norton, and I’m a brilliant artist. The only small problem is that I haven’t been discovered yet. See, most brilliant artists aren’t actually discovered until they’re dead, so I thought I should explain my art while I’m still alive. That way there will be no possibility of misinterpretation. Because—well, tomorrow I might be trampled by a herd of kindergartners or I might choke to death on a rotten nut. You never know what can happen to an artist.

    You should definitely take a whole lot of notes because in a hundred years people will want to know everything about me. They’ll want to know about my life when I was five years old, and fourteen years old, and twenty-three years old, and thirty years old (if I make it that long). But now I’m ten, so we’ll start right here.

    My career began like this: I painted my first self-portrait in kindergarten. That was the start of my Blue Period. My mom died, which was the beginning of everything horrible. Then my sad dad, who didn’t know what else to do, decided to leave me with Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Ralph. Double horrible.

    I was very, very blue. My face was blue, my body was blue, my hair was blue. Not a pretty blue, but a dark, stormy black blue. My mouth was in a jagged blue squiggle from one side of my messy head to the other.

    I’m sure my kindergarten teacher, Mr. Pitts, was afraid. He’d probably never seen a six-year-old paint herself so blue before. Ordinary kindergartners paint themselves smiling yellow or cheery pink. He showed my self-portrait to the principal, who showed it to the school counselor, who showed it to Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Ralph. Of course. Then all of them talked and talked—about me—and decided that I’d probably grow out of being blue.

    I hung that first self-portrait in the back of my closet with a thumbtack. I can look at my blue self whenever I want. It’s good to remember where you’ve been. The beginning of my Blue Period was a lousy, rotten time, and things have been squiggly blue ever since.

    I still live with Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Ralph and my cousin, Junior. This would probably be fine if I were a sunny-yellow or a cheery-pink fourth-grader. Unfortunately, my aunt and uncle don’t understand brilliant-artist fourth-graders a single bit. Most people don’t. My mom would have, of course, if she hadn’t died when I was in kindergarten. And my dad? Well, he collects all my work. And any day now he’s going to understand just about everything. I’m sure of it.

    My dad left me here, with my aunt and uncle, because he was sure I’d be better off in a real home with a real family. That’s exactly what he said. Because, see, his job is doing archaeological digs in all sorts of weird faraway places. He digs up old bones and old pots and stares at old crusty drawings made in caves about a million years ago. He didn’t think I would want to be sinking into tar pits, spelunking through caves, traveling all the time—because, really, how fun can that possibly be for you, Noonie? No regular school? No friends? That’s what he said. But I think it all sounds pretty darn fantastic. I’d rather be living in Timbuktu and riding on a sweaty camel with my dad. I’d rather be just about anywhere but here.

    I sent a letter off to him a couple of weeks ago. Another letter.

    I drew a picture of my blue self with blue foam gurgling out of my blue mouth. I stuffed it in the envelope and sealed the envelope with Scotch tape. As usual. See, I’ve sent my dad about a hundred letters almost exactly like this one, all with my very original art inside. It’s important to remind him that my art is much better than those weird cave drawings. He writes back immediately, and sometimes he even comes home. Pronto. It’s worked before.

    Last time he came home pronto was when I drew myself with a blue face covered in about a hundred green dots. It was obviously a terrible case of the Moldy Blue Fever from eating Aunt Sylvia’s mushy green vegetables. He also came home when I drew myself with an enormous blue head. Definitely Bloated Blue Brain from too much homework. And before that I had the most horrible cases of Blue Bathtime Rot, Blue Flu, and strange, mysterious Blue Warts. All very deadly.

    Dear Dad,

    I’m afraid that I’ve caught a very fatal sickness. I’m sure I caught it from Cousin Junior, because he likes to bite. I hate to tell you, but . . . it’s a terrible case of the BITING BLUE RABIES. My mouth is foaming nearly all the time. So I think you better come home PRONTO, before it’s too late.

    Love,

    Noonie

    Today after school I ran straight to the mailbox, as always, to see if he’d written back. And guess what? There wasn’t just a letter inside, but a package! Sure enough, it was addressed to me: Noonie Norton! It had scribbly letters on it in some foreign language and a funny-looking stained stamp.

    Dear Noonie,

    Blue rabies? That does sound serious indeed. I’d love nothing more than to see you PRONTO. Unfortunately, I can’t fly home just yet, Noonie. I’ll be home very soon, but I have to finish up this work in China. I’m busy analyzing what may be the first bones of the wild yak. I’m also learning how to use chopsticks and I’m being taught calligraphy from a Chinese master.

    Thanks for the new blue picture of you. It will be added, of course, to my collection of all your other blue pictures. Did I ever tell you that your mom had a PURPLE PERIOD? For a while she painted just about everything in purple.

    Wish I were home with you now.

    Love,

    Dad

    P.S. Will you let your Aunt Sylvia know about your newest illness? Maybe a good healthy medicine, like triple chocolate-chunk ice cream, will help.

    P.P.S. I hope these special presents will help, too.

    Yak bones? Who really cares about wild grimy old yak bones? And Aunt Sylvia curing me? Hmmph.

    Even with my favorite ice cream she could never cure me. Well, not the way my dad could. Not really.

    But at the very bottom of my package was something much better than a bone or a chopstick. I was afraid to even touch it because everything good gets ruined.

    It was a purple hat all the way from China! I put it on my head pronto, even though it smelled funny. And of course it fit my head perfectly. Most likely I will never take my purple Chinese hat off ever again. Because inside my new artist hat my dad pinned a napkin.

    It wasn’t just any ordinary napkin. Oh, no. On one side the napkin said the name of some café in Paris, France.

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