Rethinking Productivity
For most people, but especially Mothers, productivity is almost always the sneaky little goal of any hobby, goal, or routine. I hear far too many stories, and subscribe to this habit myself. Of Mothers waking up much earlier than their family members so they can have time to themselves. During this time, I would do something like unload the dishwasher or make everyone’s lunches, leaving me very little opportunity to gently soak in my morning by myself. God forbid I not cloak my me-time in a thin veil of productivity, right? Still, this routine gave me that tiny taste of alone I was searching for and it allowed me to be productive. Win-win?
At some point during the cluster of 2020, I called a loud and proud bullshit on this win-win. Something didn’t feel right about it. I was pregnant, jobless, busy serving my family during a global pandemic, and thinking critically about my role as a privileged white woman in America. But. I was very bored. How in the FUCKING WORLD, despite all the chaos and work that needed to be done, was I bored?
Mothers can be a lot of things, but they cannot be bored. If you are bored as a mother, you are doing something wrong.
Pregnant POV in my first studio space
It hit me hard and fast; the idea of getting back together with my creative self. Cleaning and organizing with the determination that can only come from a women entering her third trimester of pregnancy, I turned a small corner of our basement into a painting space. I even made a little spot for my three year old, Auggie, because how could I not try to do two things at once? How dreamy would it be if I could paint for my own fulfillment AND be a Mother to my child? In this set up, I would spend 4-5 hours per week downstairs painting while Auggie played, edging in closer to the win-win I was truly after. Eventually, I moved the studio upstairs where our family spends a majority of our time. Auggie had more access to the things he loved (and the bathroom) and I was able to dive deep into my art making.
Soon, however, I noticed that it was taking longer to unload the clean dishwasher. Clean laundry piles, begging to be folded, were growing in the corner of my dining room. Clumps of dog hair were becoming a more frequent nuisance. I say this without an ounce of hyperbole, the thought of preparing dinner made me want to cry.
It was becoming clear that domesticated productivity was at an all time low and I felt...sigh...guilty. I could feel myself starting to spiral into that place where Mothers go when we don’t feel like we are good enough. My mind said “Just go unload the dishwasher. It will only take 6 minutes!” But my gut, who I had been honoring with great reverence, said “Forget the dishwasher. Go paint.” And so I did. And you know what? I’ve never once regretted choosing myself over the dishes.
Making your art, investigating your curiosities, and indulging your interests, even at the expense of your traditional “motherly” duties, can absolutely count as productivity. This is what Mother Art ultimately celebrates; the cool shit Mother’s do that serve no purpose other than to fulfill their artistic, creative compulsions. Our art may not make our houses cleaner. Art won’t make healthy, Instagram-worthy lunches every single day. It most likely won’t make us rich, generally speaking. It doesn’t do any of the productive things that society tells us our interests should do.
Although, I think as you read more stories on Mother Art you will find that art-making does, in fact, make you the best Mother and human you can possibly be.
