Still a Mother Artist
Confession: when I started making art again in the summer of 2020, I was not ready to out myself as an artist. Artists are cool, confident. Artists are mysterious and savvy. Intellectual. Weird. Fringe. Childless.
Artists don’t abandon their work for nearly 13 years and then return to it thinking “I deserve to be here”.
I was 5 months pregnant painting out of tiny corner in my poorly lit basement. I watched a lot of vapid, soulless reality TV. I drank coffee from Starbucks without reserve. I didn’t think I was the least bit interesting or eccentric or original. I thought those things barred me from identifying as an artist, as if there was some code one had to live up to be able to say “I am an artist.”
But, I was a mother. And a mother painting in her basement while her 3 year old played with trains and -4 month old kicked her ribs was something. I thought if I partnered my undeniable identity as a mother with my covert, sacred dream of being an artist, maybe the world would go easier on me. Maybe they would forgive me for my basic-ness, for being unworthy. So despite my crippling fear of rejection, I embarked on the bravest thing I’ve ever done; I started making art and shared it with whoever was paying attention.
As I grew into my art making practice, I felt more secure saying “I am an artist”. I looked forward to opportunities where I could say it outloud. And, as it always happens when our children grow, my identity as a mother became a little less novel. Sure, motherhood informed my art on a practical level. When can I paint? How much of this mess do I need to clean up? Where do I store materials so the kids can’t reach? How do I prioritize my art making practice? For a while, I found it super important to share that with the world. I think it’s helpful to see mothers accomplish seemingly impossible things while mothering, particularly if it means that mother is living her truth, despite living a world that is constantly telling us to conform, to lie. We are told that being a mother is the single greatest thing we can do, that it is more than enough. I don’t know a single mother who believe this at the root of her soul.
Conceptually, motherhood has very little to do with my art. In fact, I dare say my work is an escape from the throes of raising small humans. It’s about absurdity, unfettered joy, and glorifying the ridiculous. It’s about confidence and being exactly who you are, without reserve. I think a lot about “want” vs “need” and how I struggle to understand the difference. And as someone who craves connection, attention, and understanding, it’s important I be able to share this with those who appreciate my work.
SO. As I focus more on putting myself, not my identity as a mother, at the center of my art, I hope you will continue to stick around for the glittery, brazen, chaotic goodness that comes along with my artistic territory. My motherness is still there, but it’s time to let my art shine all by herself.
