I have a Dream. I walk by the door of the Gallery, my show is being installed. I can see three small framed portraits being hung, the installers say, “not yet”, they don’t want me to see yet. I wake up. I want to clean my studio. Something inside is leading me, a part of me more certain than emotions or intellectualism. I clean, throw away, I paint all the paintings on board, on canvas, white. All the paintings I’m so-so about. I haven’t been able to work in my studio the past couple Of weeks. I write and complain, it’s because my kids won’t take their naps anymore, its because they are being bad, its because they aren’t giving me any space. I throw away three bags of trash from my studio. I throw away paintings on paper that never worked, that scattered the floor, my press, under my table. I throw away junk left from frantic studio sessions, old yogurt containers with dried yogurt. I couldn’t work in my studio because it was too cluttered with the past. Not because of motherhood. Now there’s space here. I create a special corner for Fiona with her easel and her art supplies. I haven’t had a chance to paint yet; I have all my notebooks opened up to clean white pages, painting surface after painting surface gessoed with only ghosts showing from what was. Fiona tells me she wants to paint in her new spot; It’s after 5:00, I should be making dinner. Alan is playing with Jack in the house; Fiona and I go in my studio, she starts painting, cutting string, gluing, she is completly absorbed in the process. I start drawing, reacting with new lines and reacting with lines that connect with the ghosts of the past paintings. Jack comes in and says he wants to throw paint. I set him up with a canvas and black paint, he starts splattering the paint, Jackson Pollock style. I continue to work, my head feels light and my body free from the neck work I did in yoga this morning. Fiona and I paint for almost two hours together. Alan comes in and says he’s getting really hungry and it’s really late. I tell Fiona, we clean up. I go upstairs and make dinner. I have a dream last night: I’m re-writing a story to read out loud, I get up in front of a group of people and I can’t read myown writing. Its so confusing, I can’t tell what happened to the words. I try to skim it and fill in the blanks, I’m so confused. I wake up and here I am.
Category: art
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I sit myself next to the kitchen window so I can see when Jack, Fiona, and Alan get home. Alan took them down to the park. They wouldn’t take their nap and when he got home I was at my wits end with a sink full of dishes and a look of despair on my face. How can a three-year-old boy, so sweet, so smart, be so difficult? My son Jack is pushing me to the limit. I have started thinking he is a bad influence on Fiona, wondering if it’s time to give them their own rooms? Alan says no, it’s too early. Today when Jack and I went to pick up Fiona, Jack clung to my leg. He wanted me to carry him back to our car. “No, I’ll hold your hand” I say. I am holding Fiona’s hand, she is wanting to go, she pulls me a little, but I tell her to wait. “Jack, are you ready to walk?” I ask. He cries, holds tighter. I start to walk a little, he gets up and says, “No”, he hits me and grabs my shirt. I feel like crying. We finally get to my car, I put Fiona in her car seat first; Jack sneaks by me into the car, he plays the same annoying game of not getting into his seat, moving from front to back so I can’t catch him. “I am not taking you anywhere until you start listening to me” I say. He finally gets in his seat. On our way home, we stop for smoothies, I give Jack and Fiona a health food brownie to share. Jack wants more, I say no, he cries. At home I give them a nice hot bath, dress them in clean, comfy clothes, and read a book. It’s nap time. I want to lay down myself. I try to rest, I hear Jack and Fiona playing and laughing. It’s O.K., I think to myself. After 45 minutes, I go in, Jacks in the sink letting water flow over onto the floor, Fiona is on the counter with toothpaste all over her body, and the mirror,I have to give her a shower.
The moment they leave I get online, I search for figure drawing workshops, or groups. I received an invitation for a Figure Drawing Intensive next week at SFAI, all week long 10-4. I fantasized about going, tried to think who could watch the kids? Then I thought, this is what I need, figure drawing, just draw for hours from a model, how amazing and good for my soul would that be? I quickly realize it’s a pipe dream, not possible now. I finish cleaning the kitchen, start the dinner and they are home. Jack and Fiona run up the stairs, laughing, they run right outside to the back yard. I feel a little bit sad that my presence at this moment is so inconsequential, but glad at the same time so I can finish preparing dinner in peace. “Mom Fiona needs you!” Jack comes running in to tell me. I thought I heard crying before. I go outside, Fiona is laying flat on her face, I pick her up and her mouth and chin are bleeding. She was climbing on the swing and fell off. I hold her until she feels better. Dinner time is difficult, Jack doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to put on pants, makes a mess in the bathroom, knocks over the doll house, then as I’m telling him, “Don’t sit on the window sill, stop playing with the blind” He falls out the window onto the deck. A huge lump forms on the back of his head. I go outside to pick Jack up, Fiona leans out the window and starts laughing at Jack. All Jack wants to do now is go to sleep, it’s 6:30pm.
All night I worry, is there something wrong with Jack, why is he so difficult? Why won’t he listen to me? Fiona is so easy, so sweet. I’ve started going to Yoga again and meditating. It helps, to remind myself on a continual basis of the quiet sanctuary I have access to any where ,any time. I go back to breath, knowing I’ve been through so many challenging things in life, knowing I can get through anything. I know my studio will be waiting for me, I have been drawing a lot, and drawing with Fiona which is so wonderful. She loves to draw, I feel so lucky to have a daughter that loves art. Before we picked up Jack at school today Fiona and I went to the art store and bought sketch pads and new pens. At the park I sat and sketched while the babies played, until Jack took off all his clothes. I put his pants back on him twice, then I was over it and let him be naked until we left. Fiona sat and sketched in her new sketch pad with her new pens next to me, under the oak tree, on the little bench at Castle Park. I have to fight with Jack to get his pants on before we leave. Back home I lock them in their room, turn on the TV and take a shower. I finish writing this, which I started yesterday, now I hear them calling for me. My heart flutters a bit with anxiety. I really can’t take a night of tantrums and talking and asking me for things I don’t want them to have to eat. I just want a nice relaxing evening. What can I do to accomplish this with three year old twins? Two children that are very different. If it was just Fiona it would be a breeze, we could read books, play with stuffed animals, practice sign language, I could give her a bath and feed her dinner, then put her to bed without a hitch. Not Jack. I get anxiety just thinking about it. I really do. I love him so much, I miss the old Jack, my sweet boy. The boy who loved me reading books to him. What should I do?
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Birds chirping, chimes making music, Jack and Fiona talking to each other in their locked room, it’s naptime. It’s possible they won’t go to sleep, but I still need my break. Fiona and I were early to pick Jack up from school today, I made the mistake of going in his classroom causing chaos. Jack got up and poured out a basket of toys and every classmate of his, (who had all been sitting quietly enjoying their lunches before I arrived), started laughing. I was intrigued, why was it so funny? Because Jack was doing something “Bad”? I don’t know, but I apologized to the teacher for causing such ruckus. We walked upstairs and noticed the door of the Episcopal Church was open. It is a historic building, with beautiful stained glass, I’ve always wanted to check it out inside. I tell Jack and Fiona, “Shhh, be quiet and don’t touch anything”. The ceiling is high and vaulted, there are beautiful stained glass windows. It smells old but inviting. It feels sacred, I want to just sit here and rest. Fiona is quiet and calm, not Jack. He bounces from one thing to the next, “don’t touch” I say repeatedly. I wonder if I need to take them to a service to expose them to what happens in here. I want to come to just absorb the space, but the sermon would destroy this sacred space for me, the praying to God or taking Jesus into my heart would ruin what I’m feeling right now, the spirituality this church inhabits, the connection I feel to it right now would be stripped away from me to sit through a Sunday service. I would sit thinking in my head over and over again, “I don’t believe in God, I’m an atheist, how can these worshippers believe in heaven and hell?” It would ruin my experience. I’m connected to the sacred space, the ritual of thinking of others, of wanting peace on earth.
We leave the church and head to the grocery store, not my first choice of activities with three-year-old twins. Jack and Fiona tell me they want to “walk” in the store. I agree, but say, “Don’t touch anything or you are going in the cart”. We get green smoothies to ward off our sugar addiction, I’ve been weening myself off, gone through withdraws and depression, it was one of the hardest things ever to admit I’m a sugar addict, that was step one. Then to read all the labels and find out how many grams of sugar is in my food that I consume and give my family. I’ve always said, “it’s OK I worked out today”, then I would have my chocolate chip cookie, or my bowl of cereal or my flavored yogurt. There are so many times in the day where “I want something sweet”. I want it so bad! We wait for our smoothies to be ready. The juice bar is located in the cakes and cookies section of the grocery store. It’s hard to handle, I want to buy a chocolate cake, but I don’t. We get our smoothies and they are really yummy. Jack starts bouncing again, bopping from one thing to the next, touching things he shouldn’t so I put him back in the shopping cart, I put Fiona in the inside part. We grab what we need on our way to the vegetable isle. “Can I get out and walk?” Jack asks. “Can I help you pick the vegetables?” he says. This sounds reasonable, I let Jack and Fiona out of the cart. “Stay by me, don’t touch anything, watch out for that person” I say. (Over and over again) Jack grabs a red bell pepper and takes a bite! The other customers in the store seem both annoyed and amused by me and my children. I BARELY have them under control. I’m embarrassed because I’m one of those people now, with unruly children running around the store, and I’m proud because of their love of vegetables! As I get to the cashier the woman in front of me is telling the story of Jack biting the pepper to the cashier, “There they are” she says, pointing to us. She tells me she also had a son named Jack, he’s all grown up now. She says my Jack reminds her of her Jack, as my Jack is messing with the automatic doors ignoring my calls to “Come back in the store”. She says she found out to late that her son had ADD, “Not that that your son has it, But…”
I’m starting to feel at ease again, I had to put on a show for Jack and Fiona, it doesn’t seem like they will sleep. I need more time to myself, studio time. I haven’t had much time to paint in a while. But I can hear a lot of rumblings coming from their room. It might be hard to get in my studio today, Fiona is crying and calling me. I want something sweet. What to do, what to do. The sounds of the birds enter my consciousness again, the chimes, I take a breath in my nose and slowly let my breath fall out of my mouth. Then yawn. I’m tired already, it’s only 3:00. Maybe I should just let everything go that I want to do this afternoon, like painting and my studio. Or see if I leave Jack and Fiona in their room longer if they will fall asleep, but that means they will be up till nine! Now they are up, I’ve released them from their room and decided to keep them up until bedtime, which will be 7:00 tonight!!!
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 