I pull off a book from the shelf in my studio, looking for something to use in my new notebook project. It’s an old Sunset Vegetable Gardening book. At first I want to use it for collage. I flip through and on the last page there is a sketch and a list of winter vegetables to plant: beets, brussel sprouts, carrots, lettuce, and spinach. I recognize the hand writing, it’s my mom’s. I can’t use this. I think about the garden in “Jennifer’s Walk”, a book from my childhood I read to Jack and Fiona. The garden in “Jennifers Walk” always reminds me of the garden my mom planted in our back yard. Now I am looking at a sketch of her vegetable plot, the one imbedded in my memories. I remember walking outside with her, “Jenny, a rabbit ate my carrots”. I imagine a white rabbit. Every time I read Jack and Fiona “Jennifer’s walk” I think of the white rabbit. I am reminded of my mom, my life as a child. My body yearns to be that little girl, to feel that way. The way my body felt today when I opened the page and saw my mom’s writing. I take the books into Jack and Fiona’s room when they wake from their nap; “Vegetable Garden” and “Woodland Animals” another one of my childhood favorites. I tell them the story of the books, they watch me in earnest. Fiona doesn’t have her hearing aids on yet, but Jack hears every word. He doesn’t interrupt, he processes. I flip the pages, he sees a picture of a turtle, “I don’t like turtles, they bite” he says. I look at him and giggle, he smiles.
Category: being a mom and an artist
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Jenny Hynes Artist Statement 2017
As the end of 2016 approaches I look back on this year as being very fruitful artistically. I have painted and written almost daily. I participated in the International DADA festival, in San Francisco with GAP (Global Art Project), we had a group show at Room Gallery in Mill Valley, Ca. Most recently I was in a two person show with Carl Heyward, “Simpatico” at The Fourth Wall Gallery. Thinking about next year, I will be having a Solo show at The Fourth Wall gallery as well as publishing my first book, “Naptime”, writings about being an artist and a mom of twins, (working title at this point) which will include a selection of my Naptime Paintings. I almost feel like I need more time to process the past year, what does it all mean? I’ve never been one to write fancy or pretentious Artists statements, the ones that sound really intelligent and use big words but no one understands! I focus on my physical experience in the studio, the scraps of re-used drawings and prints I find on my studio floor that inspire me, spontaneity, process, my moods and how they influence my work on any given day. But this year there has been more at play, my “notebook” project has dominated my studio practice. I work on several at a time, this gives me freedom to explore several ideas at once, this project has changed my practice dramatically. Psychologically it has given me a refuge, my own space to create that is not precious, or self-conscious. I never judge myself when I work in my notebooks, there is no “Good or Bad” work. I recently have begun to work on larger canvases, which at first was extremely challenging. I had been working on paper only for the better part of the year. It took months of struggle, to get to understand the canvas as I do paper. To understand color, layering, composition, on a large canvas, one that I paint upright as opposed to flat. I learned so much in this process. My work is about challenge, creating problems and obstacles for myself. One of my biggest challenges this year has been finding time to work, finding alone time in my studio, while raising twins. I write about this in my Blog, DirtyLaundryBlog.com. When I put the babies down for their nap and I walk into my studio it’s like I become myself again, as if I’m home. I forget all the other noise and worries, just break out the paint, start on my notebooks, and work on whatever else I have time to do. When naptime is over and I clean up and close up my studio I have trained myself to not obsess about the work I just made, to “change roles” and be fully present as “mom”. In 2017 I will continue working on my “notebook” project, three will be on display in my Solo Show. I am excited to start a new series of “naptime” paintings as well as large canvas works.
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I’m warmer now, I have on the heater and am drinking a glass of red wine. My children are sleeping, it’s 3:39PM. I hope I have enough time to write: before they wake up, before my husband gets home. Chills run down my back, the top of my left hand is icy cold, outdoors is gloomy and cold. (this weather doesn’t suit me) The trees are losing their leaves, I can see through one tree to the next revealing a complexity of colors. I’ve already decided to order pizza for dinner, haven’t been to the store, don’t plan on going. Especially not after drinking wine. The other day I’m in the grocery store, no bra, painting clothes on, paint on my hands. “Do you know if they have any more pies?” a lady asks me. “Yes, I think there are some in the freezer.” I say. She is uncomfortably familiar to me, am I like her? I wonder. She seems a little crazy, she looks a little crazy. I continue shopping and over by the yogurt area the manager comes up to me to hand me the pie. I tell him, “She’s over there, in the blue shirt, brown hair”. I think he must view us the same, we are oddly similar, even the store manager sees it.
We got on the ferry yesterday, Jack, Fiona, Alan, and I, the Sunday Ferry to the city. I hold Jacks hand, he pulls me from one end of the ship to the other and again and again. We don’t make it past the Ferry terminal, we eat, have coffee, and I buy a few books. It’s too hard, even with my husband there. One minute Jacks right beside me, the next minute he’s somewhere else. It’s nerve racking. We wait for the 12:40 Ferry back to Marin. On the way, back I read all four of the new books to Jack and Fiona. I feel good, I’m a good mom. No ipad, iphone, not for us. I feel like a rebel, a revolutionary, just because I have good old fashioned books. I decide I won’t be taking any more excursions like this for a while. It was a good experience, but just too stressful with toddlers.
I worked in my studio for a short while today, I could go all day if I had a babysitter. I need to. I am so distraught. I need to work, do the only thing that makes sense to me. The ever-present struggle. Today I felt a strange feeling, maybe not so strange, not so unusual. I felt that way when everything changes, the way when something is changing, when it starts to be hard to know who I am. I’ve been reading the news, not participating in any discussions, but staying informed. It’s grim. So Grim. I am practicing sitting with my feelings, living with the uncomfortable feelings. I can’t do anything about any of it, I can only weep and sink into a hole of sadness and despair. I started reading a cheesy book of cheesy quotes before I go to bed, the kind of quotes that talk about how great my body is and how lucky I am to be alive. It helps. Focus on me, each moment, be grateful. I am. I love the babies so much, and am finding myself torn between wanting more time to myself, them driving me crazy, and feeling totally depressed because of how fast they are growing and how those babies are gone, except from my memories and the pictures we look at.
As December moves on maybe I get the sadness from my mom’s death, it’s right around the corner. I don’t want to go to the stores or drive around city streets, feeling the rush and madness of the holiday season. I’m all for getting together and drinking wine, I even want to write x-mas cards and buy a few presents. Meet a friend for a holiday breakfast with Mimosas! But it’s too crazy out there for me. This year I don’t even care about God, I mean last year I was so concerned that I am an atheist and my husband’s families Catholic, and “Oh the tragedy” But this year I don’t even care about that, at all. I’m an atheist, I don’t believe in God and that’s that. I don’t feel guilty about Santa, Jack and Fiona can think what they want. We’re having fun with Santa stories and imagination, and that’s all it is. But it feels like one holiday after another. I feel like x-mas last year wasn’t a year ago. Oh no, and now I want more wine.
O-Well. I feel better. Definitely Better. Warmer. It’s getting dark already. It’s only 4:12pm. This weather doesn’t suit me. Winter is hard. This winter is hard. Wine is good. Wine is good. Red wine. Dark thoughts. I started wondering if China fired a bomb could it hit America? I am really concerned for the world. I almost called an on-line psychologist today, just to talk. I felt I needed to talk. Can you believe I have no one to call? No one to talk to? I need to sit with these feelings. I need to live with my uncomfortable feelings. They are part of me. They are part of life. I shouldn’t have read the news today. Maybe I shouldn’t read the news for the next four years. Am I crazy? I have no one to talk to. No one like me. I shouldn’t be drinking red wine. I’m a bad, bad person. O-well. Call me.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 