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: being an artist
-
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!!!
-
At first, I’m mad, I’m still mad. The International Women’s Day and Strike is today. I’m mad because I can’t participate. I’m mad because so many women can’t participate. I’m mad because women never get a break. Today we are supposed to participate, be “on strike”, but stay at home moms can’t do that. We don’t punch a time card, we don’t get paid, we don’t collect social security, are unable to save for retirement, but our work is indispensable. Our homes need us today and every other day, 365 days a year, 24/7. We don’t get weekends off, we can’t take a sick day. For those of who juggle homemaker and a job, holy cow! Hats off to you women! It’s hard work being a woman. We get paid less, we get penalized for getting pregnant, male bosses talking behind the backs of their female workers when they need to take maternity leave. Thinking about how much it costs the company to pay her, to keep her in the company. But no one would be here without women. We raise the world. We are more important than we give ourselves credit for. Women are the thread that ties the world together, our children are the future. My mom made me who I am today, I give her all the credit, a working, single mom. Put herself through college to make a better life. Never got a day off. Never took a vacation. She died without ever taking a vacation.
I wish I could “take the day off”, go to San Francisco, participate in a March, hang out with other women. Maybe I should? Maybe I should bring the babies to San Francisco to the march and rally? Maybe I should take Jack and Fiona to the city? It’s a beautiful day! Tempting! If they feel up to it I think I just might!! I feel like a weight has been lifted off me just now! Possibilities are opening up. I woke up so early I had a chance to work in my studio this morning. The weight on my shoulders started to lighten as I mixed paint, drew, made marks. I can’t just “drop my responsibilities” today, but I can shake them up, turn things upside down. I need a social connection today. I have plans with one of my best friends to meet up, can I convince her to take the babies to the March in SF? We’ll see. I have to see how Jack and Fiona feel first, if they are sick everything’s thrown out the window! I’ll be on Full Mom duty! We never know how our day will go until the children are up. This is one of the MOST difficult parts of being a parent. I can have the best intentions for the day, be feeling great, and sometimes, the children cry, and whine, and pee on the floor, and get into everything, and don’t listen. By the time night comes I feel I’ve been run over by a truck. Mindfulness practice helps, but it doesn’t prevent all the “FUCK” moments! Complete frustration. That was yesterday. But in between those days we have our beautiful, potty trained, sweet, fun days together. It all evens out in the end.
The house is still quiet. Jack and Fiona will be up soon. I have a bit of anxiety. A bit of anxiety today. Maybe I should take a hot bath before they get up. Before I do everything else I need to do.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 