“I’m not picking that up again.” I say as Jack throws his bottle on the floor. MMMM Good cup of coffee. I haven’t put on Fiona’s hearing aids yet. O.K. On, done with their bottles they cried so hard in the five minutes it took to make them. Only drinking a tiny bit. Twins are exhausting. It does get harder. I received this e-mail about a piece I shared on the twin club FB page. My piece was censored and removed. The name of the person who sent the e-mail being withheld to respect privacy, name of club not being said out of respect. She writes: “We also try to keep things a little more positive and encouraging for our members since having twins can be overwhelming( especially new twins) and we would like people to feel supported and feel like they can do this. Because they can and it does get easier!” I agree, anyone can, but it does not get easier. It gets more overwhelming and I think this is information people having twins need to know. They need to be scared shitless. I wake up this morning, slept good, still sore and groggy. Babies awake. Walk into nursery, need to find new ways to pick up Jack and Fiona, hands hurt from picking up traditional way, back hurts from leaning over picking up awkward ways to protect thumb joints, hips hurt from carrying a 20 and 30 pound baby up and down stairs, putting into car seats, high chairs. Tired from the never ending mess, mess that if I let go one day becomes a thick layer of crumbs and goop on floor and counter. Dishes pile high, high, high, diapers sprawling out into the sky. Infants are easy, they weigh 5 lbs., they can’t get hurt, yeah they need a lot of feedings all night and day, loss of sleep is a bitch and when I first had the babies I was overwhelmed with all the bottles, formula, breast milk, baby clothes, and dirty diapers. That phase seems like a piece of cake compared to now. Maybe this is the no Zoloft talking, but it is annoying that someone said I needed to be more positive when I’m speaking the truth. I’m a realist, I knew having twins would be work. Everyone told me that same bullshit how it gets easier and having two is easier because they can play together. I’m gonna say it again, LIES! Sorry. Its way more work. Don’t have much time to write today. Therapy at 9:30, headed to my studio after. Need to clean kitchen, change diapers, and take a shower, oh and do laundry. Can’t forget the load in the washer again, needs to go into dryer. Don’t Forget.
Category: finding balance
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I am developing a relationship with line. I’ve been working on this for a long time. I used to be free with my use of line, I was fearless. Somewhere along the way I started hating my lines. I didn’t want any to show in the final piece. I would cover everything up. Most of the time leaving a muddy mess. I’ve been working on restraint. I make a mark and leave it. I work on several at a time, going back and forth between them responding to the marks I’ve made. Yesterday I had two sessions in my studio. I was about to clean the kitchen while the babies took their nap. But I got the urge to go throw some paint around. I started with ink, drawing with my bamboo pen. Ink on my fingers. Adding watercolor, collage, and acrylic. I stand back to look. The work I’m doing excites me. Maybe I’ve gone too far already though. No time to sit and mull, I hear Jack and Fiona on the monitor, nap time is over. We eat our Burmese chicken soup with noodles and egg for lunch. It’s enough for all three of us. I clean the kitchen, scrubbing every inch of counter, trying to get rid of clutter. We take Billy for a stroller walk, it’s still humid. I’m sweating. Ramona is here now. I hand over Jack and Fiona. I’ve got more chores to do. I tackle my closet, it’s been weighing on me for a while now. I work for two hours cleaning, purging, and going to the bank. I have a little time left to work in my studio. I go in, it’s quiet. I put away the pieces from earlier. I prepare my paper. I decide to start with watercolor. Black, I use a small brush. I sweep the brush across the paper making imagery that comes from deep inside. I like what is happening. “USE RESTRAINT.” I say. “Trust yourself.” I say. I add collage, acrylic, and ink. “Why isn’t my mom here?” I ask. She would understand what I’m doing. We could talk about it, talk about painting, use of line and mixed media. We could talk about abstract art and go see shows. I can only speak to her this way. I can imagine what she’d say, what she’d like. It’s impossible to work in my studio without these thoughts. I’ve drank my whole French press of coffee again today. I think I might bring the babies into the studio to paint today. I’m really tired though, I woke up at 3 am with violent allergies. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I feel like the purging helped my work yesterday.
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Images have been in my mind since the day I put Zappa down, blues, whites, grays, centrally located on the paper. I couldn’t wait to get into the studio. Yesterday I took Billy and the babies for a walk early so I could go straight to the studio when Ramona arrived. I took my water and fish, ate an early lunch so I could keep going all day without coming upstairs. I took down my Lenox 100, an economical paper for painting and printmaking. I tore it into several smaller pieces. I wet the paper. Start with ink and watercolor. I feel completely present, it’s quiet, mind relaxed. I channel my mom. I touch the paintbrush on the paper, the color spreads like a spill on the floor. “Mom, this is for you.” I begin adding collage, more paint, I’m thinking of delicateness. Softness like the babies cuddles. Softness which is my body. Transparency of life when you encounter death. A path to explore, more stains to be made. Memories to uncover. Coffee to drink. Cheerios to pick up off the floor. Thursday morning, back in the kitchen. Babies screeching. From making to cleaning. Drinking whole pot of coffee today. No babysitter today. No studio today. It’s play day. A day to inspire Jack and Fiona, to show them something new and wonderful, a petting zoo a duck pond. My mom said I didn’t have the discipline to work in the studio for hours when I told her I wanted to be an artist. She said I could never spend that much time alone. But I crave that time, those hours alone in my studio working. My mom was impressed when she saw me becoming that artist, when she saw my dedication. I wish she could see my paintings now. I wish I could see her paintings now. She was a wonderful artist.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 