I read
this article by Keirsten Casella just now as I was feeding Ellie her bottle. It made me laugh out loud, it made me cry, and it is beautifully written.
As a stay-at-home mom and a songwriter, I am constantly struggling with how these two identities fit together. What is my purpose? Where is the creativity and beauty in piles of laundry and poopy diapers and spit up? Why do I feel so selfish whenever I put Ellie in Mother's Day Out so I can work on writing and recording?
This article helped me see that I'm not alone in this struggle and tension. It reminded me of the beauty of motherhood - even in the midst of monotonous things like diaper changes and picking up soggy cheerios off the floor. At the same time, it reminded me of the importance of carving out time to be creative.
Here are some key paragraphs from the article:
"My children, with all their enthusiasm to play and explore the world, provide an endless fountain of imagination from which to drink. But they also produce a mountain of laundry the size of California, and it isn’t going to wash itself. My kids, like most, necessitate a certain rhythm to their daily lives, and it doesn’t usually leave room to dash over to the local museum for a Renoir fix whenever I need one. Quite frankly, I’ve discovered that motherhood can feel isolating at times, especially for a free-spirited person like me who doesn’t thrive on structure.
Making art, whether in the form of a painting, a photograph, or an essay, is a way for me to break out of that rhythm for a while. It is so gratifying to accomplish something that cannot be undone or that doesn’t need repeating day-in and day-out. Scraping syrupy bits of waffle off my kitchen floor, for example, can feel like I’m living in a scene from Groundhog Day for as often as I repeat the task. With art, there’s no déjà vu. A stark white canvas comes alive with color and abstractness, and I can keep layering the paint until something emerges that never will be replicated in quite the same way.
For me, pressing my brush against a canvas shakes the snow globe of monotony. It’s how I process this season of life and refill my cup. More than that, it’s the way I etch toward beauty, contemplate truth, and lasso the wayward bits of myself so I have more to give to the people I love."
"I study my children and never cease to be amazed by the complexity and uniqueness of their delicate faces. They are small, priceless masterpieces. I know, without a doubt, that their existence makes me want to escape to my upstairs studio to make art, and not just because it gives me time alone."
