It’s no secret that mothering and artistry are at odds in a lot of ways. A studio practice requires quiet concentration and bringing humans into this world takes away both quiet and a lot of one’s ability to concentrate. They’re at odds because they both need the same things from you, two sides of the same coin; mothering and any artistic practice takes attention, devotion, and sacrifice. A giving of all yourself. Doing the mundane and repetitive things in hopes that a spark of inspiration (or your baby’s sweet giggle) will make all the repetitive acts worth it. It’s no surprise that a lot of artists who have families end/pause their creative endeavor after a birth of one or more babies. And yet, the more I’m in it the more I see these two roles as complimentary. And essential for me. Becoming a mother strips you down to the necessities and builds you back up into a new form of yourself. It exaggerates all your worst character traits so you can’t hide from them anymore. It forces you to confront them. An artistic practice, in any medium, allows you to process that undoing. And that building back up. It has been my companion in such a deep and essential way, allowing me to process raw moments in life where words aren’t enough or available at the time.
These works, painted shortly after the birth of my third child and only daughter, are an immersion of these two paradoxical worlds. A thank you letter to my practice for getting me through. Recognition that the sacred moments arrive through the everyday tasks of showing up. Painting the fleeting feelings of ease, rest, and intimacy.
Growing, birthing, and holding a creation that is of you but separate from you; this is the process and reality of both mothering and artistry. Endless gratitude to both processes, the boring duty of it all, and those sacred small moments that wash over us, that have personally nourished and enriched my life in terribly hard and tender ways.
Now
@pictureroomnyc
Mother IV, gouache on paper, 11” x 8.5”, 2025, original, signed
Mother I, gouache on paper, 11” x 8.5”, 2025, original, signed
