Failure and Progress

I didn’t end up writing after last week’s session because I was working til the last possible second and then I wanted to get home to make some pizza for dinner. It’s awesome to be excited to go to the studio to work for the day and even more awesome to be excited to go home to do something festive with the people I love. My time at the studio last week was all about doing. Scanning my polaroids, then making some digital photographs of my weeds while simultaneously (or intermittently) making emulsion transfers of the polaroids from the week before. It was surprisingly enjoyable to be bouncing back and forth between the two tasks. Digital photography can be hard on me as the instant preview gives me a lot of opportunities to get feedback from my inner critic. I guess that’s helpful, or at least part of the process. I photograph, look at the image, and then decide to adjust or move on. But it’s not the most pleasurable way to work because I don’t get into a flow state that way. So I appreciated being able to take frequent breaks to go do something totally different. Teasing apart the soft flexible emulsion layer from the two plastic pieces of the polaroid requires patience, awareness, and a precise hand. Brains are not invited to that party. I often found I was able to see the photography work from a fresher angle after one of those breaks. So that’s interesting. I left with a few emulsion transfers and 1-2 digital images that I am excited to try to make salt prints from.

Which brings me to this week. I felt a bit stagnant with the photography. I have a few more dried things I want to photograph but they require more space and I know I need to set up a proper corner where I can hang/drape a backdrop in order to do them (and revisit what I’ve already done). I just didn’t feel like spending the day moving furniture around, so I took break from the weeds for the moment. I decided to prepare the piece of silk I ordered for dyeing by scouring and mordanting it (which, annoyingly, does take 5 hours of work with nothing to show for it). At first I thought I was going to dye it with avocados but now I’m thinking I might try to do an ecoprint of plant material on it instead. Or who knows, maybe both, somehow. So, I decided I would take a fun day by doing that mordanting and working on some sewing projects for myself while I waited. I finished a summer romper which I’m not sure I’ll actually be brave enough to wear (can 36 year old women wear those?). And I started to take apart a skirt that I found at my neighborhood thrift store that I want to refashion (and hem a few inches off of). And I got to listen to some good tunes on the radio.

I left feeling a little uneasy that I wasn’t able to take the next step on my weeds project. I thought it would be nice to start working on the salt prints, which I’ve been avoiding because I have to do it in my dark basement and it’s much harder to find the energy and carve out the time and space for art making when I’m at home. But tonight an opportunity presented itself so I dove into it. I am working on learning both a new coating process and my new (ish) UV exposure unit at the same time, so I really need to do some boring technical stuff to iron out my drop counts/exposure times/etc. I coated 4 small sheets of paper and let them dry while I took care of some business upstairs. Then I tried to do a test strip to see what my optimal exposure time would be. Unfortunately, it was clear right away that my coating job was really uneven. I guess I need to increase that drop count pretty substantially! And even then, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to get the solution spread across the paper evenly. So, that was a bummer to realize, given that I had coated 4 sheets for the night and none of them would be usable. I decided to forge on though and use two of the sheets to try to make images anyway. I didn’t come up with anything usable but it still felt good just to do something other than another failed test strip.

So here we are after a flat out failure, which will hopefully help me progress. More data gathered, right? Perhaps I’ll be able to find another night this week to try again. And when I do I’ll know I need to make some adjustments. Yes, this work is moving at a snail’s pace. But I’m feeling positive that I will eventually get somewhere.

And now for a thought on motherhood that I think also applies to art making. I’m reading Bethany Saltman’s new book on attachment and it is fascinating. A line that stuck out to me was that attachment manifests itself as fear. It feels so true. I know I am attached in my relationships when I fear the loss of them. And I often feel fear around aspects of artmaking. I had ever stopped to think that maybe the fear I’m feeling is because of my attachment to the work or the idea or just the desire to be an artist. It makes so much sense. So. Mind blown. I’m looking forward to learning more as I keep reading.

Progression

It’s interesting how ideas emerge from such a simple impulse and then progress in different ways as you start to carry them out. Knowing I was going to focus on exploring my dried weeds (and even collecting a couple more of them on a walk to bring with me to the studio) has been very grounding. Somewhere between last week and this week I remembered, “Oh hey, I’m a photographer. Why don’t I try taking pictures of these things?” And that has turned the nebulous uncertainty of what I want to be working on into a very concrete thing, with tools and steps that I am very practiced in following.

Unrelatedly, I had ordered some fabric online for a spring sewing project and was moved along the way to add into my cart a piece of silk charmeuse (for the free shipping, because that makes sense). I thought it would be nice to try dyeing it blush pink with the avocados and then using it to recreate a nightgown that I had as a child that I remember wearing. I was anticipating its arrival when suddenly I made a connection — “Oh hey, I’ve been randomly dyeing fabric for no particular reason for the past three years…. what if I used some of this dyed fabric in the photographs I will be making?”

So, that was an exciting connection to make, seeing as how my infatuation with fiber arts hasn’t yet connected back to photography at this point, and I’ve always wondered where it all was heading. So, now I feel like it’s heading toward specifically making things that will be photographed as part of this project. At least right now.Cool!

When I arrived at the studio I was greeted by surprise subject matter in the form of a rag I had used to clean up spilled dye from my batch of avocados last week. A beautiful pattern made from nature’s resist. You can’t make that stuff up.

So, I started there, laying it out and arranging a simple piece of plant material on top of it. I photographed it a few ways using my polaroid camera with my last pack of color film loaded into it. Even though I think (thought?) I’ll be using black and white for this so I can try different printing processes, the color film happened to be out and I thought “what the heck” as I grabbed it on my way out the door. My digital camera batteries were all charging so I’m glad I had it. Plus, the color exploration was an interesting part of it all.

I was also moved to make an object (sculpture? arrangement? costume piece?) using some of the other dried vines from this same plant (whatever it is, I should probably research that). One of the pieces looked like a portion of a crown of sorts, so I wove it into a ring of wild grapevine that I had from my stash of wild vine rings for basketmaking (what, doesn’t everyone have one of those?). I was into it, so I added more until it looked thoroughly crown-like. I didn’t have a plan for it so I carefully hung it back on the wall (those dried weeds are super delicate!) and decided to transition to a sewing project for a bit while I waited for my camera batteries to charge.

Sewing is a nice way to keep myself moving through things when I’m in a position of stuckness. I didn’t quite know what else to try with the materials and tools I had available to me. So I worked on sewing myself a summer outfit. Today’s portion of it was the pants. Lots of pieces to arrange and put together to make sure the pockets lined up and all. I was working with fabric that I had dyed using chestnut and madder extracts a while back. At some point, I was looking at it and thought, “Hm, it would be interesting to see this color behind the plant scrap I photographed earlier.” So I laid out my last unattached piece of pants bottom and put the scrap on top and photographed it. As soon as it shot out of the camera I held it to my body to keep warm. I had felt that the last round ended up a little cooler in color temperature, and I know that this emulsion is very temperature sensitive. I loved the resulting color of the image.

Then I remembered I had a larger piece of madder dyed fabric in a box that I had taken with me to craft show a couple years ago, so I dug that out. I realized it was probably just big enough that I could photograph my crown on it as a backdrop. So that’s what I did. One shot, with a little skin warm-up. Then another, from another angle.

And I really love how that first crown photograph turned out, especially. So I might submit it to be a part of the Artist/Mother collaborative artwork.

Yep, I definitely didn’t know I was going to weave a weed crown when I left the house to head to the studio and then photograph it. But, hey, I’m glad I did. It was exciting. And I’m still excited to see what new directions come up once those digital camera batteries finish charging.

Opening

Thinking about motherhood and if and how my art practice is informed by it (and, conversely, how my art practice informs my mothering). With thoughts around making a piece that specifically engages with the idea of representing my experience of becoming a mother. I don’t normally work that way. I like my art practice to feel like an opening, an invitation for the world to share its messages with me, rather than me sharing my experience with the world. Not that the two can’t coexist. It’s just that my process hasn’t ever been to work that way. So I’ve been tickling this idea of working from the inside out, wondering what that would feel like. So far it’s been in acknowledging imagery that attracts me. And lately that has been dried plant material, especially vines and grasses. Today I collected some pieces of dried vines that had been growing up the chain link fence outside of the studio parking lot. They are guttingly beautiful. And so delicate. And somehow I think this all connects back to me, and where I am, and being a mother. The dark, dried, shattery versions of what was once prolific and lush life. Like a woman on the other side of fullness. Fragile, discarded, and guttingly beautiful. Living outside of time, no longer anticipating the end of their season. Their end is here. And it has taken this unique and stunning the form that I want to regard fully.

I’m considering making some photographs of the forms and using them for salt prints. I thought I would start with a dried leaf that I found half-decomposed on the ground two years ago on a walk near the botanical gardens.

When I found it I was 8 1/2 months pregnant and walking amongst the spring trees in bloom on that first warm day of spring that brings everyone outside, surprised and delighted to find a world out there waiting for them. I was drawn to the laciness of the decomposed patches of leaf, how they kept this intricate, flexible, almost cloth-like network of veins once the papery bits fell off. I put it in a notebook and didn’t look at it again until earlier this year, almost two years (and an entire lifetime of understanding) later. It was in the same shape, but as I pulled it out of the book, I noticed that the remaining papery bits had loosened and were starting to fall off to reveal more of that lace underneath. So I sat with it and carefully used my finger to flake off each of the remaining bits until that delicate web of webs was all that remained. I found it strange how that undoing made the object sturdier, more flexible, though still delicate. But now that the pieces are gone, it seems more complete.

In many ways now, almost two years after becoming a mother, I feel like that delicate web, like most of what had been me has been shed, and what’s underneath is somehow both more fragile and more resilient at the same time. I tried to hang onto those papery bits but little by little I have shed them and can now see the intricacies of what was always underneath.

So, from this, exploration will ensue. Today began with me boiling up some dried avocado skins and pits and doing some dyeing/toning of cyanotypes that I had around. Some fabric that I exposed in rainfall a few years ago (tears, mothers?), and some dried plant materials I had exposed onto paper a few weeks ago. I didn’t think of this at the time when I decided to try this, but the avocado collection I have in my studio was supplied entirely by feeding baby E avocados every day for breakfast for a good year of his life. So, even just looking at the pile of them in my studio, I am moved by that understanding of the vastness of these daily experiences we don’t even think about it. So, subconscious inclusion there. But I like it.

I’m excited to see where this leads.

Beginnings

Getting started today felt like birthing myself back into the world. It had been a week since I spent hours researching and ordering supplies. Then, a few days ago I gathered all my materials and packed them neatly into a box to bring with me this afternoon. I was ready for this. But when the time came to leave, I felt like a papier mache version of myself. I was there, in theory, but somehow all of my guts had evaporated. I couldn’t find the strength to take off my house sweater, put on a coat and carry my things out to the car. I got up for a minute and walked over to where my things were waiting for me but as I went to pull off my sweater I broke out into tears. I just couldn’t.

This is the point at which my usual m.o. might have been to swallow the lump in my throat and muscle through the action, charging my way to the studio to follow through with my plan with or without my own support. Or, another version of me might have instead given up, pulled out my phone and looked for distractions in the form of articles to read, more research to do, etc., never making it there and going to bed regretful that I hadn’t followed through with my commitment.

But today I just sat there, in my little sunny spot, drinking the to-go mug of tea I had prepared myself while I felt my feelings. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was just letting myself be there, resting, catching up, crying, warming myself with tea. Life at home was proceeding whether I was there or not. J had already put E down for his nap and was getting dinner tucked into the Instant Pot for later. I had a moment to breathe. 

I sat until my tea was done, letting my mind wander over the morning’s events and eventually catching up to the present and what I had intended to work on at the studio. I thought of a photo process in one of my books that I had there and wondered about applying it in a new direction. That tiny spark of curiosity shifted something in me. It made me want to get up and go there so I could take a look. So I did. 

Nothing came of the spark in the end in terms of productivity, but it gave me the energy shift I needed to feel positive about honoring this time I had set aside for my practice and to overcome the hurdles I was encountering as I tried to get there. 

My time at the studio was full of other twists and turns. I started by making a to-do list of the 6 things I was hoping to do. In the end, I managed 2 of them. I had also intended to casually film myself as I mixed together a sizing solution to coat paper for salt printing, in the hopes that I could share it in a future instructional video or even just make a little Instagram video about it. Now I know that there is nothing casual about producing an instructional video. So, I opted in favor of doing the work, with the hope of planning a little more carefully to shoot a video at another time.

In the end, I feel most positive about the shift I experienced today. It was a simple moment, one that might not seem like a big deal to others but it was for me. When facing a familiar paralyzing sensation, I tried a new approach. I sat with myself, open to the possibility that I would go or not go, not muscling my way through the decision but allowing it to come to me naturally. The fact that I went in the end is great, but I don’t know if that’s even why I’m proud. I think I would have been just as proud if I had come to the decision to do something else in that same natural, full-bodied way, without pressure, guilt, or resentment clouding my experience.

Every moment can be like this. A new beginning. The chance to choose from the heart. I want to hold this with me as I commit to this regular practice of showing up. 

To Be an Artist, and a Parent

I had been embracing the uncertainty of each day with open arms and sturdy feet, grounding myself through ritual and routine as I cared for my one-year-old and set small creative and personal goals for myself: an essay a week written during nap times, Monday afternoons in my art studio, yoga class on Wednesdays and Sundays.

I felt like I was finally getting it. I was ready to discard the frustration of believing that my time wasn’t my own and feeling brave enough to stake small, reasonable claims toward fulfilling my own desires. Rather than my usual tired complaints about being trapped in the wrong life, I asked myself, “What do you want, right now, right here where you are, that would bring you joy and fulfillment?”

Those simple goals were the answers. Actionable steps toward fulfillment, no major life upheaval required. So I slowly started putting them into place. And like that, a tiny part of my identity as an artist reemerged to live alongside the part of me that became Mother last year.

Then, a creative work opportunity came up, and in a single day, my grounded, focused state unraveled, revealing the frayed ego underneath. My summer teaching gigs were officially canceled, with a down-to-the-minute call to submit ideas for replacement online offerings by the next morning. My brain went into overdrive trying to put together creative ideas to pitch, and I felt completely uprooted.

As this was happening it was excruciating to be “on duty” with my son, walking him around in circles over and over again while I felt like a job opportunity was slipping through my hands. I couldn’t be present with him. Eventually, and thankfully, my husband was able to take over as I entered into full-on mad scientist mode, digging old pinhole cameras out of the basement and tearing through the fridge looking for expired film.

I spent the next two hours running from outside to inside, up and down the stairs, photographing, experimenting, trying out potential techniques. All the while my actual life played out in comparative slow motion in the next room. My son was in his high chair at the dining room table, babbling as my husband slowly divvied out small cubes of sweet potato and leftover pulled pork for him to eat. Afterward, they sat together on the floor of the living room to read the same book over and over again. Then they went to the kitchen and watched as the electric kettle came to a boil, getting ready to pour the water into a cup and place his bottle of milk in it to get warm.

I was in the basement trying to hand-develop Polaroids with a rolling pin. I didn’t need to be there to know what was happening upstairs: the bottle, the putting away of blocks, balls, and toys; then to his bedroom for his nighttime diaper, the “sleep sack song,” and to bed.

That is our life, the rituals of doing and being, and being a parent involves a lot of doing and being on repeat. My life as an artist, heretofore, has not. It has involved fragments and shards and late nights and long weekends. It has been built on a daily schedule of avoidance and excuses, peppered with occasional unhinged bursts of deep creative exploration.

That’s not going to work for me anymore.

To be an artist, and a parent, I need to change my understanding of what it means to be both of those things.

As an artist who is also a parent, I need to stay hinged. I cannot detach from the reality of my here and now, my role as a caretaker and the grounding rituals my family relies on me to provide (at least not at a moment’s notice). I need to replace my old habits of avoidance with new ones. Healthy, constructive habits of honoring my desire to engage creatively and allotting the time and space to do that. I don’t have the luxury to wait until inspiration strikes. All I can do is show up and see what happens.

As a parent who is also an artist, I need to honor my desire to occasionally come unhinged. I need to set aside creative time and treat it with the same respect that I treat the time I am being paid to work, arranging for childcare and letting myself be completely “off duty.” I need to trust that investing in my sense of fulfillment is also an investment in the health and happiness of my family.

Ultimately, I need to accept that I can be both of these things, but not all the time, and not perfectly. I will miss career opportunities when I can’t just drop everything and devote a few hours to finding creative solutions on a deadline. I will disappoint my son when I choose to work on a project instead of spending the afternoon with him.

I won’t be the best, or even particularly “good.” But I will try to be real and true. I will try to be present and engaged, to honor my curiosity and my desire for connection. I will try to live fully, to work hard, play hard, love hard. I will try.

This new blog is a physicalization of my commitment to this effort. A place where I intend to hold myself accountable for putting in the hours, and a place where I hope to find community and offer my support. For any other parents out there who are wondering how it’s possible to sustain a creative life amidst the daily toil of caregiving: I’m here with you. Let’s figure this out together.