My Son Made Me An Artist...

I was an artist before Sam was born, but not in the way I am now. Art has always been a part of my life. Woven richly into my childhood through Waldorf school, living in the woods of Maine, through mud pies and seaweed houses, and by my parents who painted watercolors and built wooden boats. Creating is in my blood. As I got older and attended art classes at my liberal arts college and a stint at art school during my “year abroad” in the big city of Chicago, I fell into a tentative relationship with my art. Outside influences and ways of being an artist screamed for my attention, and I believed so much outside of myself. Art speak, realism, painting rules that were good to learn but really weren’t for me became boxes I felt like I should fit myself into. There was a lot of lostness and comparison and critique that would paralyze me (believe me, all of this still happens. I just have a stronger trust muscle and backbone).

And then, in my 30’s, I became pregnant. Planned but no less shocking. And what I mostly felt was grief and sadness at the life I was losing: an independent, outdoorsy life in Jackson, WY where the idea of being bored never crossed my mind. I felt like there was something wrong with me, like my feelings meant everything was a mistake. We are fed such lies about motherhood and what it is supposed to be like. That’s another blog post:)

Soon after learning I was pregnant I took an online art class with artist Flora Bowley, an amazing intuitive painter in Portland, OR. I can still remember those moments in my downstairs studio, painting really big for the first time, diving into acrylic paints, getting my hands dirty and crying, lots of crying. The paintings that emerged were like nothing I had done before. They had come from somewhere else besides my thinking and calculating mind. This was a start of a beautiful new direction that just kept getting deeper as the months went by. The art-making was healing. I was throwing art rules out the window and remembering my own creative genius rather than trying to adopt others. This new way of creating mixed with a 16-day trip down the Grand Canyon shaped my relationship with the little person growing inside of me. It brought me peace, acceptance and joy, eventually.

This journey to abstraction and intuitive painting is one my most treasured experiences. It is why I hold so firmly to the belief that art-making in any shape or form is not a frivolous undertaking. Rather it is one that can be both healing as well as transformative for all areas of life, for the world really. My painting routine continues to be my life-blood. Moving my body outside in nature and painting in my flow are what keep me alive, awake, connected, and happy. We all have creative parts of us, some used daily, others rusty from lack of use. The label artist is not reserved for a select few, despite what society might tell us.

Today my two kiddos are my teachers. They are not only the ones the made me the artist I am but are now my inspiration for continuing to shape and believe in the creative life as a life worth cultivating.

Thanks for reading. xo