The 33rd The bittersweet potpourri of art and parenthood
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Let me be clear in the beginning: It is true that having a child can give you enormous joy. If planned or not, feeling a human growing inside of you, experiencing the moment of pushing a person into life, and being there on the journey of this new adventurer is something so magical that itâs hard to find words for it. It has already changed me in many ways, that, even though Iâm barely ever having actual time for myself, lead me to get to know much better where I stand and where I want to go.
Still, those peek pearls of raising a child are often just visible when seeing the big picture. And in the daily race of dressing the dwarf up, making food, playing games, keeping contact with friends, trying to get some work done, staying calm during tantrums, keeping up with the worldâs happenings, and taking care of not abandoning the needs of a relationships, itâs quite unlikely that this big picture is easily visible.
I often feel plain bored, for instance. Sure, every day is unique, later you will miss playing with your child and what not. They are all right, but no, right in that minute when I have to play pick-a-boo for the 40th time, but all I can think of is drawing or reading or writing, I do not enjoy it.
I love my dwarf, and I love the way raising him changes me. I do not like how having the dwarf restricts my freedom, how it never allows me to be fully there any more being this stressed, how I seemingly canât get back to a healthy sleeping rhythm as I crave for me-time after he goes to sleep in the evening.
But the worst for me is the ongoing feeling of guilt that you carry with you when you have a passion and a child â because however well you try to balance both, one is always losing.
In my case I recently wondered if I was a mother trying to be an artist, or an artist trying to be a mother.And if this twist is ever going to find a balance. As both are occupations that eat up all your energy and time, that go deeper than any usual profession, that seem more like a mission and meaning than a job. They are too essential to be defined as blessing or curse.
And blankly, I am not the only one feeling that way. Whenever I listen to artist parents (or others following a deep passion) they say itâs a mess, and one part always seems to suffer.
I recently developed an intellectual crush on Maurice Sendak, and he stated in an interview that artists shouldn't have kids, because they would come second. âOr if they come first, your art will come second. So what are you going to do?â He was a man who wasn't afraid of honesty, and I appreciate that a lot (thatâs why I am doing dwarfmotherâs den).
My honest answer is that I do think artists can not only grow themselves, but also let their art grow with children. But maybe itâs also always means living a restless life. Haunted by the feeling of somehow having to finding the balance of being an ok mom, and being an ok artist. And learning to accept this.
Instead, maybe, it can lead you to being âgoodâ at being yourself, as this self must be the stable centre between this dramatic triangle.
*was this understandable?
