On Sisyphus and opening the burgundy door

I love being a stay-at-home mom. I know it's not the right choice for everyone, but I love that I've had the opportunity to spend the time I have with my kids. I love that I've been there for each of their first smiles, first words, first steps and now for homework assignments or questions about life. What I don't love is the never ending pile of laundry. Whites, darks, pinks and reds, sheets, towels, rags, and back to whites... over and over and over again. The other day my friend Chea, who makes me laugh out loud on a daily basis with her Facebook status updates, wrote of her life with two young boys that she "thinks that if Sisyphus spent a day as me, he'd go running back to that rock as fast as his legs could carry him." I can relate. And, as much as I love what I do, I'll admit that there are days when I stand over a pile of unmatching socks and think, "What am I doing with my life?" It is for that very reason that I decided, as I mentioned in my previous post, that this would be the year that I reclaim art in my life. After seven years of child-raising, perhaps it's the seven year itch, but I'm suddenly craving more time to dedicate to my own interests.

For my first attempt, I enthusiastically set up an easel in my room where I could still watch the girls play in the backyard, put Noni down for a nap, and painted a mediocre painting of palm trees. I didn't care that it was mediocre - it felt great just to put paint on the easel. Plus, there's nothing like a seven and five year old to boost your ego about your own art. ("Mom, that is amazing!") But the whole time I felt slightly stressed that Noni would wake up while I was covered in paint. After an hour, I quickly cleaned everything up just as Noni was stirring in her crib. Well, everything except the palate. One palate left on the dresser + one curious nineteen-month-old + one white rug = a giant blue stain on the rug in our room. Not the best way to start your year of reclaiming art. Feeling discouraged, I wondered if maybe this wouldn't work after all.

I just finished reading "A New Earth" by Tolle. (Yes, I love Oprah.) He talks about the three modalities of awakened doing: acceptance (bringing peace to things that you may not enjoy, but need to do), enjoyment, and enthusiasm. He explains that "at the height of creative activity fueled by enthusiasm, there will be enormous intensity and energy behind what you do." I read that and thought, OK, I'm going to give it another try.

That is why I found myself driving around in the dark in a strange neighborhood in Los Feliz on a Monday night, looking for a long dark driveway that would lead to a gate that would lead to a burgundy door. I had found the "meet-up" online - as the meet-up page explained, a woman opens up her studio twice a week, hires a model and invites in any artists who wish to bring their charcoals and $15 for three hours of figure drawing. I parked my car, grabbed my paper and charcoals, and took a deep breath, wondering if I was more frightened of the possibility of a murderer behind the burgundy door or my inability to draw after eight years.

What I found behind the burgundy door was wonderful: a group of artists circled around a model, working away with charcoals, pencils and pastels. The walls in the dusty room were covered with colorful oil paintings and drawings of all sizes. A coffee pot bubbled in the corner and music played softly in the background. I set up my pad of paper and began to draw.

At first I felt awkward, but as time went on I warmed up and started to enjoy myself. The artists around me were amazing. Everyone was either a professional artist or some form of it - a lot of them paying the bills by keeping their day jobs as storyboard artists. It was intimidating at first, but everyone was friendly and down-to-earth and, after asking the artist next to me for some tips, I realize that I should be grateful for an opportunity to learn from them. By the last 25 minute sketch, I found myself fully immersed in my drawing, not worrying about anything around me, but just enjoying the focus and energy I was throwing into my work. I didn't leave with any works of art by a long stretch, but I felt completely satisfied. On my way home, I recognized that I had been indeed fueled by enthusiasm.

It's funny how even the feeling of folding laundry can change if you feel like you have a creative outlet in your life. I will never particularly enjoy laundry, but I think I'm working towards acceptance. And that's a lot easier when I know that twice a month, I'll enter an art studio and have three hours with nothing to do but draw.

(Side note: Only in LA would the model have surgically enhanced, gravity-defying breasts and a pair of Uggs next to her to pull on for cigarette breaks!)

Reclaiming art in my life

"All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." - Pablo Picasso

When I was pregnant for the first time, I spent a summer at our house in DC without much to do. I had decided against teaching summer school due to the school's lack of an air conditioner and my growing need for one and Evie wasn't due until September. During that time, I kept thinking about how all I wanted to do was paint. I was itching to drive off somewhere with a canvas and some oil paints and spend a day lost in a painting. I knew, however, that my pregnant belly and I would have to stay away from the toxic materials required for oil painting and I consoled myself with the thought that soon enough I'd have a perfect subject to paint.
Little did I know that seven years later I still wouldn't have picked up a brush. Or a sketching pencil. Or a pastel stick. Or pretty much anything art-related that wasn't wrapped in paper with "Crayola" written down the side.

Last year, in an attempt to help me get some art back in my life, Toby gave me a coupon for a photography class for Christmas. Due to his work schedule, a new baby, moving and now the girls' basketball schedule, the class has yet to happen. However, I'm determined that this is the year that I will reclaim art in my life. I've thought about it every year, especially around this time of year, but even this year I left it off my New Year's Resolution List (see "2009" entry) because I felt it would be too big of a challenge to try to fit it in. Then this week it hit me that the time will never be right unless I make it a priority. And just as quickly as that decision was made, it's suddenly falling into place.

I still can't take the class, but with a little creativity, I'll still be improving my photography skills this year. I ordered a book on digital photography this week. Two friends and I are starting a photography "club", where we'll meet once a month to compare photos we've taken based on that month's "assignment".

And then today, Sarah and I took the girls and Ethan to the LACMA to expose all of us to some works of art. When we went to the Getty a few months ago, Evie declared that she "liked everything but the art" so I had low expectations for the day. In an attempt to combat their restlessness in the museum, I bought the girls all blank notebooks and brought them to the museum with the assignment of sketching their favorite work from each exhibit. To my surprise, they loved it. I had to drag them out of each room (since Noni wasn't quite as engaged) and they came home with notebooks filled with their own sketches. That won't be our last trip to the LACMA this year.

I've also decided that once every two weeks, while Noni is napping, I will pick up a paintbrush (seven years rusty!) and paint. It sounds like a modest goal, but truthfully, it won't be easy. It's hard to walk by crumbs on the floor and a dangerously teetering pile of laundry during the one hour of a day that I have free to clean.

Stinky laundry or not, I'm determined to meet my goal. If I don't do it now, when will I? I've always pictured art as something that would constantly enrich my life, not something to be left for my retirement. And, as I've learned to do with exercise, I need to realize that the time that I take for myself to do art is actually time that I'm giving to my family. Evie and Lucy spend hours each day drawing, painting, and making sculptures out of anything they can find. What better way to show them that time is important than to jump back into it myself?