Studio interruptous

After a holiday season overflowing with family, joy and chaos, I was anticipating a long quiet stretch of winter in which to slowly clean up the studio, re-organize, and get back to work. Instead, in early January my daughter moved in with her five-month-old baby and her dog, to stay with us while her husband is deployed on a nuclear sub. This caused initial tumult, a deepening of our now adult to adult relationship and adjusting to living together while helping to raise a child. At times it felt like the physical, emotional and intellectual space within me was consumed. Slowly, we figured out a rhythm and I was able to reclaim some focus.

My granddaughter watches from her stroller seat, her curious eyes follow me for as long as my movements can entertain her, as I clean up and prepare for making new work in the studio. My artist problem-solving brain figures out how to adapt. Limited time in the studio, means a clear-eyed focus and a plan for what I wanted to accomplish once there. When away from the studio, my mind bubbles with ways to solve storage issues, make lists of materials needed, and think through a series’ direction. I listen to art podcasts when walking the dog. I take pressure off myself by letting go of a previous self-imposed timeline and let myself enjoy going through work I created over the last six months, as well as earlier projects that I have yet to complete. I sift through teetering piles of work, materials, and equipment - hanging work that piques my interest, storing others. I notice ways in which current work relates to earlier work and how older work holds the seeds of what I am creating now. I discover pieces I want to return to and think of ways to move a series forward. My studio becomes even more of an intellectual haven as I allow it the flexibility to grow and change.

A new view

I relax into the role of Nonna. I revisit precious times as a young mother, but without the fear or anxiety or concomitant pressures of juggling a life with three children, a husband, a house, pets and a job. Instead, I get a brief window in which to experience my daughter grow into her new role, to revel in the remarkable, almost daily changes in the baby, to pay attention in a way that was more difficult to do the first time around. I relish this little being. I savor moments, curled on the couch under a blanket, her warm body snuggled on my chest, her milky breath softly falling on my cheek. I give both her and my daughter support as I watch them grow right in front of me.

My daughter and I are both learning to pay attention to what is in front of us. To resist the temptation to plan too far into the future. To surrender to the shifting daily cadences that come with the quickly changing needs of a baby. Just like in my work, when I stubbornly stick to a preconceived idea and resist letting the work lead, I hinder it’s growth. I become fixated on my original thought instead of what is evolving and emerging in front of me.

New routines

I toggle between the studio where I feel myself expand into an intellectual and creative quiet space and the tumult of home life. Amidst the exhaustion, joy and wonder of watching another human grow, in the memories that well up crossing generations, I miss my son and daughter-in-law, two grandchildren and my youngest daughter that live many states away. Mostly I feel gratitude for this life and my work, in all its delicious complication, disruption and demands. It is full, and I am grateful. And here I am. The weeks click by, my granddaughter learns to sit up and her first tooth arrives, daylight savings passes, and slowly but surely those daily studio increments add up. I look around and see clear studio tables, work hung on the wall, bins labeled and accessible, notes jotted and sketches done. My old routines broken, allowing space for new connections and paths forward in the studio. And the only routine that really matters remains… slow and steady wins the race. I am in it for the long haul.

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