Holding Pattern

I took a painting class in 8th grade. I still have the watercolor studies that we did and I still love color theory and I still remember B. Christensen, who I loved and who dated my best friend instead of me, but who talked art and baseball with me across the table while we painted. But I've never really painted much since, mostly because I didn't feel accomplished enough to invest in the supplies...or whatever.

And then I had two little boys, nineteen months apart. I know that's nothing compared to what some moms face in terms of numbers or ages of children, but it nonetheless has been a huge challenge for me - they are busy and smart and busy and naughty and busy and exhausting. In the relentlessness of sleep deprivation and waking up to do the diapers-feeding-changing-running-after routine over and over, and not too long after the Code Yellow day at Target (and subsequent experiences of taking care of one child only to lose track temporarily of the other and not knowing if I would ever be able to do it as flawlessly as everyone else seemed to), I woke up one morning with this image in my head and had to paint it.

Disclaimer: I hold a snobbish opinion that really good art needs no explanation to be understood by the person seeing it, and I find that sometimes an artist's explanation stifles what I might have otherwise experienced if he had let me interpret it myself. If that's how you feel, stop reading here and I will understand. I'd love to hear what you think without reading the following explanation. Sometime after I've polished my technique a bit and fixed it up exactly the way I want it, and if it's hanging on an actual wall somewhere, there will be no mention of Code Yellows or my feelings or thoughts alongside it - people will just be able to look at it and know what I think it's about, and then add their own experience, and it will be a masterpiece because of the unspoken, unwritten link between us.

Holding an infant is an incredible "grounding" experience - your life gets simplified rather quickly into the three main requirements: food, safety, sleep - and your whole schedule revolves around when it is time to feed or nap the little one, because if those don't happen appropriately, ain't nobody happy. Sometimes I felt so needed and sometimes I just felt cemented to the couch, but I always felt that divine calling to hold my babies safe and warm and close to me.

Which is why it was so disconcerting when, at the time when I had an infant with such basic but vital needs, I had a toddler who was ready to test his wings, push all the limits, fly away. He thought he was ready, but I knew he wasn't, or I didn't want him to be. He was my first baby, suddenly a little boy with opinions and energy and I realized for the first time what being a mom is about - it's about holding on until it's OK - or necessary - to let go. Right now, I'm his tether, his kite string, the tie that holds him down and keeps him up all at the same time, but someday it will be time to be more like a ribbon on a helium balloon - untie him so he can float away and see things from a much higher vantage point. I love him so much that I would never want to hold him strictly by my side just because that's the easiest place to keep him safe. Soaring isn't about safety anyway. And my job is to teach him to fly while holding my hand so he can do it on his own when he is a man. While I was painting, I felt his exuberance and his childlike joy, and I wanted to capture that somehow. I hope I can hold on to him in such a way that he never loses that joy and energy, but learns to channel it into greatness of spirit and hope as he grows.

I haven't finished the faces yet, because I am not good at them, but also because I think maybe it's better not to have an expression on them, at least not on mine - I like it better that it's unclear if I'm looking up at my flying boy or gazing down at my sleeping infant...A mother can't really chose between the two, you know.

I could have painted a plate-spinner from the circus, I suppose, to signify what I felt motherhood is a lot of the time - just keeping those plates from slowing or shattering on the ground. But in my mind's eye, the thing that kept coming up as significant was how I would paint my legs. I wanted there to always be a lap for my kids to find and have a safe, comfortable place to sit (it is their favorite place - they have "my mama" wars over it), but I also wanted to be dancing. A jig maybe, or an elegant ballet, just some kind of motion. So I painted half a lap and half a dance dress (in the form of flared jeans) to let everyone know that even when I feel like I'm sitting alone in the dark, I'm happy...rocking my babies and watching them fly away.