When I was 9 years old, I made a scrapbook. On the front I wrote, “Art is Life!” in Sharpie. I also asked if I could adopt a child that Christmas.
Laughing with my mother over memories like this has helped me to see that I have always been ME. My soul has had two callings since I was born: to be an artist AND to be a mother. I have never imagined my life any other way.
When my second son was 6 weeks old I tried to go back to work too soon. My body literally wouldn’t cooperate, leaking milk when I was in the middle of a project or shoot, hormone-fueled tears gushing on car rides, newborn cries interrupting my attempted flow state.
Motherhood was showing me that I needed to make art, as much as I needed air. It wasn’t just a hobby.
I’ve only really embraced the term “artist” over the last 3 years. I needed to have that part of my identity challenged before I could fully own it.
For the past two weeks I've been taking our oldest son, Johnny, to swim lessons every morning for the last 2 weeks. Because of this, I get some really special one-on-one time with him.
As you may (or may not) know, I am currently working on an encaustic art series called Cemetery Walks. It’s a two month long project that I am halfway through, where I walk one cemetery a week, collect what natural growth I find there, and create a piece within a vintage frame directly afterwards. Well, as luck would have it, Johnny and I pass by a cemetery on our way to his swim lessons. (You can see where this is going…)
Children look at the world with awe and curiosity, the exact ingredients that an artist carries with them throughout their life. Bringing my children into my art practice has always been my intention, and at four and a half years old, Johnny and I can finally have conversations and experiences together that I have been looking forward to since he was just a positive pregnancy test. “It’s worth the wait.” they said.
They were right.
Tuesday August 2
10:30am
It is hot and windy, an unusual combination. Johnny insists we use his Paw Patrol backpack for our adventure together. I can’t stop smiling. No one is around, and while adults see this as a cemetery, my kid sees it as a park. He’s running everywhere, and I can barely keep up as his eyes light up at each new tombstone, each one different than the last. Some are all connected, one lengthwise piece of concrete with 5 heads jutting out, some taller than the both of us combined, while others are merely the size of my shoe.
“Mommy! Look at this one! It’s so cute and little. It’s Charlie’s size.”
Johnny is learning his letters at school.
“N-A-O-M-I. Mommy, what does that spell?” He will learn the words “mother” and “father” quickly if he spends a day reading here.
We begin our foraging adventure. I let him use the scissors. He is closer to the ground than I am, so he notices the buttercups before I do.
I am recording this whole thing on my phone. I really can’t help myself. I can feel how important this day is for me, and how much I will want to remember every little thing he says.
After dropping Johnny off at school, I proudly hike the four flights of stairs to my studio with his Paw Patrol backpack on my back. I love how I feel like he’s with me in that simple object.
I pick one of the biggest frames I have for the piece, a 14”x17” wood carved oval that called to me. My brain turns off when the wax melts, and somehow the composition just comes without me trying.
The cemetery we went to is surrounded by an old stone wall covered in ivy, and from the road that was the part that drew me in. I wanted to pay homage to that experience here. I took a long S curved vine I’d cut and placed it directly in the center, allowing it to seemingly split the frame in two, jutting out with no intention of pushing it back inside. I wanted the ivy to draw you in. The resulting piece was heavily inspired by a fellow artist named Jacyln Gordyan who also creates sculptural art. I let the massive frame and the many layers of wax required to fill it allow me to add elements like walnuts and moss covered bark. My hands were covered in dirt by the end.
This one is called “Providence.”
*I am attempting to title each piece based off the name of the location. This cemetery does not formally have its own name (that I can find), but the main headstone reads “Reformed Church at Providence.” Located In Trappe, PA.
-> Quick question: Can any other mothers relate to this? When I was young I always knew I wanted multiple children, but all my daydreams only included one child at a time. When I realized this, it helped me to understand why I struggle to feel the connection that I crave when I am with all three of them at once. You too? Email or text me to continue this conversation!
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