Mother Artist

Driving home from WAW this week I began to think about what the heck I was going to blog about this week. I made the same mistake I always do of enjoying myself so much that I couldn’t even remember what we had talked about. The tastes of whole roasted chickens, rich and nutty quinoa salad with brown rice, apples, tomatoes, and fennel, and blueberry crumb cake kept swimming back into my memory. The colors on my palette, the wine in my glass, and that feeling of the week’s stress melting away were still vivid, but what had we talked about?

A Joni Mitchell song came on the radio and suddenly I knew exactly what I wanted to write about: my mom. This topic couldn’t be more appropriate this week with the birth of Alex’s baby (maybe we will start him on Milk Art Wednesday…) and with Mother’s Day coming up this weekend. I thought this was a great time to think about how our mothers have shaped us all in one way or another. Like great painters, our mothers laid down the base colors, provided us with a background, and then hopefully handed the paintbrush over to us to finish for ourselves.

But back to Joni Mitchell…Mom had always listened to Joni and it was a part of her that never held much weight with me as I was growing up. Her songs were light and pretty or dark and brooding and were little more than familiar sounds that I often heard coming from the stereo in the living room. It wasn’t until I started college freshman year that I finally got it, I understood why mom had been listening to Joni for so long. I experienced my first real brushes with independence, loneliness, and heartbreak and suddenly realized how desperately I needed all of Joni’s songs on my ipod. I was homesick and wanted my Mommy so Joni was the next best thing. Her songs were beautiful and heartbreaking and meant so much now that I was actually listening to them and singing along with the understanding that came with life experience. My mom had been onto something great for years and I had no idea what I was missing.

We learn such amazing things from our mothers even if you can’t always agree with her taste in music. I learned sensitivity, love of seeing and experiencing beautiful things, and how difficult but important it is to keep reinventing yourself when life isn’t going your way. When we were kids, my sister and I used to beg mom to draw pictures of ourselves doing whatever we wanted. She would draw me as a nurse, a ballerina (I’m glad that one didn’t work out) or as a chef (slightly more realistic) and we would fiercely color them in. I didn’t realize it until now, but she was illustrating the fact that we could be anything in the world and it did wonders to develop our imaginations and sense of adventure about life. I don’t pretend to be anywhere as good of an artist as Mom is, but she fostered that creativity in me from a young age and I’m endlessly thankful that she was interested in the arts and not sports.

Ok stop tearing up now, we also learned a lot of how not be from our mothers. Our conversation about Madmen reminded us that some of our mothers unknowingly smoke and drank during their pregnancies and if nothing else perpetuated ridiculously uncomfortable undergarments for wayyyyyy too long! Garter belts? Girdles? No thanks! But my thoughts about my own mother did make me think about how every one of the WAW ladies is a product of their mother somehow, good or bad. We are so happy for new momma Alex and new grandmother Joan and hope that soon we can have three generations of artists at a WAW, probably expect some finger painting!