Its been pretty “bonky” as my kids would say the last few weeks. For us, “bonky” originates from the classic (at our house) poem Pinky Ponky the Shonky Wonky Bonky Donkey in the children’s book The Cat on the Mat is Flat by Andy Griffiths.
Basically, I’ve found summer as a parent in general to be chaotic and fun and exhausting. I heard about brat girl summers and bored girl summers. I was having a perimenopausal midlife mother of three girl summer. Doesn’t have the same ring.
The closest I’ve gotten to brat girl summer was our visit to Lice Clinics of America in Salem which has a wall so intensely acid green that it was almost more overwhelming than the actual lice on my children’s heads. Not to worry, the lice were exterminated by their special extra hot blow dryers.
We did summer things this year, like staying up late, traveling to the midwest to visit family, watching fireworks after a minor league baseball game, staying in a cabin near a pristine mountain lake, kayaking, SUPing, boogie boarding, swimming, entertaining relatives, riding horses, zip lining and sitting around a few fires on the beach. We went to concerts: The Decemberists, Olivia Rodrigo, Waxahatchee.
We spent a few weeks on the Oregon coast. I like how I feel at the coast.
Alanna from Shifting Tides gave us an in depth tour of the intertidal zone at Indian Beach in Ecola State Park. Highly recommend! We learned how much edible seaweed is available right there! Also, she taught us that the kelp forests off the coast of Oregon are able to generate their own mist clouds that protect them from the heat of the sun during summer’s extra low tides. Fascinating.
I also managed to get one kid through a double tooth extraction under general anesthesia. Unsurprisingly, it is not fun to drive home a disoriented distressed kid with double vision whose mouth is still bleeding.
On the studio front, I moved into my new space, and it feels good. My goal is to make this my personal studio and a *classroom* in the future. I’m slowly figuring out storage and furniture.
Before I could move into the new space I had to go back to my old space. I basically abandoned my studio during covid, almost never to return again, except to pack all my stuff four years later.
I went in on a Sunday before my move. I saw my faded post-its all over the walls, detailing goals and projects for my work. I have sketches I haven’t yet made into paintings. I have a gross mini-fridge. I have dust bunnies and faded books. Most things were still there despite two burglaries. I think someone stole my cute extension cord, though.
I also rediscovered tons of drawings and paintings stashed away in my old studio drawers and bins and boxes. Many are small works on paper; some are finished and some tantalizingly unfinished. Perhaps a holiday sale is in order.
Sorting through these images brought to mind various old me’s - college me, tentative beginner artist me, flickr me, new mom me, first solo show me… and then there’s an abrupt stop. Covid.
For most of the four years since I abruptly stopped going in to work, I felt an uncomfortable combination of dread, shame, and sadness tied to this space. This icky feeling was such a fixture of my consciousness that I barely noticed it, and certainly didn’t engage with it with any intention of shifting my feelings. I just let the ick sit there and wash over me from time to time.
And the ickyness didn’t begin with the lockdown. I carried it with me all the way from the beginning of college, maybe it started growing in high school, actually. The culture around me and from people close to me that pursuing art was not a viable path to a livable wage and financial independence. Perhaps worse, I was told that I was wasting my intelligence by pursuing a career in art.
When I was a kid, I didn’t feel there was much room for exploring and cultivating the positive in life. I was actively discouraged from contemplating what felt good to me during that tender period right after college. Instead, for most of my childhood, earning others approval is what mattered most. Life was a zero sum game. The world is a scary place where mistakes are extremely dangerous and you cannot trust others.
During idle moments I have wondered whether it could be true that my art practice is a pointless and embarrassing vulnerability. On a good day this is a fleeting thought, on a bad few weeks or a month, this is a tar pit.
It was notable and surprising to me then that I felt a profound sense of releif when I arrived to pack up all my dusty things a few weeks ago. I felt clear, with a grounded confidence. I was able to put things in order, and I made things I valued, and I have more work to do.
All those little post it notes were still on the wall and the multitude of drawings unfinished, but my intention and commitment came with me when I stopped going in to this space. I worked at home, painting yes, but also writing, reading, and doing a lot of self reflection.
Now I wonder if the abrupt changes of the covid lockdown era somehow helped me get enough distance from my feelings of doubt, uncertainty, and shame and pushed me forward into developing a stronger sense of self worth.
This “job” of being an artist is completely interconnected and maybe a little tangled with me as a person. Maybe its like a three legged race - one set of legs is my personal life/development, and the other set of legs is my studio practice. The middle leg has to carry both parts to step forward.
My summer 2024 faves:
saltwater taffy
black licorice
jellyfish on the beach
mussel shells
tiniest sand dollar
junk journals
used bookstore
reading Lydia Davis short stories
beach running
ribs
10 lbs of peaches
rainier cherries
smores on the beach
sandpiper
beach forts
watching the twins at the skatepark
Enjoyed reading your summer update and thoughts about your practice, Betsy! We also had lice this summer, and pink eye at the same time, what a combo:) I hope this fall treats you well and the new studio feels GOOD.