The idea of being alone in motherhood is at the forefront of my thinking. Most of my mom friends are not single mothers, however they are just as lonely as I am most of the day. There is no tribe helping with the food, cleaning, bathing, screaming. No one is there watching the children laugh and sing. Most of the time we mothers are very alone. It has not been this way for very long in society, but for those of us living it, this is all we know. I started a drawing on two papers connecting today. The top piece has my daughter laying on my back as she reaches down for something with joy on her face. My face stares at the viewer in exhaustion. Which is exactly how the picture I’m drawing from looks. Her face is laughing in joy and mine is staring at the camera with intense contrast to her in the black circles under my eyes defeated look. Though it was just in the moment the picture perfectly describes motherhood for me now. The bottom drawing is my bare back holding up a bar with planets on it. I am not sure what I going to be laying on. Xia will be colored vibrantly whereas the top ‘me’ will be a ghost under her of the universally tired mother. The other ‘me’ holding up her world will be colored like Xia as she is reaching to lift me up while I hold our universe in balance for her. Heavy burden of motherhood but always so rewarding. Hopefully I can pull of drawing her mouth as it is laughing. That will be very challenging angle to get right. But as for the rest of the piece I am very excited about this. Not sure if I should incorporate another string interaction on motherhood. If I do in the future it will be using prints.

 

little shoes walking over the walls
like hills filling lines in the sand
bumps of children playing around the room
so many children playing and free
in the imagination of time
floating clock of cream
churn the cream to butter
molding the children into adults
curdle the cream into cheese
why the abuse that so many face
if only change the race
of rats from mice to men
over and over singing for friends
but the abused stand watching the clock tick by
they see it backwards upside down rewind
spinning faster trying to fly
they see the clock hands turn to dust
tick tock clock of sand
gears of time looking over the years
memories lost and found
a person of whim always around
they dip their feet in whatever they can
melting prints wherever they stand
walking but dancing
grinding the wheel
churning the ocean of the cogs great wheel

what's in a name? Conversation

What makes people uncomfortable?
New conversations. Any conversation with eye contact. What has become so difficult about talking aloud?  If people could stare into each others eyes for longer than five seconds is it because they want to have sex or kill each other? Why is that what is believed of conversation these days. What if people sat across from a stranger and attempted to talk about anything meaningful without glancing at a phone or computer for a few minutes. What would there be said if no technological references were made. Nothing about social media. Nothing about Netflix. Nothing external of worldly debates made fact of fiction by the media. What is left to discuss? Something personal perhaps. Something historical about themselves. Something meaningful they could share. Who would want to try this though? How terrifying to be real in person when technology could blanket any words we would ever like to share.