Where was I, before work/housework/homework distracted me?
Oh, yes. How to succeed at dual domestic and professional occupations. I am indebted to a couple of readers for pointing me in the right direction. Tracie commented:
I keep coming back to the idea that we need to redefine our ideas of success.... I can't help but think of all the women I come across in the art world ... that make wonderful art and share it with their families and friends and art communities. Thousands of them share their photographs and crafts, recipes and stories on blogs and in books and galleries. ... They reach out to women all over the planet and encourage creativity and confidence. That has to be considered success on some level, doesn't it?
Along the same lines, Maia said:
I think that when you have children, especially young children, unless you have already managed to find financial success ... you can only hope to work in bits and togs and pieces. And that our art reflects that - and is a (not really recognized) school of its own.
Bingo!
If we measure success in terms of fame or financial success, very few of us -- male or female, parent or non-parent -- will succeed. We may make small, satisfying steps -- publish a book, have a gallery show, get reviewed -- but it's less likely that we will be able to support ourselves and our families through creative work or see ourselves on the cover of a magazine.
If, instead, we define success as having our work seen and appreciated by people, especially people who are smart and discerning, then we stand a much better chance. In fact, by this definition, we have already succeeded. Thanks in large part to the Internet, those of us who blog and social-network and run little online shops are making art, and we are reaching other people with our work. Maybe a dozen people, maybe hundreds. But the people whom we reach are choice.
Some of the best writers I’ve ever read are bloggers. Most of them are probably not even making enough money from their blogs to pay the hosting bills. That’s okay. Very few books ever turn a profit. Through the Internet, I have gotten to know artists whom I never would have known existed otherwise. I've found a community of creative women who support one another's efforts with encouragement and, often, patronage. We are creating our own sort of salon here on the Internet, in between sessions of baking bread and wiping snotty noses. The kitchen table is not exactly the Algonquin Round Table, but we can pretend.
It took me a while to "get" social media such as Facebook and Twitter. When I figured them out, it was a revelation. I am amazed at how, given limited time and space, women can make poetry out of everyday things. I turn on my computer every day and revel in these beautiful glimpses of domestic life, each one a poem in itself:
Crow funeral. September raspberries and roses.
Sesame spinach and roasted beets, carrots, turnips, potatoes and cipollini onions, with broiled corn on the cob.
In southern California, we throw open the doors and windows for gray skies and wind and fog.
Sunday morning. Cooking pancakes with honey. Loving light rain. Playing with cats and dogs. Watching hummingbirds. Morning lessons. Flash cards. Reading poetry aloud from an old Childcraft.
Bread is in the oven. Rain on the roof.
Kitchen tables, head wraps, ear-piercing, dog walking, coffee drinking, box packing, Shrek.
Made-from-scratch blueberry pancakes with toasted walnuts and iced tea.
Potatoes, fresh from the garden.
Rosemary focaccia, broiled eggplants and zucchini with basil lemon vinaigrette.
As in Elizabeth Alexander's Inaugural poem, "Praise Song for the Day," these snippets celebrate the rhythms of everyday life. As Maia suggests, we are indeed creating a new genre -- the Facebook poem, the Flickr gallery, the Twitter memoir -- each chapter complete in 140 characters or less.
I used to have a boss who closed our staff meetings with the command "Now go and make beauty." It was an odd thing to say at an aerospace company, yet it made perfect sense to our group of designers, artists, writers, and editors. We took what we were given and we really did try to make beauty out of it. We polished every technical report as if it were going to appear in The New Yorker. I doubt that the recipients appreciated our craftsmanship, but we took satisfaction in our work just the same.
It is easy to get discouraged about the business of creativity. The huge market for "reality" television shows and ghost-written celebrity tell-alls does not bode well for originality. A system that does not take women's subjects seriously hampers our efforts to be respected. Fine. The Internet is a legitimate medium. We are here to provide each other with encouragement and support. Let's start by respecting ourselves and our work. We'll figure out the money part later.
Now go and make beauty.
Recent Comments