I've been reading about Canadian artist and writer Emily Carr lately. This summer we took a trip to her hometown of Victoria, British Columbia. I read an article about her in the onboard magazine on the boat ride up and became intrigued with her.
Carr was born in Victoria in 1871. She studied art in San Francisco, London, and Paris, and eventually returned to British Columbia to live. She painted in a postimpressionist or fauvist style; her work was strongly influenced by the art and culture of the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest.
Carr never married. However, from 1917 to 1928, feeling discouraged by reaction to her work, she all but gave up painting and made ends meet by raising dogs and rabbits, growing vegetables, creating small pottery objects, and running a ladies' boarding house. She loathed the boarding house; even the boarders criticized her paintings that were hung around the house. But she had to make ends meet somehow.
In her book Growing Pains: The Autobiography of Emily Carr (published posthumously in 1946), she wrote of this period:
When I started the boarding house people had said, “Artist cookery! Artist housekeeping!” and rolled their eyes. I proved that an artist could cook and could housekeep; but that an artist could paint honestly and keep boarders simultaneously I did not prove.
Later, Carr began to think of painting again, realizing what she had lost.
At long last I learned, too, to surmount the housekeeping humdrum which I had allowed to drift between me and the painting which I now saw was the real worth of my existence.
An American artist came to visit at my house.
“Come, let us go to Beacon Hill or the sea, while morning is still young,” he said.
“The beds! The dishes! The meals!” I moaned.
“Will wait—young morning on Beacon Hill won’t. Don’t tether yourself to a dishpan, woman! Beds, vegetables! They are not the essentials!”
Suddenly I realized brag and stubbornness had goaded me into proving to my family that an artist could cook, could housekeep. Silly, rebellious me! Hadn’t I for fifteen years bruised body and soul, nearly killed my Art by allowing these to take first place in my life?
She returned to painting, with a measure of recognition this time. Later in life, after suffering a stroke, she turned to writing, ultimately completely seven books, most of which were published after her death in 1945. Today she is among the most beloved Canadian artists and authors.
Though Carr was not a mother, I was struck by her descriptions of how domestic work gets in the way of art. Of course, caring for our children, home, and family are not "unessential." We signed up for that job. But it's incredibly difficult to do creative work -- and really, all work requires some creativity -- when you're constantly being called away to deal with domestic obligations.
And, more often than not, it's the woman of the house who has the majority of the domestic duties. During the course of writing this post, I stepped away to wash the dishes, do three loads of laundry, exercise the dog, scrub the coffeepot, and spackle some holes in a door. Plus I did a bit of paying work. And that's a light day. Soon the children will be home and I'll be on snack and homework duty. Is it any wonder I keep losing the thread?
The interruptions take a toll. Anyone who does creative work knows how important it is to get "in the zone" -- the state of being completely absorbed in your work, to the point of becoming unaware of the passing of time and oblivious to the need for sleep or food. That sort of concentrated effort is impossible if there are children and animals around. When I am working, I deeply resent having to stop to make dinner. I'm not hungry, so why should anyone else be? It's hard to put the brakes on the thoughts racing around in my head and slow down long enough to slice tomatoes and boil pasta. But the children must be fed.
There is no escaping the housekeeping humdrum just yet. Children are not boarders, but they will leave us someday just the same. We have to make the most of our time with them. So we do the best we can -- we care for family and home, try to earn some money, and make art when no one is looking. That will have to do for now.
To be continued...
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