Further bits on being social

I keep my lines open to my children, absorbing their latest activites; dreams, losses, successes and dilemmas. I hope my hold is light, and they will continue blessing me with their sharing. When I am not at work, I organize connecting with freinds and acquaintances; walks, coffee, a meal or phone conversations. I seem to need these ongoing dialogues to glean the various angles of situations, trying to understand through the reflections of others how life events are being felt, how they are being assessed and what kind of ripples they might have. It appears my focus is getting pulled away by social activities, but they also keep me alert. They feel more like life lines that I depend on to understand my place in daily life. In my younger years I found it hard to stomach the roving needs, and opinions, the smell of others too strong. I had freinds, and I had getaway plans. Since then my fascination for human behaviour has become more acute, and I am not only finding meaning I am also uplifted by exchanges, and in the ambiance found in the details of time and place. I have become less afraid and more open and able to take steps I dreamed of when I was younger- a dream of a loving community. Though my seemingly reverse trajectory is not ideal for study and many hours of uninterrupted focus, it is providing me with inspiration. Still there is no solution to the limits of time, and I am taken back to my experience of being a mother with its profound and consuming intimacy. Having children was an intense and terrifying experience. Deeply in love with the little beings I was boggled at how I would maintain my drive for creative impulses, which required time and energy, and was directly at odds with the almighty demands of a child. I plotted, I did not sleep, I tried to do work while with them, which did have some success in creating shared creative environments, or at least a desire for that. All tricky. Below, is a portrait of myself pregnant with our third child in 1997. Knowing how much energy a child takes, that I was possessive and that we lived on an obscure island, adding up to poor odds for an artist. Continuing studio work was mad, and I desperately wondered how I was going to cope and keep any of my dreams and goals in sight. I felt rent between my ambitions and love for my children. I was frozen by my circumstances. But the enclosing basket is opening and there is pepper in my expression.

Paula Becker Modersohn (1875-1907), an exceptional artist, divided by the demands of being a wife and mother, and facilitating her artistic ambitions, was someone clearly aware of the cost of personal expression. She died shortly after giving birth to her first child in 1907. I shudder. The demands of being a mother are hardly as dire or life threatening today, with less rigid roles rewarding both parents, but career and family needs still present a challenging balance. Modersohn's self portrait is full of courage, and painting herself nude and pregnant was an act of celebration of her motherhood and artistic depth. The two are intertwined.