“There is a juiciness to creativity, a succulence that comes up from within, a sensuality which both produces and is soothed by the act and product of creativity. Creativity is pleasing to us on a deep level. Be it the feel of clay in our hands, the colors that make us feel alive as we knit or sew, the meaning that we find in the words that we write, the energizing feel of movement as we dance and the music moves through our bodies. Taking part in creativity helps us to be more fully alive on every level, it asks that we engage with life in a visceral, and interactive way.”
― Lucy H. Pearce, The Rainbow Way: Cultivating Creativity in the Midst of Motherhood
Most nights I go to bed and think “I am going to be creative tomorrow, I WILL do SOMETHING creative tomorrow..”.
And tomorrow comes and I get into bed and I go over the day and realise I have not done anything on my non-urgent creativity list.
I haven’t written the blog post, I haven’t interviewed the person, I haven’t painted the canvas.
Because writing the blog post means putting off emptying the dishwasher.
Painting the canvas (as small as it is) means I’m not folding laundry.
Interviewing the person (a new series I’m starting on the blog) requires a quiet few moments, which I might only have when Leo is asleep or staring at a screen.
Creativity requires commitment.
It asks to be prioritised, even just for minutes at a time.
One artist I follow on Instagram @denisegasserart has an ongoing project (“Art After Motherhood”) where she works on a painting only until she’s interrupted by one of her children, then that’s the end of that particular painting, she never returns to it. On the back of the painting, she writes the timings (when she started and finished) and the reason for the interruption. It’s brilliant. Thinking outside the box. Working within the restraints of motherhood. Creativity within creativity.
I love learning about how mothers fit creativity into their lives.
It makes me happy to think it’s very possible, maybe not every day, and that’s okay.
Though sometimes the dishwasher can wait. As can the laundry.
Sometimes the house IS quiet, and I can interview the person.
Sometimes I paint for 10 minutes and I’ve satisfied the need.
One day I’ll have hours and hours to write, and I’ll remember a time of constant interruptions and requests and chaos.
And I’ll long for it.
For now, thankfully, it’s my tomorrow.
I may or may not be creative tomorrow, but the desire to create will always be there, waiting patiently.