Art is very tricky because it’s what you do for yourself. It’s much harder for me to make those works than the monuments or the architecture. – Maya Lin
Being an artist can feel indulgent. And unless you have an ironclad confidence in yourself and your abilities, being an artist and a mother can lead to a fair share of guilt—colorful, soulful guilt, perhaps—but guilt nonetheless.
Whenever I work on a project that doesn’t have a clear monetary reward associated with it—such as research toward a book proposal or a personal essay—I feel a pang of guilt. If I’m not out earning a paycheck—one with benefits and a vacation plan—then I feel I should be doing laundry or wiping a runny nose. Mothers are supposed to contribute to the greater good of their children—whether the greater good is soccer practice, clean underwear, or a 401K. Mothers are also fundamentally pragmatic (come on, admit how many times you settled on the black t-shirt when you really wanted to wear the white blouse). But pragmatism is seldom associated with the creative spark.
The bottom line is that the state of the artist-mother can be oxymoronic. Think of women like Sylvia Plath and Zelda Fitzgerald: Might they have been better artists without their children, or better mothers without their art? Many mothers have tried to balance work, children and art, and unfortunately, we mostly hear of the ones who have failed. But recently, a friend recommended two sisters, Daphne and Warda Geismar, as examples of artist-mothers with the ability to successfully juggle all three. Both women have adopted daughters, and they both live in Connecticut. Both women’s decisions about their work stem from their desire to be as available to their daughters as possible. Daphne and Warda are active artists, and from my vantage point, they are exceptional mothers. But it hasn’t been easy for them. At the cross roads of pragmatism and creativity—things aren’t always so clear.
For the past year, Warda has been at home. She left her job teaching at an innovative art school in order to focus more on her sculpture, and to be around for Sophie, who is entering her teen years. Daphne works out of her home as a full-time book designer and project manager. Though creatively the job isn’t her first choice, the flexibility of her work allows her to spend time with her thirteen-year-old daughter Ana.
Daphne and Warda are extremely close and they rely on each other for parenting advice and creative feedback. Still, there’s a constant comparison underlying their relationship—the belief that the other sister has made better choices. Though these women’s lives are hardly typical, they nonetheless view themselves and each other through the conventional dichotomy of working mother versus stay-at-home mom. Both desire to be “good” mothers, but like countless other mothers, they sometimes feel as if everyone is a better mother than them.
Daphne sees that laundry isn’t a late night chore, and that dinner menus are more imaginative, in Warda’s house. Warda has more time to make art with Sophie than Daphne does with Ana. Meanwhile, Warda feels a pang when she looks at her sister’s life, believing that Daphne has made the hard, but maybe better, decision to stick with a job that she didn’t love as much. Warda also feels some guilt that she is not contributing to the household income, so she compensates for that by cleaning, chauffeuring, and organizing the household.
“We have chosen different ways to ‘keep the family working,’” Daphne observes. “We’re both really fortunate that we have choices, but we both suffer from guilt for what we’re not doing for ourselves or for our family. One person can’t do it all.” Perhaps we can’t do it all, but aren’t some of us coming pretty damned close? Still, there is always that little voice telling us what we should be doing—that we should have a warm meal on the table, that we should contribute financially, that we should attend every school performance, and so on. Is it the ingrained sense of pragmatism that fogs our vision of ourselves as “good” mothers? Maybe we are better than we think at juggling everything.
In a conversation with Daphne on the balance of work, children, and art, she notes, “It’s never all three equal and constant.” An ideal image is of the three areas working in a circular motion, one taking the lead for a while as another refuels. Having faith in this organic rhythm might allow many of us to view our lives—and our motherhood—as more successful than we often do.
The connection between pragmatism and motherhood is complex and deeply rooted for Warda and Daphne. Their parents, Dutch Jews, survived the Holocaust as children when they were hidden in a church. After immigrating to the United States, they ran a small appliance store. Hardworking and resourceful is how Daphne describes them. But, she notes, they were not big on risk.
These two daughters, sisters, and mothers carry on their parents’ impulse towards pragmatism while also rebelling against it (think of a boat slamming daringly into a wave, and then steadily floating back into calmer water). Daphne suggests that neither of them has figured out how to balance children, work, and art at the same time, but she notes that “if you put us together, we’d be whole.”
But aren’t they already? Together, that is. I think so, and beautifully whole.