The Sound of Silence: Mothers of Invention

“I make my own kind of silence. It becomes about my relationship to the painting, which in turn is a conversation about my relationship to the world, which is louder than anything else around me.” This kind of creative noise is akin to getting lost in order to find one’s way. And it’s really, really hard to do when someone needs you to wipe their behind or make mac and cheese.

So you have to get clever. In her essay, “Not a Perfect Mother,” poet Stephanie Brown writes, “It’s hard to write and to have kids. Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s not. You cannot get lost in the easy wind and downy flake of motherhood and then turn around, focus, and produce work. You have to be cunning, practical, and selfish. You have to steal time. Time is your enemy, your gift, your wanton desire, and you will never have enough of it.”

I know all about being practical (see the last column: “Mothers of Invention: Pragmatic Choices") and selfish, but cunning? I like that. Cunning means hiding out at a friend’s house when she’s out of town in order to steal twelve hours of uninterrupted work. It means saving the kids’ movie rental for the hour prior to the deadline. For Tilly, it meant tricking out her studio with toys, a VCR, and a kids’ art table. As her kids grew, she moved her painting studio into the living room so that she could have more space while also keeping an eye on them while they worked on the computer or hung out with friends.

Many mothers fondly remember the early days of napping for the golden nuggets of time in which to get The Work done. But just as strong is the memory—a physical sensation, really—of the waking baby. Artist Jane Pollack describes it as “that little ‘unh-unh’ sound that felt like a knife cutting through the solace of my creative time.” And she’s just talking about a kid’s natural sleep cycle; God help the FedEx guy who rings the doorbell and sets the dog to barking.

While it’s hard to find creative fodder in a baby’s shriek or an adolescent’s whine, there is something to be said for happy noise. When my kids are playing well with each other, the sound may be loud, but it’s not abrasive. Their happy noise is a reminder to the introvert in me that plenty of creative endeavors take place in clanging, singing, tapping environments. Theater productions, big city newsrooms, rock bands, and even quilting circles all hum.

In addition to teaching art at a small liberal arts college, Tilly also runs a multi-age art center for her small town of Pella, Iowa.