I began this blog at a time when I was starving to create. The first two years of motherhood were joyous, intense, exhausting, melancholic, and beautiful. To my surprise, motherhood found me isolated from the rest of world- alone in the house with a baby while the world seemingly moved on and moved forward. Those first two years I longed to create, to share, and to interact with the rest of world. That's when I got the idea to start Orbiting Io.
Thanks to everyone for reading and continuing to look for my blog everyday. Thanks to my closest friends who put up with my rants, bouts of hyperactivity, and my tendency to get increasingly louder as I get more excited. Thanks to the handful of you who have followed my blog since the very beginning. When I feel myself stray from the true intention of this blog, I think of you.
Orbiting Io is my tiny contribution to the world. A place to bare my soul. I talked before about how we, as mothers, need to develop concrete methodologies to hold ourselves accountable to our creative progress. This blog is my method and my catalyst, not the final product, but the drawing board for all my creative endeavors.
This week Sade and Beyoncè both released videos portraying themselves as housewives doing what I hate to call, “women’s work.” In full 50s pinup girl regalia, Beyoncè asks, “Why don’t you love me, when I make me so damn easy to love?” While washing windows, attempting a burnt dinner, and in one scene, sloppily downing a martini, she sings a song of a mother who has perhaps given too much of herself. Sade, brings a more nostalgic feeling to mother’s work, singing an ode to fathers as she happily washes dishes dressed in soft, sexy silk. I wish I could feel like that when I’m faced with a sink full of dishes.
For the most part, roles for mothers within the household haven’t changed much since the 50s. When women have children, it is usually she who is stuck with the housework and childcare. For mothers, there are very few other options and even the most feminist of us find ourselves falling into these traditional roles. French author Stendahl once wrote, “All geniuses born women are lost to the public good.” I can’t tell you how many countless mothers have told me that they’ve given up writing, singing, painting, dancing, higher education, or other passions in order to keep their homes and raise their children. I’ve spent years now telling myself that I’ll finish [fill in the blank with abandoned creative endeavor] after I wash the dishes, or after I fold the laundry, or after the bathroom is clean. Or better yet, I’ll pick up where I left off next year when my daughter is in school full time. However disappointed, most mothers I know who have put their ambitions on the sidelines or even retired them completely seem to come to the conclusion that they have made the right choice for their children. And so it goes. We lose a genius. Having to make these choices between children and creativity or children and career is not much different than having to make a choice between paying rent and eating. They are not really choices. More so, it is a lack of choices. And we are constantly asking our women to make this choice.
With mother’s day on the horizon, I have to say my feelings are more Beyoncè than Sade. And I don’t think I’m alone either. I know few mothers who smile upon a pile of dishes or do laundry with such dreamy looks in their eyes. Many mothers I know are resentful and angry about what they’ve given up for motherhood, turning their rage against the only logical person they know to blame: their men. I am not impervious to this unproductive thinking. However, we, as mothers, can’t wait for some miracle Netherlands-like legislation to pass that will pay us for our labors of love, nor can we wait for our men do their fair share, but we can stop telling ourselves that our dreams are not important. Writer and feminist Clarissa Pinkola Estès tells us that art was not meant to be created in stolen moments only and we must love our creative lives more than cooperating with our own oppression. Part of the reason we’ve given up so much is because we convince ourselves that our passions and ideas are not worthy enough to see through to fruition. We kill our ideas before they get a chance to breath. We develop no concrete method to hold ourselves accountable to our artistic progress and projects mysteriously disintegrate. But if we put ourselves at the helm of our own destiny, there can be no one else to blame. Then maybe we might find ourselves happy to do the dishes! This doesn’t, however, mean that the men are off the hook. This mother’s day, don’t stop at praising Mama’s sacrifices with flowers and candy, make a commitment to support her dreams so she doesn’t have to sacrifice so much, because chances are, she has.
Camille Saint Saens' "The Swan" from Carnival of the Animals. Played on theremin by Clara Rockmore.
lately baby girl is really into french composer camille saint-saens' "carnival of the animals." i just got her a book with accompanying CD, which is the center of her universe right now. she hasn't watched tv in weeks and has little desire to. if it's not "carnival of the animals," then it's surely "peter and the wolf" narrated by dame edna everage. this opened me up to a whole slew of possibilities for her entertainment: books on tape! (well, cd really. can't let go of old terminology.) i can remember being a kid, hiding under the table with a cassette player and waiting for the chime to turn the page. these days the art of listening has surely taken a back seat to the eye candy being served to the kiddies on the daily. while we do occasionally enjoy the razzle dazzle of yo gabba gabba, books and music is where it's at!
"My dear Mr. Kappus: ...Here, where I am surrounded by an enormous landscape, which the winds move across as they come from the seas, here I feel that there is no one anywhere who can answer for you those questions and feelings which, in their depths, have a life of their own; for even the most articulate people are unable to help, since what words point to is so very delicate, is almost unsayable. But even so, I think that you will not have to remain without a solution if you trust in Things that are like the ones my eyes are now resting upon. If you trust in Nature, in the small Things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable; if you have this love for what is humble and try very simply, as someone who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier for you, more coherent and somehow more reconciling, not in your conscious mind perhaps, which stays behind, astonished, but in your innermost awareness, awakeness, and knowledge. You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.
Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within you the possibility of creating and forming, as an especially blessed and pure way of living; train yourself for that - but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don't hate anything."
"Letters to a Young Poet", written by poet Ranier Maria Rilke at the turn of the century, was a correspondence with a 19-year-old Franz Kappus. Although Rilke received many letters, in Kappus, he saw a young man with similar circumstances-both were pressured to enter the same military academy and both were subject to the same pressures to abandon their creativity. The result was a 5 year correspondence in which Rilke shared his insights on living the creative life. This blog post is in response to a discussion that arose at dinner with a dear friend who is struggling with his creative purpose. When I became a mother and found that I had to go to great lengths to stay creative, I asked myself, "Is this really neccessary? Is it worth all the trouble? Why must I do this?" I spent so much time contemplating the questions that my art eventually disappeared and became something I used to do. What did not disappear, however, was the faint voice calling me to it and the feeling that something was amiss. I find that I still ask myself these questions, but that I need not stop the creative process. I trust that the answers will not come next month or even in 10 years, but that they will come if I heed to the calling of the creative soul-home. Read all 10 of R.M. Rilke's letters here.
baby girl’s art workshop at st. elmo’s village inspired me to break out the drawing pad and get to work. i had no idea I was capable of drawing anything, let alone a flower. at every step of this drawing i doubted my ability to make any semblance of such a beautiful flower. still, i studied every leaf, admiring some more than others. it was like solving a puzzle as i tried to understand depth and light. i marveled at the bending of a leaf and the slight fuzz that grows on the stem. being a photographer, i am always choosing what to exclude from the frame. drawing is the opposite approach where you must choose what details you want to include. it was like exploring new regions of my brain. i was very much surprised at the outcome of my sunflower and proud of myself for seeing it through.
this one sunflower has inspired me to not only keep on drawing, but to trust in my own creative process and know that it will take me where I need to go. this week my personal life has taken an unexpected turn. this sunflower is teaching me not to focus on what the outcome may be--in the end it will indeed be a sunflower. instead, i am paying attention to the leaves, one at a time, admiring the beauty of each one. i continue on my journey--trusting my instincts, listening to wild woman, howling at the moon, and knowing that i am on the right path.
Julia Cameron has developed a 12 week course aimed at unblocking your creative flow. The program consists of two Basic Tools: The Morning Pages and The Artist Dates.
The Morning Pages are a routine to be followed everyday. You wake up in the morning and before anything else you write 3 pages of whatever you please. It doesn't have to be good. It doesn't have to be coherent. It just has to be done. The idea is to peel away at your self-censor and to dive into your creative center.
The Artist Date is a once a week commitment to exploration. You must allot a block of time specifically for nurturing your creativity. And this is to be done alone. The date does not have to be extravagant. It can be time alone to read a book at a coffee house, dance class, or a trip to the museum. The point is to spend some quality time with yourself and your creativity.
Being a mother poses much difficulty to this 12 week program. Honestly, I could not adhere to its demands. However, the theme of practicing everyday and spending quality time with self, I do implement. These are essentials in the journey back to the soul-home. I recommend checking out the basic tools and tailoring them to fit into the demands of mamahood.
I don’t like surprises. As a result, I plan, I schedule, I make lists. (This is actually part of being an ENTJ). I used to think I have become this way because of baby girl. Not so. I have realized that my ability to organize and execute comes naturally to me. Because I am responsible for the life of another human being, these instincts have come out in full force. I am howling at the moon.
When baby girl was still tiny, I used these organizational instincts in order to meet her needs. Our day was planned and I was prepared for whatever she could dish out. (Or throw up.) However, the one place it was not applied, was to my creative life. It didn’t even make it on the list. It is a challenge, but I put work for this blog on my list everyday. Even if that work is just thinking, it is still part of the creative process.
Once you decide to respond to the call of the wild, you must rely on your own unique natural instincts to you lead to a creative life. And once you get there, you must practice everyday. Keep in mind that the creative process does not start and stop in any one place. Because you have not yet produced a tangible work does not mean you are not honing your skills. Expand. Research. Think. Write about it. Draw about it. Dance about it. Whatever it is. Natural instincts and abilities are nothing without practice—everyday!
I must always remind myself that training capoeira keeps me sane; mentality and physically fit. I woke up this morning at 5:50am for my date with the park. Training capoeira that early in the morning is alot more effective than coffee! The other added benefit is that everyone in the house is still asleep and I have the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts.
Try waking up before the baby in the morning. Take a walk. Make some tea. Write. Stretch. Meditate. It will change your life. I promise. To see the entire capoeira set, click here. Pictured above is Capoeira Angola Center of LA's monthly roda held at Creative Seeds. Learn more about Capoeira Angola here. Click here for class schedule.
My homegirl Anita recently inspired me to dig into the archives. This is the first photo I ever printed. It was taken outside an army surplus store in New York City, October 2001, shortly after 9-11.
Walking around New York was very surreal at that time. People were going about the city, trying to return to “business as usual”, but it was clear that everyone was still in a state of shock. While walking down Broadway, I passed these two little boys decked out in army fatigues. They were quite the spectacle. Passersby, with a new found fervor for patriotism, cheered and applauded. “They’re ready to go to Afghanistan!” someone exclaimed.
With my dad’s old Nikkormat, no photography experience, and nothing but instinct to guide me, I approached the boys. With my lens at very close range, their eyes pierced right through me. In that instance, they weren’t boys; they were little men. And they were serious. Like trained soldiers, they saluted. Unfortunately, knowing nothing about exposure, the salute shot was totally blown out and almost unprintable. But I will never forget that pivotal moment when I had, for the first time, felt my place in the universe.
For new mothers, who are searching for their lost creativity, it is important to dig through the archives. In her recent dig, Anita said, “I found myself in that old box and remembered that I was a woman before I was a mother.” When you decide to go on your dig remember: the point shouldn’t be to get back to where you were. That is impossible. The woman you were has grown into the mother you are. Looking back to the archives should be a tool for moving forward, taking the reins, and leading yourself to a life that will sustain art.
"Wolves and women are relational by nature, inquiring, possessed of great endurance and strength. They are deeply intuitive, intensely concerned with their young, their mate, and their pack." ~Clarissa Pinkola Estés
If you don’t have a copy of the “Women Who Run With The Wolves," by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, then stop reading this and go find one! Wrought with pearls of wisdom, it is an essential text for the creative woman. Estés collects myths and stories of the Wild Woman archetype, breaks down the archeology of the fairytale, and uses it as a tool to reconstruct the intergenerational lines of communication between women that have been severed by patriarchal rule. By drawing on the similarities between woman and wolf, Estès' book evokes the wild woman that is deep within the female psyche.
In the chapter, Homing: Returning to Oneself, Estés speaks of the soul-home; that state of being where we feel the most ourselves; where we feel whole; where we feel satisfied. Through the mechanisms of motherhood, I have been fortunate to discover that my soul-home exists in nurturing the creative life. If I cannot visit my soul-home frequently, I find myself depleted, withered, and dry. When I devote myself to the practice of creation, I am at peace.
With the arrival of baby girl came a huge shift in priority; a period of constant giving. After the excitement of the new baby dwindled, and the steady rush of visitors slowed to a trickle, I found myself knee-deep in the mamahood. Between changing cloth diapers (yes, I said cloth) and washing dishes, something started to pull me to the wayside. I began to reminisce about carefree days that once were; an indiscernible need for something more. Then I realized one day that, in the throws of the mamahood, I had abandoned my soul-home. And that began my initiation process into making the journey back home.
Embarking on this journey is not without its obstacles. Although we’d like to think that women have transcended the barriers built by patriarchy, these barriers still exist. A common myth or misconception is that when we become mothers we should want for nothing more. I believe both men and women suffer from this thinking. And it is this kind of thinking that prevents us, as mothers, from hearing the calling back to our homes. What is beautiful, however, about this process is that the calling--the voice--never stops calling out. Your creativity may lay dormant, but it never disappears. It will keep calling to you until you decide that your are ready to answer.
You never really understand what it’s like to be a mother until you become one. To the young, fabulous, and childless, the concept might be hard to grasp. There's just no way to comprehend the magnitude to which your life is altered when you procreate unless you are knee deep in the mamahood.
When io came into my life I was 24 years old and waiting tables. Not exactly what I had pictured when I was 10 and telling my girlfriends that I would have 2 children before I was 26. Since the day she arrived, I have been running with my head to the ground for most of the time. My main concern: that I keep running. Now that she is 3 years old and bit more independent, I find myself looking up more often; seeing what’s on the horizon. Gazing into the future.
I look at io and she is complete. She is a human being: unique and beautiful. In seeing her best qualities; I see myself. In seeing her worst qualities; I see myself. And , perhaps, for as long as I am her mother, I will always be orbiting io.
"Wolves and women are relational by nature, inquiring, possessed of great endurance and strength. They are deeply intuitive, intensely concerned with their young, their mate, and their pack." ~Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Disclaimer
i have an aversion to capital letters. i use them intermittently at my discretion. i am also a very poor proofreader. so typo police, you have been forewarned. corrections are welcome!
