Dear Friends,
This week is one of my favorites of the year–when my sister Ellie, on spring break from her university job, comes to visit Our Nation’s Capital. My daughter Nora gets time with her namesake auntie, I get time to gab with my sister, and we take little jaunts around town, bemoaning or celebrating whatever weather the first week of “spring” has bestowed upon us.
Ellie comes to us this week fresh from a trip to Mexico City. She’s got new embroidered shoes. She brought Nora a coin purse that looks like a concha. She’s full of stories about ancient pyramids and what qualifies as Mezcal and how al pastor is just shawarma that converted to Catholicism.
She’s also full of genius quips for us here in Alexandria, like, “It is unacceptable that the weather is cold AND the trees are pollen-y at the same time. If I’m going to have allergies, I want to be warm.”
But also, her philosophy on how intensely one should engage with small children: “I want to be present enough that Nora has happy memories of time spent with me. I want to be neglectful enough that I have happy memories spent with her.”
“Neglect,” in this case, meaning allowing my three-year-old to continue her routines of independent play and not getting roped into so many tea parties, Magnatile castles, and readings of “The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Car Trip” that one has depleted one’s adult energy.
Be present, but, you know, protect your energy reserves. Don’t forget about your own self care.
It’s a balance an auntie can control, unlike the pendulum of parenthood, which swings you to the highest highs and lowest lows without your consent. There’s the high of taking your three-year-old to a trampoline park. The glee on her face. The static extension of every hair on her head towards the industrial-piped ceilings. The great flight of it all.
And then, 30 hours later, the low: when that same toddler wakes up with a stomach virus, no doubt picked up at said trampoline park. You want to baptize everything in hand sanitizer. There is no amount of Lysol that will make this better. Your hands become reptilian from washing.
I’ve also been thinking about balance as I wrap up my 27-day photography project (a shortened version of the usual 100 Day Project). I took, edited, and posted one photo a day for 27 days, a quest to insert a mindful creative practice into the last stretch of winter.
Overall, sitting on the other side of the finished project, I can say this one was…fine? The discipline of taking one usable photograph every day forced me into capturing things I wouldn’t have, necessarily.
I have a few photos from this project that I like a lot, but overall I think that the collection as a whole is less sparkly than my usual work because I was producing it without the usual time and space I allow myself in between taking photos. It was an interesting exercise to wake up every day and know I needed to take one photo, but the pressure also resulted in some photos I don’t like as much being included in the final set.
In college creative writing classes, we were preached the doctrine of writing every day. Set a time, set a place, and show up. The writing will show up, too. You have to set the predictable stage in order to get the predictable product. This sounds great, but daily writing has rarely worked for me. I have long been a write-when-inspired writer.
I need space in between creative bursts: space to live and read and think and have conversations. I have the skills to execute extreme discipline, but it comes at the expense of other things.
For a chunk of time in my late 20s, my primary discipline was extreme dieting. Aside from work, I did little else. My brain was consumed with calorie counts, point tracking, and shopping for smaller and smaller clothes. I looked great (according to toxic American body ideals). Also, my hair was falling out, my GI system was wrecked, and I’d burst into tears when my spouse asked me what I wanted for dinner, because I didn’t have any calories left for the day.
I look at photos from when I was thin, and I’m like, “oh honey, that wasn’t the real you.” Real me has a bigger body and a lot more hair and a calmer mind.
But I also look at periods of extreme creative output and think the same thing. I’ve spent this week framing a large grid of the tiles I made during my 2022 100 day project. That wasn’t the real me that created that. That was some other self: the hardcore-discipline self. The output self. The real me takes way more naps. Takes a photo, decides it’s overexposed, and leaves it in the camera roll.
In truth, both are the real me, but maybe only the moderate me is truly thriving.
I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be a “real” artist or a “real” writer–defined in my head by the presence of a dedicated space (writing shed, light-filled studio) and the absence of other obligations (the paycheck quest, the daily 10-hour childcare shift).
But this fantasy is built on the false notion that that life, too, would not be pressurized. That I would be dallying about, creating whatever I wanted, with no thought to commoditizing anything. I wouldn’t be beholden to agents and publishers or gallery owners and collectors.
It turns out, the way that I get to experience that creative freedom is by doing…exactly what I’m doing. Fulfilling my obligations, then brightening my life with creative pursuits untethered by capitalism.
Right now, in this season of my life, my calendar is filled with parent-teacher conferences, payroll and billing, school drop-offs, email, toddler music class, and bedtime routines. But I can be A Real Artist ™ making my art in the in-between spaces, when the inspiration strikes.
Full commitment to extreme discipline is not necessary for living the kind of creative life that I want. I can enter and exit phases of intensity as I like–periods of growth and periods of fallow recovery. I can celebrate the completion of a creative phase and also acknowledge that my usual patterns are more sporadic, and that the blank space is also part of my creative process.
As it turns out, the life of a real artist is probably a lot like the parenthood pendulum. The high highs, the low lows. The joy and sorrow. The book deal! The impossible mountain of edits. The gallery show…where nothing sells. The trampoline flight and the viral crash.
Instead, I’m choosing to be the Art Auntie. For my creative practice, I want to be present enough that I can create good work, but neglectful enough that I have a positive experience of creating it. I might come to town for an extended stay (who knows, maybe I’ll actually do a full 100 Day Project again), but I won’t forget what works for me. Breaks. A little freedom to do nothing or turn my attention elsewhere. Being a bit untethered. Spending a week in the chaos, then leaving on a plane, alone, with my noise-canceling headphones and the soundtrack (read: not Cocomelon) of my choosing. Gazing down below at the next landscape to explore.
Take good care,
Dot
News & Updates
Working from home? Add something to your day that’s just for you. Matthew Brooks now has daytime openings for virtual sessions. Matthew works with people who have been impacted by grief, medical diagnoses, anxiety, depression, or life transitions. Send us an email at info@alexandriaarttherapy.com for more information or to schedule a free 15-minute consultation.
What is EDPP Supervision? The El Duende process painting technique, originated by Abbe Miller, is a one-canvas painting that uses many layers built up over the supervision experience to enhance clinical learning. We offer supervision for Virginia LPCs and us-based Art therapists in qualifying states.
Individual Supervision: Laura offers individual supervision in person at our office in old town Alexandria, VA, or virtually. $110/Session. If your state has its own art therapy license (KY, MD, NJ, NY, TN, TX, AZ, LA, NH), hours will not count towards your credential. Please make sure you confirm exact requirements with your state board.
In-Person Supervision Group: Our in-person group meets monthly in Old Town and is open to therapists accruing hours for the Registered Art Therapist (ATR) credential and the Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) license in Virginia. $200/4 Hours.
Virtual Supervision Group: Our virtual group meets monthly and is open to US-based art therapists in qualifying states. $200/4 hours. If your state has its own art therapy license (KY, MD, NJ, TN, TX, AZ, LA, NH), hours will not count towards your credential. Please make sure you confirm exact requirements with your state board.
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Blog Posts
When it comes to caring for your mental health, the term “coping strategies” gets thrown around a lot. But we often find that, in the moment we really need them, it can be hard to remember the strategies that will actually make us feel better. In our latest blog, we’re sharing five things in our toolbox, plus some prompts for how you might create your own representation of a toolbox to use in moments of stress or difficulty.
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Make the robots work to give you ideas. Journal prompts, powered by AI.
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“This is a joke, right? Who has midlife crisis money?” On millennials and middle age. (NYT)
For our Alexandria, VA residents–if you’re looking for an art camp for your child, check out KidCreate studios. (My daughter and I have been going to weekly classes and having a nice time using glitter at a location that is NOT my house.)
Organization is the ultimate form of self care.
Take a deeper breath.
Just popping in. Photo by Anna-Alexia Basile:
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