For the first time in 20 years I am thinking about getting a job. I feel like I am going through one of the most intense and painful transitions I have ever experienced-- my mother dying-- and going into my studio to make-n-sell stuff is about the last thing I want to be doing. I've been managing a few studio hours a day, or every other day... or once a week, but it has been very hard to walk through all of the steps one must walk through to make work in clay.
For one, my focus is shit. Daily tasks and things I'm supposed to do, they may or may not get done, depending on if I remember to do them, depending on whether I even care enough to do them. I can make a list, then forget that I have a list. I've had my wallet FedExed back to me twice in the past month after leaving it behind in various places. I've locked myself out of the house. I've left the stove burner on for a very long time, and yes, I left the house with it on. I forgot to pay my credit card bill, and then when I went to pay it, I paid the minimum instead of the balance. I have literally never done that in my entire life because I refuse to pay interest charges on my purchases. I won't do it. But I did it last month and as far as I'm concerned I may as well have set fire to a small pile of money.
Secondly, I feel this need to continually protect myself. When I go out of my house to go anywhere, I put on sunglasses and a giant pair of headphones. This is a combo I would normally never do, because I like to be open to the world and see what is going on out there, even if it's disturbing. But I can't handle disturbing right now, or sad and vulnerable either. My heart is shattered and I need to make sure nothing more messes with it until it's a little stronger. A protected heart is not a creative heart.
And my energy is limited. By early evening, I am tired. I'm also tired in the morning, and in the afternoon. I'm writing this at 10 in the morning, and I think I need a nap. Eight hours of sleep is okay. Nine is better. Ten is excellent, and even more if I can get it. I feel like my body is continually occupied with trying to adjust to this new reality, this new world without my mom in it, even while I am sleeping.
None of this primes to pump for creativity, or a zest for putting myself and my work out there. Even putting an image on my instagram seems like too much. The two things, grief and creativity, they just don't go together for me at the moment. Maybe they could, and maybe they will at some point, but not now.
I've gotten the suggestion that I make something that expresses how I feel, and the very thought of doing that makes me tired. The only thing that sounds good is making whatever I feel like and not worrying about how I'm going to get someone to take it off my hands and give me some money for it. I am so sick of that equation right now.
People have been asking me to make specific things for them, and that I like. I can do that. If there is something you want me to make for you, now would be the time to ask. So I'm not saying get away from the studio completely. I just need to take the burden off. I can't count on just making pottery right now.
This is one thing I have been doing: drawing flowers with white gelly roll pens on colored card stock. I could do this all day. So the fire is not completely out, it's just burning kind of low.
For one, my focus is shit. Daily tasks and things I'm supposed to do, they may or may not get done, depending on if I remember to do them, depending on whether I even care enough to do them. I can make a list, then forget that I have a list. I've had my wallet FedExed back to me twice in the past month after leaving it behind in various places. I've locked myself out of the house. I've left the stove burner on for a very long time, and yes, I left the house with it on. I forgot to pay my credit card bill, and then when I went to pay it, I paid the minimum instead of the balance. I have literally never done that in my entire life because I refuse to pay interest charges on my purchases. I won't do it. But I did it last month and as far as I'm concerned I may as well have set fire to a small pile of money.
Secondly, I feel this need to continually protect myself. When I go out of my house to go anywhere, I put on sunglasses and a giant pair of headphones. This is a combo I would normally never do, because I like to be open to the world and see what is going on out there, even if it's disturbing. But I can't handle disturbing right now, or sad and vulnerable either. My heart is shattered and I need to make sure nothing more messes with it until it's a little stronger. A protected heart is not a creative heart.
And my energy is limited. By early evening, I am tired. I'm also tired in the morning, and in the afternoon. I'm writing this at 10 in the morning, and I think I need a nap. Eight hours of sleep is okay. Nine is better. Ten is excellent, and even more if I can get it. I feel like my body is continually occupied with trying to adjust to this new reality, this new world without my mom in it, even while I am sleeping.
None of this primes to pump for creativity, or a zest for putting myself and my work out there. Even putting an image on my instagram seems like too much. The two things, grief and creativity, they just don't go together for me at the moment. Maybe they could, and maybe they will at some point, but not now.
I've gotten the suggestion that I make something that expresses how I feel, and the very thought of doing that makes me tired. The only thing that sounds good is making whatever I feel like and not worrying about how I'm going to get someone to take it off my hands and give me some money for it. I am so sick of that equation right now.
People have been asking me to make specific things for them, and that I like. I can do that. If there is something you want me to make for you, now would be the time to ask. So I'm not saying get away from the studio completely. I just need to take the burden off. I can't count on just making pottery right now.
This is one thing I have been doing: drawing flowers with white gelly roll pens on colored card stock. I could do this all day. So the fire is not completely out, it's just burning kind of low.
I just *couldn't* work when my Dad was dying. After about two weeks I stopped trying and lived off my savings. Eat as well as you can. Junk food is comforting when you're eating it, but drains you of energy after it's digested. Lots of water, protein, greens, and relaxation. Be good to yourself as you're caring for your Mother. Sleep as much as you think you need to. It's ok to sleep the day away. Wake up when you wake up, feed the animals, yourself, bath if you feel like it, do what needs to be done, and then take a nap. No matter what time it is. Take a morning nap, an afternoon nap, both, neither - but don't give in to the "should's". Keep up the gel pen drawings. They might comfort you and give you inspiration for future work when you get back to it. Take good care of yourself. And love on your Mom as much as possible.
ReplyDeleteAnd if you can afford it - Don't get a job. You need to clear yourself from stress. Not add a different kind of stress to your life.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry for your loss. I don't think anything in life prepares us for such deep grief. Do whatever feeds your heart and soul right now and worry--as little as possible--about the rest. Other people will have great ideas that worked for them; your only job is to find what works for you. Grief is a tricky place: even when you think you're out of it, you get pulled back in. It's a vortex, a labyrinth, an Escher staircase...no one else can walk the path for you or swim you out. Your beautiful drawings may be part of the way out, and I'd love to see what they turn into.
ReplyDeleteFrom the other side the world, I can only encourage you, and assure you that loosing a mother it is always hard no matter what age she was. My mom passed away 2 years ago at the age of 90. She was very like your mom, concerning sewing and all else you have mentioned. There were horrible 6 months at the beginning when I felt exactly like you are feeling now. But then, I started to teach a little in my studio, and although my mom is with me, in my thoughts, all the time, I feel her presence in anything I do. Be patient with yourself! Hugs from far...
ReplyDeleteAfter my dad died, I felt much like you are describing. I was in school and didn't have the pressure to make money on pots but still needed to make them to meet deadlines for school. Although I didn't feel up to it, I would force myself to go to the studio anyway. Then just sit there. One of my teachers handed me a bag of red clay (I had been working in porcelain up to that point). He took out a sharpie and wrote, "freedom" on that bag of earthenware. Do your flower drawings feel like freedom? Love to you Whitney.
ReplyDeleteJust a random reader, but compelled to send my love. Praying you will be surrounded by the softness of other's love like petals surround the life force of a flower.
ReplyDeleteWhitney. My goodness. I am so very sorry. This is horrible. Please know I am thinking of you both.
ReplyDeleteMake me something red. Love that red you use. Just love you to bits Whitney. See you soon. Moving back Friday. I'll be set up next week sometime and back in business and you can be fist up if you want it. Hugs.
ReplyDeleteI found the only way I could go on after my Dad died was to kind of assume a persona as "Artist". I made work as this persona, not really connected to what I was feeling. Trying to express my grief in artwork was pointless as my whole life was grief. If you can afford it take the time off. It's a physical and emotional process and there are no short cuts. xxxxxxxx
ReplyDeleteI get this, I folded paper and got out my sewing machine. I worked out my grief with material, lovely fabrics. Just me and fabric.
ReplyDeleteTake your time.
Whitney, I'm so very sorry to hear about your Mom passing. What a neat lady.
ReplyDeleteI lost my Mom almost a year ago. It affected my desire to make pottery too. My heart goes out to you. It's a very tough time.
I love your Jelly pen flowers. They're beautiful.
((Hugs)) Cindy
Oh Whitney, I am so very sorry for your loss. My heart breaks for you. Try to be gentle with yourself, and have no expectations. You probably wonder when it will stop hurting so much, and maybe even feel like it will never stop. It does, eventually, but never completely. Sending you love and prayers that you find comfort.
ReplyDeleteI'm am so sorry your mother has passed away. You're doing everything right for yourself. But it still sucks. I felt exactly the same way when Mark died, exhausted, scattered, no focus. My focus is still not where it used to be two years later. But whatever. I have learned that I can't control grief. Also there is no timeline for anything. It will come and go, be better and worse. It taught me to truly be kind and patient with myself.. something I was never good at in the past. Ironically I started hand building shortly before he passed and it was my gel flowers. It gave me a place to zone out yet focus on just one thing. And that got me through the early days. I'll be thinking of you and sending love.
ReplyDeleteI am not very good with words but I say this with love and care, this might be a good time to ask for help and seek some grief counseling. If your mom had hospice care they usually offer it for free. I am sorry for your loss.
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ReplyDeletedear Whitney, i am so deeply sorry for your loss. Have been following your blog for years...love your work and writing. So touched by what you wrote here and the beautiful beautiful drawings that followed your words, your pain. The drawings are so full of light and love, my heart aches and soars for you. The fire is definitely not out. You are fierce and inspiring.
ReplyDeleteOh Whitney, I am so sorry..my heart goes out to you....grief is different for everyone, but as an artist , I find it does help to keep your hands moving, even in the tiniest way, so it's great that you are working on those flowers....that being said, I see grief as a long relationship....no one can promise it will go away, as we never stop missing those we love, but I can say that it will morph and change with time....
ReplyDeleteMy heart is aching for you, reading this.
ReplyDeleteMy husband's mother died of cancer when he was barely eighteen. Awhile back after the death of a friend, I asked him, how do you live, how do you survive when a hole like that is torn out of your heart? He said, It never completely goes away. That piece is always missing, but it does fill in a bit and it does hurt less. But you always miss them.
My friend's father died quite suddenly of a heart attack. I asked her the same question about healing around the same time as it was on my mind. She said that he traveled a lot overseas and she just thinks of it as if he is on a very very long trip.
Take good care of yourself. What did your mom love to see you do? What parts of your work made her smile? Maybe making some of her favorite things might be lovely right now. That is just an idea. I think that the answer to coping is different for everyone and there is no wrong answer. :)
My heart hurts for you.
ReplyDeleteWhen my dad died, it was probably six months before I could get out of bed in the morning and not feel like I'd been hit by a truck. And another six months, at least, before I even felt like myself again. And for about a year, me, a life-long devourer of books (my father had been a writer and joked that I learned to read before I learned to walk), I couldn't pick up a book for about a year. I just couldn't concentrate on reading. I had a pile of unread novels by my bed, but at night, would pick up crossword puzzles, or would flip through magazines and look at the pictures, or would just stare at the wall until I fell asleep.
Grief is such a weird place to be. It's unlike who you are, normally, yet it swiftly becomes your new normal. Your shoulders feel like you've always carried this burden, your heart feels like it's always had this parent-shaped hole in it, your feet get used to stumbling on a path you've walked your whole life. You don't even notice when it starts to get lighter, because it doesn't feel exactly... lighter. You just start to get more used to carrying it. It never goes away. I wish it did, but it doesn't. You just get immune to carrying it because your heart can't live with that raw pain all the time.
A friend who had lost her father a few years before I did (on her wedding day, no less; he lived long enough to get a phone call to hear that the wedding he couldn't attend had gone on, like he'd asked them to, but then he died hours later while my friend and her husband were on the plane to get to him) told me not to make any life-changing decisions the first six months or so. Don't buy or sell a house. Don't get married or ask for a divorce. Don't decide to have kids or change your job or move to a different country. She said that decisions like that, they're not coming from your soul, they're coming from your broken heart because it's looking for something to fill that void. "Maybe this will plug that hole that all this loss is leaking through".
Having said that, though, do what you need to do. Let your heart feel what it wants to feel. Do what you can, don't push yourself to force anything, and make the healthiest choices that you can for yourself. Be gentle with your heart.