I Should Have Been an Architect…
Or a brick mason, or a drywall installer, or a landscape designer, or maybe Robert Frost. I am a builder of walls. I’ve spent the past few days considering this. Probably because it’s true, but if there were any doubts, this conversation made it obvious:
My mother: Hi, what are you up to this afternoon.
Self: I’m painting
My mother: Really! What are you working on? (read excitement in voice)
Self: I’m just messing around with a scrap canvas trying to get the feel of painting in with oils again. (Intentionally evasive answer #1. The painting is actually for my brother’s birthday. It is in poor taste and I want it to be a surprise. Picture to follow in a latter post)
My mother: What kind of art have you been working on recently?
Self: Mostly quick sketches, gel pen and ink. (non-cryptic direct answer)
My mother: What are you drawing, exactly? You know I would really to see some of the things you’ve been doing…
Self: (grasping at straws) Well, uh, they aren’t really finished drawings. They are quick sketches (not true) on low quality copy paper (mostly true. Evasive Answer #2). They aren’t accurate, I have to touch them up in PhotoShop (true, and flimsy effort at discouraging her). Some of them are adorned with really bad poetry (also true, but oh shit, I gave something away, now she knows I write bad poetry. Crap!)
My mother: I don’t care about the paper. I would really like to see some of your work. Poetry. I didn’t know…
Self: …..You might find some of the illustrations to be offensive. They have naked people doing dirty things. (true, and she is a child of the conservative south.)
My mother: I don’t care (bullshit). I just want to see some of your work. (true)
After the phone call, I felt like such an ass. So much of an ass, I packed up all my Poetry Friday sketches and took them to her house today….where I conveniently left them in the car and forgot to show them to her because I was too tired from performing manual labor. I told her I brought them, then we both forgot…well maybe only one of us forgot.
I hate seeing my reflection in a mirror or a glassy stream or a bowl of soup…It’s just too damn inconvenient to see myself for who I really am…
June 26th, 2007 at 11:56 pm
I’m not exactly sure what the last sentences mean.(?) There are a lot of things in my life that I don’t care to share with my mother or other people for that matter. I think art is so highly personal, and sometimes hard to share with others. It sucks to feel like you’re evading and lying to someone who shares a biological connection to you, but I understand that some things are for sibs and not for parents. Take the running joke about my brother and father’s initials butted up against my maiden name spells: GENETTLES. My brother and I think this is hysterical. My Dad would shit himself, and my mother has already reamed us out about never (oops!) repeating this… good luck!
June 27th, 2007 at 1:15 pm
hee hee, liv.
I don’t know enough about you to make a comment. Has your mother been supportive of or denigrated you your art previously? Has she just given an opinion period and you’re hypersensitive (this is me)? Is this just about art?
Unfortunately, I think I do understand those last two lines.
June 27th, 2007 at 2:50 pm
liv, there are some things about ourselves we’d rather not notice, because then we have to take responsibility for them. I have a long history of being evasive about my life with my family. I guess I felt like I had to spend too much time explaining (or defending?) what I liked or didn’t like and why it should be okay for me not to share the same likes or passions as them. It’s one thing to be different from the rest of the herd, but it can be exhausting defending yourself. GENETTLES : )
De, my mother is very supportive of the art. There was a time when she wanted me to be a pharmacist and she was extremely pissed about my change in study…but she came around really quickly.
I would have to agree that I am hypersensitive about her judgments in general. As I said to liv, this is one conversation in hundreds in which I evade questions. Conversations about everything from, where we are going out of town, or how are your in-laws. There are plenty of things in my life that are not pleasant, and I’d rather spare her the worry or protect her from the details. I don’t feel to pass her my burdens. The thing about building walls, is they are so habitual. You forget not to build them when you don’t need to.
June 27th, 2007 at 4:00 pm
I have a very faulty filter from my brain to my mouth, and I end up telling my mother too much, then she feels she has to “fix” it, or offer solutions.
where’s the happy medium?
June 27th, 2007 at 4:23 pm
Oh boy do i understand about being evasive. I am always “fine, but busy” if my mother asks how i am. My family is always “fine, but busy” too.
The thing about walls, is how do you know when they are not necessary anymore? It still feels like they are needed for me. I think, no, i know, i will always feel this way.
June 27th, 2007 at 5:06 pm
De truly is my soul sister. I say so much because I still want that woman bear to be my mother. I don’t know what the happy medium is. I’m still between evading or calling and spilling. Boy, it’s tiring!
June 27th, 2007 at 6:59 pm
De, filter? What filter? I can get a filter for that…I should shop for one of those. A happy medium sounds so utopian, I could really go for that. My mother is a fixer too.
meno, I’m not sure if we ever really know. Walls are functional, to protect us from being too vulnerable. The flip side is walls also obstruct progress, prevent you from going further. I not willing to end the construction phase of my life either, I just hope to be more deliberate about my floor plans.
liv, De is great. I wish I had more people like De in my non-computer life.
Happy medium is probably just another myth, like men with big feet…and yes evading is tiresome, how I understand.
June 28th, 2007 at 2:08 pm
I’m like De and Liv most of the time. And then I regret it later. I started building walls way too late, really. I let the woman stampede over my feelings constantly. Of course, I suspect that she would find a way to do that no matter what. I have to admit that she’s been so good lately I’m almost scared of the why, you know?
June 28th, 2007 at 3:55 pm
Maggie, I think understand where you’re coming from. It seems as if you have a hope, each time you put yourself out there your mother will reciprocate, yet she doesn’t respond in kind. It takes a lot to put yourself out there. Out there is such a scary place. Some criticize because they consider it their birthright, others simply because it a habit. Why never seems to matter, the pain and refection is the same. I
I hope that the why you speak of is a sign she’s mellowing. She missing an excellent opportunity to know and relate to you. She should really kick herself if her intentions are dishonorable. I think you’re cool.
June 28th, 2007 at 4:02 pm
I’m pretty good at not showing anyone anything I do. I’m surprised I blog - I think most of what I do is crap.
I have really great self-esteem, if you can’t tell, haha.
June 28th, 2007 at 5:07 pm
sari, the more time that passes, the easier it is to conceal the things that make us who we are. Don’t be quick to sell yourself short…I think you blog is quite nifty. It’s like the prize in the Cracker Jack box, I never know what I’ll find when I visit.
We must be self-esteem sisters. Now repeat after me, “I am strong, I am interesting, I am…”