Artist Date: Blanton Museum of Art
I've been reading a daily book by Julia Cameron, The Artists Way Every Day and in it she talks about an Artist Date - time set apart for you to have a date with yourself and to go be inspired by something new or playful, where ever inspiration is calling you. For the longest time I've been dying to hang out in an art museum, to just sit and stare at art, and the time finally came. Slash, in true mom form, I had to carve it out, fight for it, muster energy and then make it happen. So I dashed out the door on a late Sunday afternoon and rushed to take in the last hour of the Blanton Museum of Art.
I've lived in Austin three years and somehow just now made it to this gorgeous place. As I walked in I felt my heart just open up, flutter, get so excited and full all at the same time. I made my way upstairs past a couple doing a boomerang with the beautiful staircase backdrop (totally would have done it if someone was with me) and felt tension melt away in the face of color, beauty, creativity. I slowly walked around, reading here and there about artists, waiting for that one perfect piece to come out and grab me so I could sit and reflect on it. As I walked around, I noticed there were a whole lot of boobs. I've been taking a long, hard look at sexuality, femininity and what that means to me, so naturally the boobs and women were going to stick out. In the past I've always felt a weirdness around nude arts. Embarrassment. Awkwardness. Averting of the eyes. More so around breasts and female nudity than male nudity. Interesting, right? Right. Anyway, I dissect that part later, ha.
As I was making my way to the end with closing time approaching I started to get mildly anxious that I hadn't contemplated a painting yet. I entered the Renaissance room not really wanting to be there. I was more interested in modernism, color, big bright abstracts. But I found myself seated in front of paintings of a grouping of mostly topless women surrounded by children and angels. As I sat and stared I realized many of them were looking up or off in the distance, with angels in the background of their line of sight. The longer I sat there the more I deeply appreciated their ample bodies, their soft faces, their far off looks. I recognized the far off look in myself. I seem to spend much of my time in my head, wondering about all sorts of things, noticing little things most people don't. And as I've been diving into spirituality and feminism I can't help but wonder if women really do just have a special sight for divine inspiration at times. Sometimes it just seems like women can be a little more in tune, aware. Not always, but often it seems to be the case (hello Mary mother of Jesus and all the women that footed his ministry bill), hence all the angels in the women's lines of sight.
Two paintings grouped together really grabbed my attention. The first of a woman holding a child, enamored with her babe, looking happy and carefree and totally in love. Playful. I just stared. Her breasts are out and she's not feeling shame at all. Her child's nourishment, who she fully is, is visible to everyone. And she's full of life, in love. The beauty of it struck a deep cord in me. How I’ve felt so far from that with my children at times. Even though I was known to whip a boob out in public to feed my babies, I still made attempts to cover it up. Hiding a very natural thing, partially ashamed especially when men were around. Which is so silly when it's literally what we were made to do. I remember resenting my babies sometimes because I had to feed in public- it slowed me down, it ‘exposed’ me, I couldn't keep up 'my look', and usually people near me got really awkward and/or left when I needed to feed the babe. It's such a backward thing, really. I hadn't felt the life and joy in feeding my child to it’s full potential because of how much our culture has shamed women and their bodies on so many levels. Then I got sad. And not just a little bit of angry.
Then I noticed the picture on the left. A woman in armor with a child on her lap, her looking confused and the child looking away from her. It hit me so hard. This is what it looks like for a women to be operating in a man's world. The constant pushing to produce and not listening to our intuition or our bodies, to suppress ourselves to 'keep steady', not rock the boat or 'make a fuss'. Her breasts firmly concealed under armor, the life in her strapped down, the love repressed. Her hand and her eyes say it all to me, "What is this, this isn't what I'm meant for". Don't get me wrong, I think women are insanely strong and the toughest of fighters, just in context of what was arising in me in the picture on the right, the picture on the left affirmed those feelings and thoughts of being trapped in a mans world, unable to fully be the feminine creature I am out of shame and the lie that she isn't enough, isn't as smart or as capable, she must try to be like a man. That my body is dangerous and corrupt, not to be trusted. This is how I see myself in the art, adhering to the patriarchy and feeling so lost to myself. Sensing it in my own unease in my body. Noticing how I flinch away when my children touch my breasts, even when they’re not meaning to. Growing up not only in purity culture but also American culture with its fascination with the perfect women’s body and seeing how much body shame I have as a woman over my own body parts, my own God-given female parts, that are beautiful and full of nourishing life. Sadness that my body has been taken from me because of these culture norms and narratives. That I’ve spent far to much of my life striving for an unattainable body, hating the body I have, punishing her, feeling shame over big or saggy breasts, speaking poorly to her for ‘betraying’ me, not giving her rest or the nourishing food she needs, pushing her to keep going when she needs rest, simply not listening at all to my body and trying to master her. Grateful I'm beginning to see the truth about my body, lean into the natural inclination of my body. Seeing that she will actually take care of me if I trust her, listen to her, allow her what she needs and wants. My body has a beautiful way of informing me more than I ever thought possible. I'm beginning to deeply see she knows better than I think I do at times.
I took one long last look at the picture on the right, feeling lighter and empowered, deeply thankful to be a woman, which hasn't always been the case to be honest. I felt a sense of comradery with women on a whole. I haven't always been a girls girl, tending to usually hang with dudes more often than not, but I'm beginning to see the deep beauty and necessity of female bonds. Beginning to feel truly at home, being known by women has been such a healing gift to me. The solidarity, the i-see-you, the validation of feelings and thoughts has been a burden lifted, making me more comfortable in my own skin, my own body. Fully noticing now when my body is telling me no or yes in circumstances. Paying attention to tingling in my arms when I’m feeling shame or apprehension. Noticing my chest beginning to tighten when I start to have obsessive thoughts, feel alone or unsafe. Noticing the lightness I feel when I feel truly safe, the ease with which I move when I know I’m seen and loved. Women’s bodies are such beautiful, beautiful things. Bodies in general really are, but I’m stuck in wonder over the female body at the moment. All the things and people she carries and supports, nourishes and loves. The emotions mixed with such great strength. The overwhelming joy of confidence in your own body that has nothing to do with how it looks but simply because IT IS ME. I am so good and so wonderfully made. Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. And then, then I can love my beautiful body as she is, fully and completely.
For an amazing podcast on embodiment, motherhood and femininity check out this one by Richard Rohr: Another Name For Everything, Episode 6, An Embodied Path
*I cried more than once in this, so beautiful.
I've lived in Austin three years and somehow just now made it to this gorgeous place. As I walked in I felt my heart just open up, flutter, get so excited and full all at the same time. I made my way upstairs past a couple doing a boomerang with the beautiful staircase backdrop (totally would have done it if someone was with me) and felt tension melt away in the face of color, beauty, creativity. I slowly walked around, reading here and there about artists, waiting for that one perfect piece to come out and grab me so I could sit and reflect on it. As I walked around, I noticed there were a whole lot of boobs. I've been taking a long, hard look at sexuality, femininity and what that means to me, so naturally the boobs and women were going to stick out. In the past I've always felt a weirdness around nude arts. Embarrassment. Awkwardness. Averting of the eyes. More so around breasts and female nudity than male nudity. Interesting, right? Right. Anyway, I dissect that part later, ha.
As I was making my way to the end with closing time approaching I started to get mildly anxious that I hadn't contemplated a painting yet. I entered the Renaissance room not really wanting to be there. I was more interested in modernism, color, big bright abstracts. But I found myself seated in front of paintings of a grouping of mostly topless women surrounded by children and angels. As I sat and stared I realized many of them were looking up or off in the distance, with angels in the background of their line of sight. The longer I sat there the more I deeply appreciated their ample bodies, their soft faces, their far off looks. I recognized the far off look in myself. I seem to spend much of my time in my head, wondering about all sorts of things, noticing little things most people don't. And as I've been diving into spirituality and feminism I can't help but wonder if women really do just have a special sight for divine inspiration at times. Sometimes it just seems like women can be a little more in tune, aware. Not always, but often it seems to be the case (hello Mary mother of Jesus and all the women that footed his ministry bill), hence all the angels in the women's lines of sight.
Two paintings grouped together really grabbed my attention. The first of a woman holding a child, enamored with her babe, looking happy and carefree and totally in love. Playful. I just stared. Her breasts are out and she's not feeling shame at all. Her child's nourishment, who she fully is, is visible to everyone. And she's full of life, in love. The beauty of it struck a deep cord in me. How I’ve felt so far from that with my children at times. Even though I was known to whip a boob out in public to feed my babies, I still made attempts to cover it up. Hiding a very natural thing, partially ashamed especially when men were around. Which is so silly when it's literally what we were made to do. I remember resenting my babies sometimes because I had to feed in public- it slowed me down, it ‘exposed’ me, I couldn't keep up 'my look', and usually people near me got really awkward and/or left when I needed to feed the babe. It's such a backward thing, really. I hadn't felt the life and joy in feeding my child to it’s full potential because of how much our culture has shamed women and their bodies on so many levels. Then I got sad. And not just a little bit of angry.
I took one long last look at the picture on the right, feeling lighter and empowered, deeply thankful to be a woman, which hasn't always been the case to be honest. I felt a sense of comradery with women on a whole. I haven't always been a girls girl, tending to usually hang with dudes more often than not, but I'm beginning to see the deep beauty and necessity of female bonds. Beginning to feel truly at home, being known by women has been such a healing gift to me. The solidarity, the i-see-you, the validation of feelings and thoughts has been a burden lifted, making me more comfortable in my own skin, my own body. Fully noticing now when my body is telling me no or yes in circumstances. Paying attention to tingling in my arms when I’m feeling shame or apprehension. Noticing my chest beginning to tighten when I start to have obsessive thoughts, feel alone or unsafe. Noticing the lightness I feel when I feel truly safe, the ease with which I move when I know I’m seen and loved. Women’s bodies are such beautiful, beautiful things. Bodies in general really are, but I’m stuck in wonder over the female body at the moment. All the things and people she carries and supports, nourishes and loves. The emotions mixed with such great strength. The overwhelming joy of confidence in your own body that has nothing to do with how it looks but simply because IT IS ME. I am so good and so wonderfully made. Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. And then, then I can love my beautiful body as she is, fully and completely.
For an amazing podcast on embodiment, motherhood and femininity check out this one by Richard Rohr: Another Name For Everything, Episode 6, An Embodied Path
*I cried more than once in this, so beautiful.
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