On drawing in public, the feeling that only I should be holding my baby, and the superb beauty of personalized art kits
Hello, thanks for reading my work. Over the next few weeks, I'll be transitioning my archive to Tuhat. This essay originally appeared in August of 2024. There is much more to come about how I combine art-making, parenting and the writing life, including some of the steps I took to become a "professional" (agented and published) writer, letting go of projects that aren't working, working against constraints, and so much else. Thank you for being here.
My drawing time since my second child’s birth has happened in quick moments between feeds and household tasks (like bagging and labeling milk for storage, and washing equipment—below is just one day’s worth).
Yesterday, I went out with my spouse to get coffee, and he held our baby the whole time while I set up my art stuff and drew. I’ve passed many a moment over the last weeks, yearning to spend longer than five minutes making something — anything! Getting this chance yesterday affirmed for me (again) how much it is the process that makes me happy, not necessarily the product, though that can be fun too, of course.
Still, though I didn’t ask my spouse to hold our baby—he’s always game to hold them—and even having noted said longing, I felt guilty for not being the one doing the holding. Really, I felt guilty for taking the time for myself. That is what equitable parenting looks like, for me, for now: my spouse being an equal partner and parent and me feeling guilt because of the care-work I’ve surrendered as a result.
Luckily, the guilt is fleeting, since it is only old instincts imposing it, and not the person I made the child with. And, very quickly yesterday, the enjoyment overtook the guilt. My brain kept noticing— Oh, wow, I’m sitting somewhere—not in the house!—with my person and our little person, looking around closely enough to be able to play with shapes and expressions on the page.
Drawing in public used to take a lot of overcoming. I would bring *way *too many supplies, be very aware of however much time I had (usually not much), and so only draw stiffly, not letting myself loosen into the process or enjoy my materials. It can also be hard to create if it feels like people are watching, but having drawn in public settings so often, now, I realize very few people care what I’m doing, and those who might stop will likely be friendly and curious. In short: I no longer worry much about others.
The last hindrance to overcome is the one of too many options, and I do still do this to myself sometimes. There are days—especially when I haven’t been able to make anything lately—when I think: ooh, oil pastels! oh, but crayons! and water-soluble crayons! and markers! and pencils! I bring a bit of everything and then usually use one or two things, max. That’s ok. As long as I don’t let the plethora of choices keep me from starting, and as long as my kit isn’t so heavy I give myself a neck-ache, there’s been no harm done by my enthusiasm. It’s even kind of funny and child-like in a nice way, if I think about it.
I have made things easier on myself somewhat by getting a very small bag (this one, which hasn’t let me down once) that can only fit so much. I love the assemblage I’ve created for these on-the-go sketch sessions, including the best white pencil I’ve found, my watercolor palette from The Art of Soil (they have sales on slightly damaged products, and that was how I afforded this one), and two mini pads of my favorite papers, which fit perfectly in one of the bag’s three pockets!
Most of what I’m doing these days is taking in, observing, trying to notice as much as possible so that, when I get the opportunity, I can summon all I’ve stored up and apply it to my process. I’m also just smelling my baby’s head a lot and listening to this playlist I made for our birth. There is so much to be grateful for, and so much about which I feel hopeful. This, itself, is a gift.