The Divided Heart – Rachel Power

Firstly, a big thank you to those who recommended I track down The Divided Heart by Rachel Power when I wrote about life/work/art balance a while ago. I did indeed track it down and then devoured almost the entire thing in a weekend – a pretty mean feat, you would have to agree, when there are small children to be entertained but I am pretty adept at reading while I cook, collect laundry off the floor and make creatures out of playdough. Despite life buzzing around me, I couldn’t help. I just had to keep reading.

As you know, I am no book critic, but someone who will rave endlessly and evangelically about a book I enjoyed – and The Divided Heart falls into that category. Reading it, especially so intensely, had such a profound affect on me. I took a little mini roller-coaster ride of emotions that weekend. To show you how extreme, my thoughts went from finding more childcare for Lily, to giving up my work entirely and then to, for the first time, contemplating a third child. THAT is how much of a roller-coaster ride and that is no exaggeration.

Rachel is such a sensitive and hugely intelligent author. Her introduction and her own reflections on being a writer and a mother are some of the most interesting parts of the book. She looks at the sad truth that, on the whole, historically women were not given any chance to attempt to be both a mother and an artist and so many women artists turned away from motherhood as a result. She looks at the mythology that surrounds art and (usually male) artists, and she talks about motherhood and domestic life still being feminism’s final frontier; the fact that our generation has grown up believing that it is possible to do everything (and let me tell you – reading my 80s journal is a blinding testament to that! I was going to be a film making / writer / mother of FIVE according to my 17 year old self) only to discover somewhere along the track – around the time of breastfeeding is the general impression – that despite the best of intentions of all parties, this is not always so easy. Each of the women she talks to have pretty similar struggles – and her point is made so very clearly that it’s a hard thing to be both a passionate mother and a passionate artist.

All the women she spoke to and interviewed for the book (including such gorgeous women as Claire Bowditch, Rachel Griffiths, Joanna Murray-Smith and Davida Allen) are refreshingly candid and touchingly open in their desire to share their experience. You get a real sense of sharing a heart to heart over a cup of tea with each of the women, a sense of their life and also a clear sense of the transience of all these feelings – which, we all know, change from day to day, stage to stage, child’s age to child’s age, yet a sense of the universal truths they live by.

I loved this book but at times I found it a little bleak as unsurprisingly there is no easy path to follow and the resounding message is “yes it’s bloody hard but you do the best you can do.”

But in the end I did come out feeling a little better about all in the world. There are so many pearls of wisdom to be found within the interviews, unsurprisingly the most inspiring come from the older women Rachel chose to interview, the ones whose children have grown up a little and who can look back on the early years with a sense of perspective. One of the interviews is with printmaker, Franki Sparke. It was a paragraph from this which resonated with me last week:

“There is always a gap between what we imagine ourselves to have the potential to become and what we really are,” Franki warned. “Motherhood is just one of the things that can be used as an excuse for not realising our dreams. You can always find a way to adapt your practice and work around your children. Perhaps it’s your career that’s compromised, as opposed to your art, or yourself as an artist.”

I realised that this for me is SO true! I have been banging on about not having enough time to do my “Work” for so long that I haven’t even any idea what my “Work” really is. I should just bloody well do something!

I highly recommend The Divided Heart, especially if you, like me, are feeling that inevitable pull between your work and your children… but I suggest reading it slowly (though the temptation is to keep reading it in a kind of frenzied desire to find answers to all the big questions) because it can be overwhelming and then let it sit before you rush off to have extra babies, book nannies, chuck in your art or your family.

A Divided Heart can be found in bookshops here in Australia, and can be bought from the publisher’s web site for those who are interested from Overseas.

Sucka

There was a little Mr Mom moment in the kitchen this morning. I came out in the kitchen to find Phil cleaning Lily up after her breakfast with the vacuum cleaner! He looked at me and said “What?? This is highly effective!”.

The funniest bit was Lily telling my Mum later in the day all about it, and Mum turned to me and said “Did she just say daddy cleaned her breakfast out of her sleeve with the vacuum cleaner?”, Umm, yes she did.

** Portrait of Phil by me and Lily.

Cold Grey

This has been one of those long winter weeks.

Phil is away working in California and both girls (and now me too) have been sick with temperatures and ear aches, and there have been sleepless nights and lots of hiding inside away from the chill and the rain. I am still not complaining about the rain (oh why didn’t we get a rainwater tank installed before the winter?)- but I took a fully recovered Amelia to a (disco) birthday party this afternoon and the car almost got bogged on the way home! Yes, it was Greensborough but honestly – that’s not exactly rural.

But at twilight tonight I realised I could hear blackbirds in the garden and I wandered outside and while the sky was still a cold-grey, I could smell blossom, so the end of our winter hibernation is nigh.

And look at the garden! Some serious work is needed in the vegie patch.

And I need to get to some marmalade making – the only cheerful thing in the garden are the kumquats.

Bring on Spring!

I am a shy person, really!

I have been completely lost in my aforementioned 80s journals these last few days and looky! I found Johnny Depp’s autograph glued in one, I thought it was gone forever! I have, over the years, occasionally wondered if I had perhaps made the whole thing up and just come to believe it. Thank goodness for the evidence. Having been thinking about all that stuff again, I was momentarily amused to hear the Eurythmics playing over the shopping centre loud speakers this morning as I stacked boxes of crackers into my shopping trolley. A song from the very same tour I mentioned on Sunday.

As we continued to scoot around the mall, Lily said hello to approximately 25 people. She says, very loudly, “HELLO MAN!” (or GIRL) and then if they say hello back, she says “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” and if they don’t respond to her, she shouts at me “WHAT’S THAT MAN DOING?”. It gets kind of tiresome, as I politely smile and hurry away. The worst bit is when she can’t work out whether it’s a MAN or a GIRL so she’ll say – “HELLO MAN GIRL!”. As you can imagine, I pretend I didn’t hear what was undeniably clear, even in 2 year old dialect and I hurry away too fast (and with a very red face) to smile politely at those people.

But apart from Lily saying hello to strangers, I did it myself today. I have been enjoying Victoria’s blog lately since she left a kindly comment on my blog last week. She’s a local girl – from my very suburb. She makes dolls, has two little girls, grows vegetable… so I emailed her lately to say a hello and to warn her that I may spring out and say a hello in person if I ever see her at the local shops. The idea that it might actually happen seemed remote enough to entertain, even for a shy person like me. But today – there she was! I did that momentary thing of thinking “am I really going to say hello??” and then finding that before I made an actual, rational decision I had already turned back and stopped her and asked her if she was indeed Victoria — And it was! It was a very nice coincidence. Lily is fortunately too young to be embarrassed by such things – but give her 10 years or so and she’ll be groaning (that ubiquitous teenage chant) “Muuuuum! You are soooo embarrassing!”

and I will promptly remind her of her “HELLO MAN GIRL!” days.

20 years ago today (or so)

Today Mum and I took the girls for a super quick, late-in-the-afternoon whizz around the Children’s Book Week fair. The girls had their faces painted and made badges, and I got to have a catch-up chat with a long time favourite illustrator who I did a week of work experience with back in 1988. I think I made us both feel old. But it made me want to draw again. That was nice.

Speaking of the 80s; We had dinner with friends last night where I spent quite a lot of time arguing with my old mate about the 1987 Eurythimic’s concert, which we had both attended, but of which we both have entirely different memories. She found her old journal and produced her ticket. Sure enough, she was right – The Myer Music Bowl. Disturbed by my total lack of Myer-bowl recall, (I remember Crowded House there, TISM, REM even, but not the Eurythmics) I dug out my old journal from ’87-’88 (densely decorated with Amnesty International stickers and images of Johnny Depp, River Phoenix and Corey Feldman) to discover, with great relief, that my ticket was indeed for The Entertainment Centre. Same tour, different nights and different venues I guess. Are you old enough to remember this tour? Do you remember the giant zip? You have to remember that giant zip.

And then by sheer coincidence I stumbled upon the entry from that week of work experience at Five Mile Press (back in the day!) and how much fun I had and about the enormous crush I developed on one of the boys in the studio – but no surprises there because with some further flicking through this journal, it seems that in 1988 I managed a crush on someone completely new every couple of weeks. Pretty impressive for a girl who I remember had almost zero social life.

Now I’m off to make a cup of tea and read all about my 1988 school play.