imagination || craft: On Muses, Mothers, Rebels, Artists
More on women as muses to each other; and a nod to all the Melancholy Moms
I spend a fair amount of time watching documentaries about artists and writers, and also reading or listening to their memoirs. I’m especially fascinated by narratives about twentieth-century women artists and writers— what kinds of family and social support did they have or not have? What decisions did they make about how they would make a living, who they would make a life with, whether they would have children? And how were their choices constrained or made possible or dictated by circumstance?
So much has changed between my mother’s generation and mine— women can now have credit cards in their own names (!); marital rape is now illegal nationwide; women are seen as less selfish (or monstrous!) if they focus on their own desires and talents. But the changes are tenuous. And for me, becoming a mother and then leaving a household with my son’s father threw into stark relief the web of social forces I’m working within. (For example, did you know about the “fatherhood bonus and motherhood penalty” in many professions, including academia? There’s a great deal of data out there about how fathers and mothers are perceived quite differently in workplaces and about the toll parenting takes on mothers compared to fathers, in terms of salary, opportunities, and ability to remain in their professions.)
To return to women artists— two documentaries I watched in recent months were about Judy Blume and Margaret Atwood, both writers I love.
I was struck— as I usually am— by the intellectual and psychic support surrounding these women. For Judy Blume, developing as a writer occurred in the context of raising her two children and existing in a marriage in which the main concern was that her writing not get in the way of her duties as wife and mother. An early trusted reader of Judy Blume’s was her adolescent daughter, and her mother typed all her manuscripts for her. Her husband, on the other hand, never read anything she wrote. Once Blume was successful and able to support herself, she left that marriage. In contrast, in her partner Graeme Gibson, Atwood found an intellectual equal who both saw her incredible talent and supported it. About Gibson, who died in 2020, Atwood said, “He wasn't an egotist, so he wasn't threatened by anything I was doing. He said to our daughter towards the end of his life, 'Your mum would still have been a writer if she hadn't met me, but she wouldn't have had as much fun'."
What I’ve learned from these documentaries is that it’s easier and more fun for women artists and writers if they have partners and families that support what they are doing, but also that that is not a given. I wrote here about what it would mean to live in a society that supports mother-artists: “I want … a just society, one with affordable childcare, teaching jobs that aren’t divided into part-time gigs with no benefits, an economy that isn’t largely becoming a stress-inducing, health-killing ‘gig economy.’ A society that supports humanity, supports lives lived fully, supports artists.”
Today I’m thinking about the web of support I do have and also about the lineage I come from. In addition to the wonderful writer friends who see and value what I do and have been key to my keeping body and soul together, I come from a lineage of staunch women. My friend Jessica Mesman recently read (another) draft of the book of flash memoir/essay that I’m working on (tentatively titled A Wilderness of Her Own, after this essay). One of Jess’s really moving and encouraging comments on the manuscript was, “You allow yourself to look at yourself. To study your mom and grandmother as if they are the artists who created you. There’s so much dignity in that.” The book is about “what women had to do to survive,” as Jess commented, but also about women as creators— of their lives, their art, their children’s characters.
I’ve been feeling down about life this week, even amidst the lovely moments I’ve had. The challenges of being a mother who is present in all the ways I want to be, while also building back up the profession I put on hold when I was a stay-at-home mother— it can be overwhelming. But today I’m also thinking about the women who came before me and those who continue to hold me up. Jessica also wrote me, “You write about your own matriarchal line with the same admiration/dignity as you would great artists/great performances of women. And along the way admire your own performance. All of that is there.”
So, I’ll take a moment to be grateful for the women who made me who I am and the friends and artists who continue to show me the way, who allow me to imagine a world in which I can bring all my talents and empathy to bear as I continue to create a life that feels meaningful and useful and sustaining. Joyous, even. And I’ll ask you— who are the women whose “performances” you admire? Where has support and mutuality been given and received in your life? And have you stopped lately to admire your own performance?
Reminders about October offerings— early bird prices end October 1st!
A GREAT PRICE FOR A WEALTH OF RESOURCES & GUIDANCE ON THE LYRIC ESSAY
I’m excited to offer a self-guided version of Writing the Lyric Essay, a course I originally designed for Creative Nonfiction. Students will go through the self-guided class together, offering each other feedback, and it opens on October 22nd. $45 early bird price through October 1st!
The class is asynchronous (meaning that you don’t have to be there at any particular time), and students will be sent all the course materials at the end of the course!
A SPOOKY PROSE POEM WORKSHOP!
I’m offering a new one-day (Halloween-inflected!) Zoom-based workshop on prose poems on Saturday October 28th, Through the Veil: A Prose Poem Workshop. We’ll read poems that move “between worlds” (in various ways), and I will provide timed writing exercises. We’ll look at the spectral, the uncanny, the half-hidden, and the unexplained. Limited to 14 participants. (10 spots left) $50 through October 1st!