The art of motherhood
Cindy on May 4th, 2009
“The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.” — Henry Ward Beecher
With Mother’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking about how my mother shaped my views on career, homemaking, and motherhood.
Like most children in the 1950s and ’60s, I took for granted that Mom would be waiting at home each afternoon when I returned from school. In those days, day-care providers were called baby-sitters, and their employment was limited to occasional Saturday evenings. The “average housewife” role, now a remnant of that mythical past, was as indigenous to middle-class suburbia as The Donna Reed Show.
Combining what she often dubbed âthe best of both worlds,â my mother earned a respectable paycheck while working at home. She didn’t realize it at the time, but she paved the way for the free-lance writing career I would begin years later after my son was born.
Trained as a commercial artist, Mom applied transparent oil tints to photographic portraits of brides and high school graduates. (This was long before portraiture was changed by the introduction of direct-color film and, ultimately, digital photography.) I remember coming home from school to find Mom working in her portable “studio,” which was a table pulled next to a window overlooking our backyard. Perched next to her in a small chair, I watched as she squeezed oil paints onto a glass palette and applied delicate washes of color to each sepia-toned portrait.
I chattered while she painted, occasionally cleaning her brushes in spirits of turpentine. With an ear tilted toward our conversation, Mom would follow my rambling grade-school chitchat — a daily litany of kids who had misbehaved on the playground, or the impossible words I’d misspelled on a test. During these intimate girl talks, problems were solved, opinions formed, hurts consoled.
I was always proud of her — proud to say, “My mom is an artist.” But until I started my own family, I never fully realized how hard she worked, or how much sleep she lost in order to meet her deadlines while keeping a home. Around the clock she painted her portraits and delivered them in bright yellow Kodak boxes to local photography studios, made meals for my father and me, decorated our home, volunteered at my school, and even found time to help lead a Girl Scout troop.
Somehow — from my childish perspective — she created the illusion that her time stretched infinitely and that she was always accessible. Like a good portrait, my relationship with her was never rushed, but rendered lovingly over time, layer upon layer.
Watching my mother today, I’ve learned that the art of living well has a lot to do with improvisation. You must continually find new ways to use the materials and circumstances at hand — and the process is rarely simple.
Shortly after my father’s sudden death 17 years ago, Mom had to sell our family home and move to a smaller place. Adjusting to her new identity as a widow was difficult, and I know she missed the home she and my dad had built together. Everyone we knew grieved the changes in our small family.
But surprisingly, even to me, Mom began transforming the new, blank walls of her condominium into a welcoming place of warmth and beauty. Once again, I saw the artist filling her rooms with silk flowers, family antiques, and photographs of favorite people. Working alone, she reinvented “home” for herself. Art critic John Ruskin once wrote, “When love and skill work together, expect a masterpiece.” Reading this maxim, I always think of my mother. — Cindy La Ferle
– A slightly different version of this piece originally appeared in The Christian Science Monitor; it is reprinted in my essay collection, Writing Home. Both paintings are by Mary Cassatt –
Writing Home is currently featured in Urbane Life’s “10 Last-minute Gifts for Mother’s Day.” Click here to read the full review and article on Urbane Life.
May 4th, 2009 at 10:47 am
What a loving tribute to your mother. Her work brings to mind a photographic portrait of my mother from the 1960s that must’ve been done in the same oil tint format, which has a such a soft essence to it. You learned much from your mother, in a kind and gentle way, and it shows in your words here.
May 4th, 2009 at 12:37 pm
Your mother sounds like a beautiful woman. We appreciate our mothers so much more after actually becoming one. We have no idea how the little things might be remembered, and it sounds like your mother created some terrific memories for you.
Now we know from whom your artistry comes!
May 4th, 2009 at 1:21 pm
Apparently the artistic streak runs in your family as you’ve created a work of art in this lovely tribute to a Mother.
May 4th, 2009 at 10:40 pm
What a beautiful post!
May 5th, 2009 at 9:50 am
Cindy, what a touching post. You capture the memories of your childhood and your feelings about your mom beautifully. I especially loved when you wrote “she created the illusion that her time stretched infinitely and that she was always accessible.” Well put. My mom was a master at this very thing. Atleast I thought so. Thank you for sharing this post. I will remember it forever. ~Sara
May 5th, 2009 at 9:51 am
Hi Cindy,
What a lovely and loving tribute to your Mother. I have had a longtime love affair with hand tinted photography. My mom’s graduation photo from nursing school and a baby photo of myself are done that way. I think the soft, watercolour appearance of them is beautiful. I even took a course once a long time ago in hopes of being able to create some masterpieces myself. It didn’t go anywhere…hmmm…maybe I should resurrect that…
Thank you for stopping by my place to visit and leave a note. Visitors are always welcome and hopefully become friends.
Blessings,
Carolynn
May 5th, 2009 at 7:28 pm
What wonderful memories. What a special relationship the two of you share. I hope your mother is soon feeling better.
May 6th, 2009 at 7:04 am
Wonderful memories and writing. Art is in your blood. I would’ve loved a mom who knew who she was so well. It’s shows so much identity and resilience being able to re-make a home. Some elders just give up at that point. She must be something special!
May 6th, 2009 at 7:23 am
Everyone, thank you so much for these thoughtful comments. As noted at the end of the essay, this was written earlier for The Christian Science Monitor (back in the mid-1990s), and a lot has happened since then. My mom is now 78 and really slowing down, showing signs of memory loss and other worrisome health issues. She still lives independently and takes care of herself fairly well — but I’m not sure how long that will last. — Cindy La Ferle, May 19, 2009
May 6th, 2009 at 6:27 pm
Cindy,
This is such a lovely post and a beautiful tribute to your mother. Every year, when Mother’s Day rolls around, I always hope to do the same–to pay tribute in writing to my amazing mother. And each year the opportunity slips away. I must pay attention to this. Thank you for the reminder. Happy Mother’s Day to you both!
My mother was a bit of an artist too. She dabbled in painting, sketching, and jewelry making-minimally- as her full attention was always on her family. She had dreamed of being an elementary art teacher but her dad didn’t believe girls needed to go to college.
How times have changed! Thankfully so.
p.s. The lower Cassatt image you have here is my favorite. For many years I had it framed and hanging in my bedroom.
May 6th, 2009 at 8:27 pm
Cindy, this is a beautiful tribute to your mom, who has obviously inspired your domestic and artistic efforts. And I wish you the best as you and your mom handle the issues that arise from her changing abilities.
May 7th, 2009 at 7:01 pm
What a gentle yet profound piece of writing … about your Mom, and creativity, and life.
(And reading about your Mom, I was thinking, “so this is where your artistic ability comes from.”)
May 7th, 2009 at 7:02 pm
Everyone, I so appreciate these kind comments. Jan and Cindy, you used the word “tribute” and I love that … I think Mother’s Day is the ideal time to write a love letter or a tribute to our mothers. The original (and slightly different) version of this piece is included in Writing Home, which my mother adores — and she was very pleased that it’s included
I’m so glad I wrote a “tribute” to her while she’s alive. Too often, we wait until our parents are gone to tell them what they mean to us. I never wrote anything for my dad until I wrote his eulogy. Big regret, that one ….
– Cindy La Ferle