The temperature yesterday was in the mid-teens, and the brisk walk from my car, parked in the seventies, to Columbus Circle in the fifties, brought color to my cheeks, the air visible in small puffs as my friend and I reunited for the beginning of a three-hour dynamic conversation. This friend and I met over twenty years ago, and our lives have continuously dovetailed, through our work and our families. We first got to know each other on Passover, at a hotel in the Catskills, where my husband and hers were both featured speakers/performers. We quickly bonded over a mutual love of healthy food and lively honest conversation, heading back to my hotel room with her two kids and my three children to continue the dialogue while I nursed my infant baby boy.
That baby boy is now almost 19-years old, my oldest son passed away shortly after that first meeting. My daughter is now 21-years old, and there was one more daughter born after that first meeting, now 15-years old. Over the years, this friend and I have supported each other through crises and celebrations. I have fond memories of her coming to my home in Katonah, New York, for the weekend when our husbands were out of town, kids and grocery bags in tow, ready to cook up a gourmet healthy meal with me in less than half an hour. Our daughters were the same age, and while they played with Barbies, we would yack until all hours of the night.
She and I both have freshmen in the same high school now, and we keep bumping into each other at school events. We finally found a mutually agreeable time and place to meet, and I was excited to have a few hours of friend time, with the knowledge that whenever we talk, it will not be boring. Sparks will fly. Pushing through the revolving door at the Museum of Art and Design, I was immediately struck by the ten-foot tall brightly painted ceramic sculpture of a man in a business suit, the work of artist Viola Frey. We turned to each other, jaws agape, with the same question: How is it that we both never heard of this prolific artist from the Bay Area, “one of the most influential sculptors of the twentieth century”.
Curious and hoping to learn from the docent, we joined a museum tour of mostly octogenarians, and while it was nice to feel so young in this group, boredom and the need for unconstricted conversation trumped the tour. Leaving the group, we meandered into a film of Viola Frey. What struck us both about this artist was what she said about family life in an interview with another woman artist. “An artist must choose”, she said, “between family and art. One cannot have both. A true artist is married to their work” (Not an exact quote, but the gist of what I remembered). The interviewer nervously defended family. “I am a mom of two kids, and I think I am doing a good job of balancing both”. My friend and I turned to each other with the same question. Can you have it all? Are children a distraction from art? She is a writer, I am an artist and writer, and we have both raised three wonderful creative children. Was there a sacrifice made to our art?
Yes and no. Would I have been a better artist if I didn’t have kids? Perhaps I would have been more focused, more prolific. I would have been able to immerse myself fully in my art, instead of fitting it into pockets of time available between naps, errands, and family activities. Do I have regrets? Absolutely not. My biggest joy and greatest creation is my children. They are the most important people in my life, and while they can also be the cause of much worry and heartache, the happiness, connection, and love I feel for them far outweighs any pain. Unlike art, they are not static. They keep changing, morphing, evolving. And my heart has found a deeper capacity to love.
Art, music, writing, they course through my veins and feed my soul. Self-expression is my bread and butter. But my children, the ability to balance my work with my life, this is even more crucial to my existence. For without that balance, my life would feel flat and one dimensional. The colors of my world would fade, the sparks would be missing.
While Viola Frey may have achieved fulfillment through her union to her work, and the art she produced was certainly prolific and impressive, I would choose my life of balance any day.
What do you choose?
