Small Milestones
happy birthday to this newsletter and other fun things.
Dear Friends,
The other day I wrote a check that got rejected for being “too old” because I forgot the year is now 2025.
I started this publication in January 2024 before my daughter was even conceived, and wow, a lot has changed since then. The person I was one year ago feels like a person from another lifetime. That person had time to eat a proper meal and take showers.
Caring for a newborn has been the ultimate test of time, energy, and endurance, so it’s a blessing that Thane is holding our baby right now to give me a moment to write this (thank you Thane, you are the real MVP). To all the people out there with multiple kids or are single parents, you amaze me. I have a friend who just had twins and I am flabbergasted that she even finds the time to text me back (Diana, if you are reading this, you are amazing).
Little milestones on my mind:
my baby is 8 weeks old today
this newsletter is 1 year old this month
applied to my first artist grant since becoming a mom
renting a place that will become an art studio and workshop space
tomorrow I’ll start teaching workshops again for the first time since Lumi was born
Although I wont be going back to work full time until the end of February, I’ve been easing back in by introducing virtual workshops into my schedule again. This year marks 5 years of teaching with Case for Making (a direct result of the pandemic — hard to believe that COVID began 5 years ago) and it’s been a decade since writing my master’s thesis in Ireland. I remember cold, soggy, sleepless nights wondering whether or not an MFA would serve me well (or at all) in the future.
Tomorrow, January 18th, I’m teaching Watercolor Brushwork Basics, followed by Mark Making: Ruth Asawa on Saturday, January 25th, and Mark Making: Sheila Hicks' Soft Shapes on February 22nd. I am nervous! I have never been this chronically sleep deprived before! I am wading back into work as a new mom, which is uncharted territory for me.
I spent New Year’s Eve applying to the Artists & Mother’s Grant, my first application to anything since Lumi was born. It’s a $25,000 grant for artists who identify as mothers living in NYC with children under the age of 3. Even if my application isn’t chosen, just the act of applying felt like a milestone, because it was time and energy intensive to write the application essays when time and energy are so insanely precious, and because it’s too easy to become my own obstacle by saying things like “I don’t have a chance” or “they won’t pick me” or “I’m too tired to write this” or any other number of defeatisms.
Putting together the materials for this grant was a reminder that I’ve been interested in themes of parenthood, motherhood, childhood, and family, long before I had ever considered having children of my own.
Applying to things, even if rejection is the outcome, always ends up being somewhat helpful because it requires me to intentionally reflect on the path I’m trying to carve in this life.
People are prone to announcing their wins and seldom share their failures, but the reality is I’ve gotten way more rejections than selections when it comes to applying for opportunities. I keep a color-coded spreadsheet of every single grant, residency, exhibition, and artist program I’ve ever applied for, and I have about a 64% rejection rate. That’s a majority! But the 36% acceptance rate has taken me to some incredible places and has allowed me to do some wonderful things with amazing people from all over the world.
So, as Thane gently reminded me while I cried my way through attempting to feed my screaming-hungry daughter and meet the grant deadline at the same time, “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”
Despite the challenges of first-time parenthood, Lumi has been the light of my life when so much has felt intensely dark in the world. It seems like everyone I know is going through something big and heavy right now. My friends and family have been experiencing major health issues, or have undergone serious medical procedures. My aunt and uncle’s entire neighborhood burned down in the LA fires last week. And with the inauguration looming just around the corner, it can be hard to feel hopeful about the future.
Five years ago when the pandemic turned the world upside down, I started teaching online workshops, which helped to build a sense of community during a very isolating time. This year, starting next month, Thane and I will be renting a space that we’re planning on turning into an art studio, which will hopefully become a place where we can hold small in-person gatherings and foster joy in our little corner of the world. It feels like a huge financial risk and sometimes I wonder if I’m losing my mind by making this gamble right now, but… you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.
Excited to share progress on the space once we have a moment to start fixing it up, if our little girl will only take a nap longer than 10 minutes.
Love,
Melanie
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♥
This newsletter was like a hug. Wishing I was closer to you and the baby to be able to help out. Sending so much love your way. She's the most precious creation you've made! This newsletter will be such a treasure as you look back years from now. Without these moments of pause (hard earned) life can be such a blur. Reading your words is also a moment of pause, I think that's what's so powerful about your art (both visual art and the art of your words as you describe the world). You bring a moment of pause to anyone who witnesses it. Sending love to my friend and gratitude to your art making.
I love the honesty with which you write about parenting. How truly exhausting, how little room for anything else - physically, mentally, spiritually. And, my bestie, when her boy was little used to often say, "good thing they're packaged cute..." Sounds like you're feeling similarly. Hang in. You will come back into you again when you're through this first stage. I look forward to taking another painting class with you soon.