Would Mother like a chair?

It has taken me several goes at logging into my blog. And now, rather than feeling all sweet and reflective I'm annoyed and worried about my brain "functionality". That's a word, I hear it a lot, I know it has something to do with computers. And my brain.

So 51 is just around the corner and while the 30 something artists and crafters out there are posting gorgeous photos of their new bundles of babies and hand knits, I can't even log on!!
Ok. Some context. I ran my own business for 10 years. I was a maker of things, mainly jewellery having completed a degree in Gold and Silversmithing. I was legit. I had a little shop in Kensington and a loyal following as well as selling to boutiques in Australia and New Zealand. Kylie Minogue had worn my jewellery. Once. I was proud of my "brand" but making hand made things in a fashion accessory market was tough. And then the babies came, and I wasn't making any money, and I was frustrated by my inability to balance my creative life with Motherhood so… well, I began to knit and be a mother. Happily.

Then a few years ago my dear friend Denise gave me a book, The Divided Heart, Art and Motherhood, by Rachel Power. I put it aside for a while, tucked away with reminders of a my past life as an artist. At the time I was working as a doula. My passion for birth and motherhood had lead me down that path but this book, oh dear, everything just fell away and there I was, that girl who loved to draw, who was  happiest when she was  making something. It was time. So I did a painting and it made me happy and I liked it and couldn't understand where this big painting of the Australian bush had come from. I had written in my high school year book that I wanted to be a painter and live in Warrandyte.  I have always loved  the Australian bush, muted and familiar. From somewhere in the depths of my creative self, it had waited patiently, timing it's return for a moment in my life when my girls are of an age that they are moving into new places and maybe I was becoming a little sad about this.   And so I will paint, and I will care for this part of me and welcome it's return whole heardedly,  I will call myself an artist with confidence and conviction. Again. I'll blog a little bit about it and other things.  And I will put things on Instagram and see where it takes me.

But I'm still about to turn 51, and I feel like I'm starting this new phase a bit late and recently while shopping with my 15 year old in some shop called Glug, or Glum or something, as I flicked through hangers of inappropriate tops (for anyone),while maybe humming a show tune, a friendly young lass approached me as my daughter went to try things on and motioned to a large leather wingback in the corner. " Would Mother Like a Chair? I think I went a little pale, or maybe a little flushed. Probably flushed. I wanted to remind her that I am a customer, not just a credit card and that maybe just maybe I was about to try something on? But the truth was, I was hot and tired and the sugar high from my Muffin Break had worn off and to be perfectly honest,  Mother would bloody love a chair. Thank you.