Mom, me, middle age, and the need for creativity and expression

One day long ago, I was at least a teenager, my mom bought a hand sized block of molding clay from the craft store. After playing with it for a while she presented a bust of a young girl wearing a bonnet. I looked at it in a rather dumbfounded way. I looked at her and said "where did you learn to do that?" I don't remember her exact words, but basically she learned it nowhere. She just wanted to try it. A few years later one of her coworkers was a very talented artist. She learned about acrylic paints from him. She had always assumed that people who painted used oils, and that didn't sound like something she wanted to try. But when acrylics were explained to her (they dry quickly and you can paint right over them if you don't like what you painted) she must have been intrigued. So around the age of 50 my mother started painting.

I remember being very impressed, and yet confused, by mom's sudden interest in painting. I was impressed with her obvious ability, though she would say anybody could do what she did. She was very technical. She would break down her canvas into a graph. She would graph out a picture she wanted to paint. Then sketch in each block... But I assured her that her technical approach to creating art was still a talent not everyone possessed. But my confusion came from the fact I had not seen mom ever be artistic. Even at age 20 my mother was still only a mom... my mom. Over the years I have started seeing her more as a three dimensional person... and even now I'm still making discoveries.

Today it occurred to me that I understand why she started painting. I understand why she molded that block of clay. I understand why she started tap dancing, choreographing dances, and making costumes in her 60s. I think we reach a point in life where we feel the need to truly be ourselves. We spend so many years going through motions. And suddenly the need to create, to express, to feel alive, to be authentic... that need starts to gnaw at us.

So here I am at that point. I teach at the gym. I write this blog (though I'm not sure it's creative, but it is a good outlet for my mental and emotional health... which I guess is part of the point of being creative). I've started working on a costume I want to make. And I've started collaborating on a short story with a friend. Fiction! :) And in doing all this I feel like I know my mom a little better. I do wish she were around to discuss it. I feel like I know what she'd say, but it would be better to hear her voice saying it. :)