Art & Motherhood

I worry about bringing my loud, sometimes wild, children to art events or other spaces that are not considered family friendly......

Photos by Nicolette Molina, Art: Andrea Bergen at Public Land Store

My husband and I never thought we'd find ourselves living in a suburban neighborhood. I grew up in a hippy town in the woods. Home sits amongst tall sprawling cedar trees, where lawns are more of an afterthought than a feature. My husband on the other hand, is from Arizona. He grew up in a small adobe house amongst saguaro cactus’ where lawns are considered an affront to the ecosystem. Our younger selves spent our 20s in, “the city,” myself in Los Angeles and Pittsburgh, and him in Washington DC. Our first house together was in the hustle and bustle of Sacramento’s Midtown. Midtown is where most of the nightlife happens: it’s diverse and is made up of mostly young people. But after a long hunt to buy a house, we surprised ourselves by settling down in a sprawling suburb, sharing a driveway with our neighbors, and catching everyone’s side eye every week our lawn went un-mowed.

And even though we'd like to think we are rebels and could care less about “keeping up with the Joneses,” we still found ourselves hiring a lawn service. It is fascinating how Americans pride themselves on their individualism, yet idolize the conformity of white picket fences. As working parents, the isolation of suburban living often has us feeling trapped behind that same metaphorical fence.

I launched the newsletter almost 12 months ago. As a response to the collective post-covid sense of isolation. All too often events happen in a silo or a vacuum and, while certainly there are other events newsletters out there, I never saw the kind of event listings I wanted to attend.

As I sit on my couch typing this, having just welcomed our precious little girl into the world three weeks ago, the isolation of motherhood also looms. In the last 12 months I’ve rarely found the time I’ve needed to attend the very events we post. On the hamster wheel of work, school, and feeding schedules --- getting “out there,” often feels overwhelming. I’m keenly aware that this is how the system of consumerism is designed. It’s designed to keep us at home, buying things on our phones, and algorithmically falling deeper and deeper into narrow ideologies. Slowly, we find ourselves divesting from our communities in the name of convenience.

Public Land Store, Sacramento (Land Park)

In 2025 I’m committing to not only attending art events as an individual, but also bringing family along. Will I still occasionally order things online? Most likely. But we all must find our own path of resistance and activism at our own pace.

I was recently inspired by the Matriarch Movement podcast episode, “Why Children are Essential in Decision Making Spaces.“ Shayla Oulette Stonechild interviews Michelle Friesen, City Councilor for the City of Whitehorse in Canada. Michelle was elected as the first Indigenous woman to serve on Whitehorse City Council, and is the first Indigenous person to sit on City Council in 30 years. In 2023 she was in the media after facing complaints by fellow city council members to stop bringing her newborn son to the meetings. Michelle shares her experience of work and motherhood. She points out to the city council that her appointment is to harken her voice and the voices of other indigenous people and women into the wider conversation of government. In this particular case, having children present when leaders are making decisions is rooted in her indigenous heritage. Michelle’s leadership and message spoke to my heart.

I worry about bringing my loud, sometimes wild, children to art events or other spaces that are not considered family friendly. I can’t help but feel, culturally, this is another mechanism contributing to our isolation, especially as parents. Mired in the existential chaos of ushering in a new generation, I find myself wondering what kind of world I want to leave behind and how we collectively steward an appreciation for the arts.

Now more than ever, artists need support as public funding will likely continue to shrink. The first step, in my mind, is getting out there, meeting the artists, buying and seeing the work.

We must expose our children to the beauty, fluidity, and natural depths of conversation that come with the arts. I want my children to be inquisitive, curious, and wildly innovative thinkers who approach the world's challenges with creativity. Art shouldn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s too precious a resource not to be accessible to all, celebrated, and economically viable.

I’m excited to explore these ideas here in this space, and would love to hear your stories, thoughts, and how you are inviting community into your lifestyle.