on not holding it together

Phyllida Barlow and chaos as a teacher

Phyllida Barlow standing in front of ‘Shedmesh’

A few weeks before my son was born I took my toddler to a local art gallery. I was heavily pregnant and struggling to do anything very much, but I figured I could just about waddle around the white spaces of Hauser & Wirth.

At the gallery there was (and is) an exhibition by the artist Phyllida Barlow called ‘Unscripted.’ I was not familiar with her work, but was struck by the large black and white photo of her that was blown up by the gallery’s entrance. It was of Phyllida as a young woman standing in front of her work ‘Shedmesh’. In her arms she holds Clover, one of her five children. She looks proud of herself, and rightly so. My toddler tugged on my hand, ready to move on, mummy.

We crossed over the threshold and into the exhibition space. To an uneducated eye it looked like a pre-schooler had been on a bender in an industrial unit. Large boulders made from polystyrene were suspended from the ceiling, sprawling mounds of black and pink detritus were arranged on the floor, and there were other, even larger installations which protruded from the walls and loomed overhead.

In a dark room concealed behind a curtain a short film about Barlow’s work was being played. When we visited the benches were full so I sat on the floor with my toddler on my lap. We watched Phyllida using drills, handsaws and pencils. She was also shown instructing colleagues on how she wanted pieces of steel to be welded together. Towards the end Phyllida was working on what looked like a finished sculpture, but the next moment she pushed it off the side of the workbench and let it fall onto the floor. The sculpture broke into pieces which she then started to play with. She seemed to be asking a question: how far can I take this before it is no longer deemed ‘art’?

‘I think I like the edges of things.’ Phyllida explained to the writer Jennifer Higgie in a 2021 interview. ‘There’s a sort of nervousness about where the periphery of the work is.’

When she was at art college Phyllida’s tutor told her that he wouldn’t be talking to her very much because she would be having children by the time she was thirty. ‘So what?’ she replied. Instead of allowing motherhood to inhibit her practice, Phyllida improvised, using precious scraps of late night time to continue her work. Repurposing ‘ordinary’ materials was foundational to Phyllida’s philosophy. She took unsuspecting things that she found around her and transformed them into sculptures that intrigue and provoke. She did not concern herself with artifice, trying to make it look like she had it all sorted. It was hard, and things would break down and come back together - and she was honest about that.

In her art and life Phyllida entered into the chaos and found freedom within it. She did not try to pretend that it was easy to live this way, but it seems that for her this was where the truly interesting experiences were located. For Phyllida, chaos is and was a form of communion with the world, a place where we see things as they truly are - without the pretence of order and togetherness.

She’s not alone, so many writers and artists like

Clover Stroud

,

Kerri ní Dochartaigh

,

Alice Vincent

,

Elizabeth Morris

,

Elizabeth Wainwright

and

Laura Marling

show us that there is creative freedom to be found within the chaotic work and pressures of motherhood. But it is up to us to seize it, and to pursue it with a playful, joyful spirit, if we can. It is from within this tension, of love and chaos and overwhelm and devotion, that a rich seam of material can be mined.

In an earlier version of this essay I described feeling like I was in ‘heaven and hell’ as I struggle to navigate the dynamics between my newborn and my toddler. As the newborn feeds my two year old cries and claws at my breasts. As the toddler struggles with potty training my newborn has a nappy leak. It is chaos. But it is a chaos I have created and chosen to be part of. And as much as it feels overwhelming at times, I know that surrendering to the disorder of this season is one of the only ways to survive it. Phyllida shows that such chaos is a natural part of our life, one that we should not feel ashamed of, but learn to live alongside and fuel us creatively.

As I write this my newborn lies on his back in the baby gym. A mirror and a book made from crinkly fabric are suspended over his head. As he kicks his legs a bell hidden inside the smiling pineapple makes a jingling sound. Toby gurgles with excitement.

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Thank you for reading!

Aside from a brief reflection on the US election, this is the first edition of this newsletter since I gave birth in September.

If you are new here, welcome! The Murmuration is a newsletter about life and culture and the art of transition, which lands on alternate Thursdays. I also send out an occasional Sunday newsletter called Golden Hour. You can look at the archives of both here.

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CHAOS CORNER: Some suggested materials

1. Read My Wild and Sleepless Nights by

   Clover Stroud
   - an unflinching examination of what it means to be a mother.

2. Watch an interview between Phyllida Barlow and Jennifer Higgie, filmed during the 2021 lockdown.

3. Listen to Child of Mine from Patterns in Repeat by

   Laura Marling