Same: I still work best under pressure. My show opens Thursday; I delivered the work and inventory list today; and the 3 best pieces are currently dripping on my kitchen floor while I run around the living room hooting "That's a sexy pear right there!"
Different: All the running around and hooting woke up the baby.
Same: I packed the pieces precisely in boxes saved expressly for the purpose, fitting them into the boxes and into the car like a Clark Griswald holiday jigsaw puzzle.
Different: My toddler packed her board books into an empty diaper box at my side, telling me, "We will share your art show, won't we mommy? Look! I am packing art, too!"
Same: I am terrified that no one will come to the reception and i'll be stuck mainlining taco dip in the kitchen while my parents talk to some old people who randomly wondered in while trying to find the library.
Different: They programmed my show into the digital marquee, and I nearly ran off the road when I saw my name flash up as we drove by.
Same: My hands are ragged from sanding and painting and hanging the work, and my fingernails are ripped and firmly ridged with paint and pastels.
Different: I actually have to wash my hands every now and then while working so the baby won't ingest the paint and pastels and start spitting up in technicolor. Don't worry-- it's all non-toxic.
Artist/Mom. Mom/Artist. It's a two-sided coin, and hopefully a better looking one than the Susan B. Anthony dollar.