I've treated my art making very very seriously for decades. I've continually attempted to have it all - a big family, community involvment, closeness to nature every day and ALSO make art. The art making has not allowed me to have a garden, be a good cook, travel, read for pleasure or live in a clean house.
I'm bothered that my chosen art medium of cloth and stitch combines now with my own maturity to trivialize what I do. When I go into a (northern)art gallery to speak I'm no longer the mom artist with a babe on her hip - I'm an older, grayer, gentle voiced, spectacle wearing quilter lady. I speak to quilt guilds consisting of other older women, I teach other older women, I study with other older women. It's a ghetto.