Hostess Artist Child


HospitalityCurrently, I am going through the book The Artist Way with a group of artists and week 2 is all about identity. It’s amazing how many things, memories and experiences that make up our identity.  I’ve mentioned this book before as it’s my second time going through the 12 week artistic exercise of becoming unblocked. I expected to discover new ways of expressing my photography or writing – skills I wanted to take to the next level. However, since this experience is also an exercise in open-mindedness, my discovery this week took me by a pleasant surprise.

My daily journaling pages revealed a memory of the birth of my hostess artist child. 

I love hosting parties, bookclubs and friend dates. Wherever I have lived, it has looked a little different and there is always room for growth. There are always possibilities for blockages; living with roommates who are less social or limited financial resources. There are always hindrances from doing something exactly how I can effectively host.

But the more I lean into my doubts, the more they melt away and the possibilities come. 

One of my roommates moved out last weekend, which means she also cleared out the whole living room furniture, decorations and kitchen supplies. As much as this sounds like an inconvenience, it is also a wonderful time to clear some brain space to imagine how to rebuild the living area.

Going through The Artist Way seems to bring about other sources of inspiration so coincidently enough,  I’ve been reading a book called Bread and Wine. It is a book about hospitality and cultivating a heart for hosting people in and outside of the home. This book is very inspiring and brought on a significant childhood memory.

In my journaling, the memory I mentioned was one of being at my grandparents house, of waking up in the morning to find my Grandma ready to make me breakfast, sit at the table while I watched her count pills or write out a grocery list. Living life together. My grandparents house was small and simple and my grandma was an average cook but her big heart to host, serve and welcome anyone into her home was beautiful.

My hostess artist child was born at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. 

Even in my tiny three bedroom, five floor walkup harlem apartment (sorry guests, you also get a workout), I am excited to start where I am to practice hospitality; imperfectly, humbly, while hoping that all who come will feel the same, safe love as I received from hospitality at Grandma’s house.

Photo taken from Apartment Therapy where I’m gleaning decorating ideas. 


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