I wrote something, it isn’t art yet— I will slowly be unfolding it, reworking, and expanding on it. I want to see where this direction goes.
It is an idea that I have had for years, but was unsure how it fit into my art practice— but of course, it does. Domesticity is my practice, it is what gets me into the flow state. I spent several hours writing yesterday a How To Clean the Bathroom instructions without even thinking about it. Even after I was pulled away to do life stuff— I went right back to it. Somehow I am so excited by this— I see it as a zine or maybe even more! It will be part essay, part art, and part real life.
Here is an excerpt of what I wrote, it is just a draft.
How to Clean a Bathroom
and other life skills for the newly independent adult or for those that just need a reminder.
This is a how-to guide on the basic, simple little things that any young adult should know how to do to live independently.
I think it is a profound loss that many schools do not teach Home Ec anymore. Or if they do, they are elective classes that are not foundation courses part of the required curriculum. To be fair, my classes did not really teach me how to clean a bathroom, but different cleaners and their purposes were covered, (never mix bleach with ammonia) as were cooking, sewing, woodworking, and metal shop— and yes, it was a requirement for all students.
As I launch young adults into the world, I want them to have a simple, straightforward how-to-do-shit that you don’t really want to do guide. Such as: making a bed, laundry, a simple but nutritious meal, cleaning the bathroom, and other areas of your living space. Both my kiddos co habitat with other people, so their actions or inactions affect those around them as do their roommates.
In a way, as a stay-at-home mother, I feel like I have failed them because I did most of it because I wanted it done well. I also didn’t want to burden them with adult things while they were still growing. I encouraged them to pick up after themselves, clear the table, I even gave demos on vacuuming, cleaning, washing, laundry, etc., but when it wasn’t done right, I did it.
I am from the generation of kiddos known as Latch Key Kids; others know us as Gen X. Our parents weren’t necessarily absent; they were working, dad at a factory, middle management, or shift work like my own, who was a heavy-duty mechanic and mom in a stereotypical female job, grocery store clerk, sales associate, etc.; my own was a bank teller. We often didn’t see them before they left for work; if we did, they were getting ready and didn’t have time to stop to make sure lunches were packed or we had the necessary supplies for the day. Because of this, I learned how to forge my parents’ signature for permission slips. It would be several hours after we got home from school that we’d see them again. In the case of my dad, that was infrequently as he often worked night shift.
Each morning there would be a long list of chores set out on the kitchen counter to be completed before they got home. These chores included: Cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, tidying our rooms, making an iceberg salad, and setting the table for whatever crock pot meal was in the slow cooker (almost always stew).
If they were not done, there would be consequences: No TV for a week, that meant the new episode of Family Ties you’d miss— there was no streaming. If you were lucky and remembered to set the VCR, they might record it for you, but by then, everyone in your class was already talking about it. A missed episode was a missed episode. No personal phone calls was another way they could punish you; the family phone would be unhooked from the wall at night, cord and all, your bedroom phone— gone. Without that, there could be no meet-up with friends (yes, we used to see our friends in person) or hear about the party so and so was throwing in two nights’ time. There would be a loss of allowance per infraction, and you probably only got five bucks a week. And lastly, a spanking. Luckily, that started to get frowned upon in the late eighties, and I got too old. More often than not, it was a combination of all of the above.
So, I like many generations before me, vowing not to be like their parents societal expectations and changes in the education system have created the perfect storm for young adults. Because so many of them don’t know how to do shit.
And, as always, I’ll keep making art. Some of that work will grow directly out of these pages: the objects, rituals, tools, gestures, and overlooked details of domestic life becoming material for another way of thinking about home, care, and the everyday.
Tell me what you think, are you launching young adult, have you already experienced this? Did it work for you? What worked, what didn’t?
