Amy Gabrielle on Creativity as a Means of Survival
Parents Who Create
△ This show made me briefly consider becoming a different person — two men renovating a crumbling mansion on a Scottish island and I’m completely in1.
△ This poster gives me such a good feeling.
△ Slightly obsessed with Kate Baer’s poems. I’m excited to share this Q&A I made with her.
I bring you Amy Gabrielle — Creativity as a Means of Survival
Give us a snapshot of your life as it actually is.
I've been raising my 2e son (twice exceptional, gifted and on the autism spectrum) by myself for the last four and a half years. When my husband died in August 2021, Henry was 9 years old and I was 54.
As a solo parent, I structure my time around my son, who is now 14 and a little more independent. I hadn't planned to quit my full-time job as an administrator at Columbia Journalism School a year after Steven died, but I just couldn't focus on the work anymore. It was a strange time where I let go of work and structure to pursue my own passions at the time (photography, modeling lingerie, and then writing).
My memoir will be published in May 2026 and in the fall my son starts high school. I don't know what's next for me in terms of work or passion projects, and I feel untethered in a way that isn't always comfortable.
Where can we find you?
Why do you create?
I felt driven to create after my husband died; it was instinctual rather a conscious choice. I had been at my administrative job for four years, and I loved it. I worked for an institute that made grants to journalists telling of the moment stories using innovative new media.
I was responsible for grantee budgets and other financial processes and it was very fulfilling. It was a shock to realize my feelings about it (and my ability to concentrate) could change so quickly.
I started taking photos of myself in lingerie (and naked) as a means of survival, although it didn't feel like that at the time. Looking back I see that creating art is necessary to survive after a death that rearranged my whole life.
What does the inside of your creative mind actually feel like?
This is an interesting question. My first thought was that I used to be so organized and task oriented. It was like living on a grid, streets had numbers rather than names and were intersected by long avenue blocks, like my neighborhood in Manhattan.
Things feel jumbled up now in my mind. Time doesn't feel linear, there's no beginning, middle and end to the projects I work on. My writing feels like it happens when I feel like doing it and stops when I lose interest. I'm still getting used to the difference.
What has parenthood changed about your work — and what has it refused to change?
As a solo parent, my son is my priority. I don't have a large family or friend group to take over my responsibilities.
I've had a lot of loss beginning in 2018 when Steven was diagnosed with incurable cancer, and six months later my mother died. Between 2020-2021 Steven's father, my aunt, my husband and then my father died. I haven't really mourned any of them because Steven's death left such a big hole in my life.
Describe the conditions under which your work gets made.
After I get my son off to school in the morning I write for a couple of hours at my dining room table. I never really got back to "normal" after the Covid lockdowns in 2020.
I spend a lot of time alone in my apartment, sometimes hyper focused on a story. My goal is to get out more, (maybe work in a coffee shop?) but the city feels more chaotic than it used to.
For now, my plan is to stay in New York until my son goes off to college in four years. Other than that, I haven't thought about it very much.
What kind of work becomes possible when your children are nearby, and what becomes impossible?
This has changed a lot since Henry was little and needed my supervision. He always had separation anxiety, even before his dad died, and never wanted to play alone in his room.
The past few years we work on our own computers, my son on the couch and me at the dining room table in the same room, together but separate. It's only within the last few months that he spends more time with his friends (mostly online).
At this point I think it's harder for me to let go as Henry becomes more mature. I don't push him to do more on his own, but I support him when he's ready to be more independent.
What have you had to become in order to keep creating?
I've had to become a few different versions of myself while still making sure all of life's admin gets done. From taking out the garbage to making doctor's appointments to hiring an education lawyer to get reimbursement for my son's private special needs school tuition because there is no appropriate free public option, I do it all.
When I think about it all I feel overwhelmed so I try to focus on what needs to get done in the present. I guess that's the biggest change: I find it hard to make plans for anything more than a week in the future.
What is the part of your creative life that no one sees?
No one sees how hard I can be on myself, especially when I compare my capacity to get stuff done before Steven died with the way I am now.
I feel fragile in a way I never did before and I have a fear of having the rug pulled out from under me again. Most people think of me as "together" and I think they are right - they just don't know how easily I can fall apart.
Who or what has most shaped the way you create now, not at the beginning, but in the reality of your current life?
Honestly, I think Steven's death shaped everything about my "new life". He left me financially independent so my quality of life is more secure than when he was alive (I am still working on feeling guilty about that although I know that's what he wanted).
His death rearranged my friend group (mostly families with moms and dads), my job, where I live (still in the city, but a couple of miles South of where we lived during our 13 year marriage). It's a strange thing to be shaped almost entirely by an absence rather than an addition to my life, but that's the reality of it.
How much of your creative life is pleasure, and how much is endurance?
Ninety-nine percent of my creative life is pleasure and one percent is endurance when I'm finishing up a project. I endured for many years, most of my life really, when pleasure felt tied to financial independence.
I've written about how my husband's death was the best worst thing to happen in my life and that's the truth. Every memory holds joy and grief, love and loss, happiness and sadness. I think my work for the rest of my life will be learning to hold the duality of feelings with as much grace and messiness as possible.
What have you had to let go of (willingly or not) in order to keep creating?
I had to let go of the dream that I would get back on my life's trajectory with a new man. I really thought I would have re-partnered by now and there's a part of me that feels like a failure for not finding a new "father" for my son.
When Steven died my capacity to get everything done was halved, but my responsibilities doubled. I've had to readjust my expectations for my life, especially in terms of traveling alone with my son.
We both have anxiety that's gotten worse since Steven died. When he was alive he was a great buffer for our anxious feelings, but now they rub up against each other. I feel more vulnerable and afraid to be out after dark alone, which is limiting in a way I don't like. Learning to accept my new normal is still a work in progress.
Where do you feel like a fraud in your creative life and what do you do with that?
I feel like I present myself as very confident and put together, and in some instances that's true, but mostly I feel like a harsh word about my memoir might crush me.
Rationally I know that my writing and my photos are not for everyone but the fear of rejection is ever present. The trauma of losing my life partner has brought back old childhood feelings of unworthiness. This past year I began to link some of the old wounds with my new life and feeling life a fraud.
It's hard work revisiting a time when I had to bury my feelings because I was reliant on my parents (as all children are). Learning that I will always be there to take care of myself, that I've got my own back, is something that comes up daily. I do recover more quickly from perceived or real slights, and that's good news.
Where has your life been rearranged — and what has emerged from that?
Next week: Andy Carter. Thank you for being here.
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A lovely interview. Thank you, Amy for your honesty and courage.