Artist Jennifer Linton reclaimed her life from the baby who stole it

Jennifer Linton created My Alphabet, (all of which is available to view on her website) as a way of reclaiming her life in the face of parenthood’s demands. She quotes the Guerrilla Girls, who in a 1989 poster quipped that women artists have “the opportunity to choose between career and motherhood.’” Linton defied the expectations of both so called “womanhood” and so called “adulthood,” by seizing “nap schedules and playdates as opportunities for creative output.” To many who feel the demands of real life are crushing to their true selves, she could be viewed as a sort of hero.

Your standard illustrated alphabet for children is depoliticized, and intentionally dumb. Usually involving animals and unremarkable objects -- O for Orange, T for Train -- they present the world in bits and idealized pieces that create a world of safe nonsense for our young ones, a fantasy zone where no one calls you fat, no one calls you a fag, and where the constant silent scream of the world at large can’t keep you from learning your ABCs.

Life is only a bit easier after learning the alphabet. Arguably, you’re one step closer to being able to read about the latest terrorist attack or Donald Trump tweet. But it’s disingenuous to say that Linton’s alphabet offers a more honest alternative to children’s literature. Linton's alphabet is for us, the sullied and profaned, we who have already had language imprinted on us and have suffered its ravages.

Typical childhood realness

What life is actually like

Illustrated alphabets for children are made for children by adults. They represent the world we want our kids living in, a world of smiling Apes eating Apples, a world where a Duck is fucking stoked to be beating a Drum, and where Frogs can wear Frilly dresses and Fans if they want to, Fuck the consequences. Illustrated alphabets by adults and for adults are invariably entirely about style, or entirely about sex, or entirely ironic. Ours is not a world of Bears eating Buns but of Bombs killing Babies, of Commercials asking for Cash.

In the end, Jennifer Linton seems to have succeeded where so many others have failed. She's integrated her family life with her artistic practice, in a way that doesn't compromise ideals, in a way that reminds us that the concepts that plague or control us in daily life are, in many respects, learned. 

You can buy Jennifer Linton’s alphabet in a “perfectly bound” edition (or as an ebook) at this Blurb.com page.