Kate Caruso on Work, Motherhood, and What Ambition Looks Like Now

by Jessie Wiener

I met Kate Caruso over Zoom, with her daughter Sylvie in and out of the frame the entire time. Kate moved easily between the conversation and whatever Sylvie needed—answering a question, pausing to respond to her, then picking back up again without much disruption. There was a calm to it, a steady attentiveness that felt practiced, not performative.

Kate is based in Los Angeles, where she’s spent years building a life in the contemporary art world. She studied literature, then moved to LA, partly because her dad had grown up there, and partly because London, where she grew up, never quite felt like where she’d land. She found her way into the art scene through internships at galleries, writing for art publications, curatorial projects with friends, and eventually studio work, managing an artist and helping bring projects to life behind the scenes. Then she had Sylvie.

Before and After

Before becoming a mother, Kate’s life was shaped by work in a very visible way—projects, openings, deadlines, and being out in the world. After Sylvie was born, that structure fell away. She didn’t go back to the role she had before, not just because of logistics, but because it didn’t feel like it fit anymore.

“It was a really big identity shift,” she says.

She remembers how strange it felt to explain what she was doing. “You’re raised to be ambitious, to want things for yourself,” she says. “And then suddenly you’re like, I’m home with a baby.”

“But I was sort of remade by motherhood,” she says. “I threw myself into it.”

The Work of It

Kate's days now revolve around Sylvie, who is two. Mornings start together, making breakfast, usually something Sylvie has decided on. There’s a rhythm to the week: ballet, scooters in the park, school a few days a week. Kate goes with her (it’s a co-op) and is just beginning to adjust to the idea that soon, Sylvie will be there without her.

Afternoons are slower—painting, dressing up, playing. Evenings stretch out, cooking dinner with her husband, drawing together, letting the day wind down.

“My days are completely awesome,” she says. “I love being home with her so much.”

What surprised her is how engaging it is. “When she was a newborn, people told me it would get way harder,” she says. “But for me, this is more mentally engaging.”

A lot of that comes from how much attention it takes: the constant adjusting, figuring out what Sylvie needs, responding in the moment, staying present through it. Over time, Kate found herself drawn into parts of it she never expected.

“If someone had told me before that I’d care so much about sleep schedules or child development,” she says, laughing, “I wouldn’t have believed them. That sounds so boring. But it’s your life. You lean into it.”

She reads a lot and pays attention to how other parents do things, what works for them, what doesn’t.

“There are so many ways to do it,” she says. “And every child is different.”

It’s part instinct, part observation, part figuring it out as you go.

What Changes, and What Doesn’t

The way she thinks about work has shifted, too. Before Sylvie, ambition had a clearer outline. It was tied to what she was doing and how that was perceived.

“I realized a lot of what I wanted from work was ego,” she says. “What I could tell people I was doing.”

That didn’t unravel all at once.

“In the beginning, I was like, what am I going to do now?” she says.

She thought about it a lot in the first year—what work would look like, how she would return to it, what came next. But over time, the urgency around those questions faded.

“It feels really good to say, I’m doing this right now,” she says.

As Sylvie has gotten older, Kate's taken on smaller projects again, supporting artists she’s known for years, staying connected in a way that fits into her life now. She still spends time in studios, often bringing Sylvie with her, and wants her to grow up around that world.

She’s also been writing more, sharing thoughts and recommendations on Substack, mostly around baby products and things she’s figured out through her own experience.

“I was doing all this research anyway,” she says. “And people kept asking me what I liked.”

It’s not something she treats as a business. More like a place to put things she’s learned and share them when they feel useful.

She hasn’t stopped thinking about what comes next. She just thinks about it differently now—less in terms of the next year or two, more in terms of a longer stretch of time.

“Life is long,” she says. “And this time is really short.”

The Shift

Motherhood has changed who she spends time with, too. Some friendships have shifted. Conversations have changed. There are moments where it can feel isolating, especially early on, but over time, something else has taken shape.

“You have a baby, and you get initiated into the coolest club,” she says.

Other mothers reached out immediately. Now, she has a small network of women she texts throughout the day, a steady back-and-forth of questions, updates, small things that come up.

“You’re almost like coworkers; you’re all doing the same work. So it’s like a really useful chain of chatter, and it really sustains me.”

Without family nearby, that kind of support has become essential. It makes the work feel shared. And it’s not just emotional support. Friends step in for each other in small, constant ways—watching each other’s kids, trading time, filling in when something comes up.

For Kate, that shift—from doing it alone to doing it alongside other mothers—has changed everything. That same sense of sharing carries into her home life. Her husband works full-time and travels, but when he’s there, he’s deeply involved, present in a way that makes it possible for her to show up how she wants to as a parent.

At the same time, another shift is underway. Kate is currently pregnant with her second child, and this time, the uncertainty feels different. The first transition, from zero to one, felt like a complete unknown. This one feels more emotional.

What she thinks about most is Sylvie. They are incredibly close, and the idea of changing that dynamic is something she returns to often. The thought of adding someone new—of dividing attention, of reshaping that bond—isn’t something she takes lightly.

“It’s so good right now. I can’t believe I’m choosing to change it. I can’t believe I’m rolling the dice,” she says. “We could just leave it as it is, and it would be gorgeous.”

She pauses there for a moment.

“I don’t know how I’m going to love another child the same way,” she says. “But I know I will.”

Watching her with Sylvie, you don’t question it.

She’s excited, too—about who this next child will be, about what this next version of their life might look like.

And this time, pregnancy feels different, less all-consuming.

“It’s going really fast,” she says. “I’m not thinking about it all the time the way I did the first time.”

With Sylvie, everything felt new, something to prepare for, to figure out. Now, she’s less focused on that and more aware of how quickly it all moves and how much she wants to be present for it while it’s here.

She’s not trying to figure it all out ahead of time, just taking it as it comes.

Maybe that’s the shift: not needing to have the answer, and still moving forward.