As an artist, I am intrigued by the materiality of the flesh and believe it to function as a microcosm that points to various aspects of the immaterial human experience. Years before ever becoming a parent, I was already fascinated by the spiritual and cosmic significance of the human belly button and its relationship to the creative act. As a child I pulled at mine, trying to flip it inside out. Years later, as a graduate student, I poured plaster into it regularly, making castings of its negative space. The belly button is the first mark that life leaves on the body; it is a scar that points to our origins.
Many creation myths describe our world as originating from a central point. The Greek term omphalos (navel) can refer to various symbolic centers that are believed to connect the earthly and divine. Just as the human belly button marks our connection to (and inevitable separation from) our mothers, these so-called navels of the world are often associated with myths of cosmic origin, functioning as physical markers of the very sites at which our earth was supposedly born into existence. This symbolism can be found across cultures and religions: ziggurats, temples, holy mountains, the tree of life, and more.
I’m excited and inspired by the navel, umbilical cord, and placenta as both site and symbol of the simultaneity that is embedded in the human experience. Questions of origin and existence are constantly shaping how I think about my creative work, and my belief is that the work of the artist, and perhaps especially the mother artist, is primarily ontological. Just as the human belly button marks both a connection to and a separation from our physical origins, the work that I make points to a similar simultaneity of opposites, referencing the body’s attraction and repulsion but also the immaterial void of human longing in us all.
Before becoming a mother, I thought of attachment and separation as psychologies experienced by the child. I didn’t realize until experiencing it firsthand that, not unlike the blood circulating through the placenta, these psychologies very much go both ways. I’ve been thinking a lot about this entanglement and have been working it out in a recent body of work. At times I imagine vividly that my daughter and I are still connected by this cord. It’s a tug of war. Often, I tug at the cord, longing for my independence from her, and more often than not, she tugs to bring me closer, unwilling to let me exist apart from her.
In my artwork I tell stories about what I see, what I learn and what I think. There is no lack of inspiration being a mother. My son shows me the world anew and I constantly notice my own limited adult views. In our American culture, mothers and children are marginalized, even though we represent a large consumer market. Our leadership work as mothers is undervalued and unpaid. In our society artists are treated similarly. We have held onto our visions as children do, insist on speaking our minds and do the work we love. Our work is also undervalued and underpaid in comparison to other commercial markets of similar size and scope.
Female art students are often told in art school "if you want to be considered as a serious artist, don't have children." In the traditional model of being an artist, one's life must be consumed by art-making. Raising children is also all consuming. It has changed my life as an artist dramatically. I am more focused, organized, energized, inspired and determined to tell my story of being a professional artist and a "good mom."
I chose diapers as my canvas because of their cultural symbolism. We often speak of raising children as being an endless job of changing diaper after diaper. This care-giving role is a natural part of the life cycle. Using diapers as a primary art material serves to honor our parents and caregivers who changed all our diapers. I paint, draw and write quick sketches of my personal experiences and feelings of being a mother. The artistic style is not as labored as my previous work since so many things are happening quickly and this is an immediate way to document them. This project was made possible by grants from the Philanthropic Ventures Foundation and the Peninsula Community Foundation.