Every mother out there knows the preternatural feeling of caring for your child at night. There is something about that liminal space between bedtime and sunrise. The darkness and fog of stolen sleep makes the time more intense in both magic and misery. And when the acts of mothering are new, the night feeds and sleeplessness can feel so lonely and so painful and so surreal. Not wholly confident that you are doing anything right, yet with full understanding that you are the only person for the job. It really does help to imagine the world full of women who are awake and performing the same age old ritual at the very same moment. Each alone and each among ancestresses. Sore nipples, wet shirts, full hearts.

That’s what this piece is about.

Acrylic Paint Mixed Media Collage on Panel

Framed 24”x36” panel