Soon after my daughter, Ramona, was born in 2022, I committed to participating in Lenka Clayton's self-directed artist residency in motherhood. Unlike most residencies, this one was created to accommodate families, more specifically, artist-mothers. Lenka disagreed with the notion that being an engaged mother and a serious artist were mutually exclusive endeavors. She set out to create work that would instead have them inform one another. 

Her intention deeply resonated with me. 

 

Tintype by Alanah Correia

 

In September 2024, I began a year-long weaving project inspired by the fragmented nature of time in motherhood, entitled Mother Load.

This project would follow my devotion as an artist, sacrificed at the loom each time my daughter would wake from her sleep in the late evening hours. 

 

I began weaving after putting my daughter to bed, and would stop each time she woke, leaving the warp space empty as I soothed (often breastfed) her back to sleep. This empty warp space would be equal in length to the time I was away from the loom, measured by how many inches of weft I can weave in one hour. 

 

Each day of the week was represented by a different tone on a colour gradient scale, and each week of the year was its own separately woven piece, warped anew each Monday evening. Any missed weaving sessions (due to illness, exhaustion, injury, etc.) were simply absent from the week, creating interesting variations in the colour gradient. 

 

Upon completing the 52 weekly weavings, all pieces were sewn together chronologically end-to-end to form one long piece, reminiscent of something umbilical. This project and the year it was created were an intimate witness to many big changes in my and my daughter's lives. It represents the slow, yet somehow also quick, and painfully beautiful separation of mother and child from one unit to two as my daughter began needing me less intensely. Changes such as starting daycare, and subsequent back-to-back illnesses that took us both out for three whole months, tearing the meniscus in my knee when I bent down to pick her up one day, after nearly two years of carrying her on my right hip- the only hip she would allow me to carry her on. Weaning her off of breastmilk, seven months later than I had planned, when she was 2 years and 7 months old. 

 

All of these external changes, along with the internal developmental ones that my daughter was experiencing had tremendous effects on her sleep patterns. At almost 3 years old, she has never once slept "through the night". Her sleep journey has gone from frequent to fewer wakes, though we continue to cosleep as a way for us both to have as much deep and restful sleep as possible. One of my favourite things about this work is having the visual data, the proof, represented in wool- clear to see at a glance. As Mona weaned off of breastmilk, her wakes began being less frequent, and there were fewer empty warp spaces in the weavings as a result. Another interesting pattern I noticed was that I frequently missed Monday's weaving session due to exhaustion, showing me that I was not getting recharged enough on weekends. Is anyone?

 

This project, if nothing else, should show one example of the incredible sacrifice mothers make every day in the ways that they care for their children. So many of these choices are known only to them, and for reasons benefiting only their children. I hope that it brings comfort in sharing my experience to anyone reading this who understands, and maybe enables opportunities for commiseration and connection with other struggling artist-mothers. 

 

This project was the catylist for a new era of conceptual work, likely to continue gathering inspiration from the fertile and frustrating grounds of mothering a toddler. 

   

 

Photography by Kerry Salmon

 

Photos of the work in progress:

 

I acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. canadacouncil.ca

Thank you, Mona!