Birth art... but not as we know it

When Jasmine Proust and Tilly Morris asked if I would launch their exhibition, Birth.Art (as featured in The Age on Saturday), I trusted them enough to say yes. But a terrifying vision of purple pastel mandalas and pregnant goddesses did flash through my mind...

Thankfully, my worst fears haven't been realised (not that there isn't a place for a bit of pastel power on occasion...). In contrast, I'm loving just how edgy and witty the Birth.Art works have turned out to be.

As Tilly says:
This show has it all; from rude plants to fluorescent private parts, from inter-species breastfeeding to the theatricalities of the most common birthing arena in the Western world – the hospital.

Come and celebrate birth in all its glory. Argue with theologians and atheists, adopt a possum baby, drink some wine...

Birth.Art
ACU Gallery, 52 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, Melbourne
Launching Tuesday June 14 (6-8pm), runs until June 30 (Wednesdays-Sundays 12-5pm)

From one mother to another

I have had a number of readers contact me almost apologetically to tell me that they initially avoided reading The Divided Heart because they had assumed it would be a negative take on motherhood when they enjoy having kids so much.

Fortunately, they have come to read it anyway — because it was recommended to them, or in one case because she was on the judging panel for one of those many prizes it didn’t get.

So it is lovely when someone gets in touch to say the book defied their expectations. And even more exciting when someone tells me the book inspired them to get moving with their own work, or even fed directly in to their art.

One example is this fab-sounding exhibition at the University of Florida. Four Squared is an exhibition by four artist-mothers and their experiences of making art amongst the chaos of raising young children.

Motherhood is also the theme of their art – “the push & pull of motherhood, domesticity and creativity. It is work created on an emotional rollercoaster, while burning the midnight oil, with the use of favours from friends, with the constant awareness of dishes to be washed.”

Most recently I was contacted by Iranian-born, British-raised, LA-based photographer and mother, Parisa Taghizadeh. She has made a series of works entitled “Mother”, one of which is in an upcoming show in New York, MOTHER/mother at the A.I.R. Gallery in Brooklyn, New York.

MOTHER/mother is an exhibition of work made by artists from around the world within the years immediately following a pregnancy or the birth of a child.

If you are lucky enough to be visiting the US over the coming months, these shows look well worth a visit.

Just the other day, I came across a review of The Divided Heart that ran in the April issue of Art Monthly (check out the great cover!). Reviews by artists always make me nervous, so it was great to read Denise Ferris’s comment that the book made her feel “uplifted”.

“This book normalises the mother and artist combination by presenting women who continue to practise their craft in spite of social or their own confused expectations to choose one role over the other,” she writes.

“These women have continued to make work in spite of difficult personal experiences, and in spite of potent mixed emotions, self-doubt, confusion and exhaustion. To continue to work as an artist is not always as seamless as we hope. And that is the reality presented in this book.”

One criticism, though, was the lack of single mothers and gay parents in the book. Funnily enough, there are both in The Divided Heart. Perhaps it’s an indication of just how universal the issues around art and motherhood are that this wasn’t more obvious.

Doctor knows best, sweeties

Yesterday I received a text from the darling Clare Bowditch to tell me her blood was boiling.

The source of the heat was this unusually soft interview on Radio National's Life Matters yesterday with the first female president of the National Association of Specialist Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (NASOG), Dr Hilary Joyce.

I suppose there was no point expecting that a female gyno would suddenly be transforming the entrenched, male-dominated attitude of the profession. But Dr Joyce may as well be a man, considering the paternalistic attitude she has towards “our women”. So much for the milestone.

Statistics must be maintained at all costs, it seems — after all, women can’t be trusted to make sensible, considered choices about the kind of birth they want to have.

“What is important is that the wonderful obstetric safety record of this country is not undermined by any … alteration in delivery of models of care.”

The fact that we enjoy the safest services in the world is directly attributable to the majority of births being medically led, according to Dr Joyce.

Homebirths are chosen by a “tiny percentage” of the Australian women, she claims, but receive undue attention largely because “of the over-representation of tragedies that occur”.

She has "grave concerns" about those “willing to put themselves and their unborn children at such risk” by avoiding medical intervention.

“We mustn’t be looking at turning the clock back in any way to perhaps more so-called natural childbirth…. It’s essential that there’s a doctor in the loop.”

And then the hypocrisy to complain that the Government is taking away a woman’s right to choice in getting rid of the safety net for private hospital birthing!

Medical intervention is not required in the vast majority of births, and midwives are trained to assess the risks. To imply that a return to “natural births” would be a return to the mortality rates seen at the turn of the century is misleading in the extreme.

While occasionally a baby dies during a homebirth — and this is desperately sad — is this a good argument for ruling out homebirths altogether as an option? Babies also die in hospitals.

I have had one of each — a homebirth and a hospital birth. Both have their place. Surely what’s most important is the right for women to make informed choices about how and where they give birth.

It is taking away this right that will send us back to the turn of the century for women.

You can read Clare's very eloquent open letter to Minister Nicola Roxon here. And if this issue matters to you, please sign Homebirth Australia's petition.

New beginnings

This little doll is one made by a sensational blogger no doubt already known to many of you, Loobylu, aka Claire Robertson, who's had more than a few generous words to say about The Divided Heart, for which I am most grateful. She is one of those crazily talented crafty types who seems to have found the knack of living well and being true to herself, and yet is also wonderfully open about how tough it can be to maintain that balance (for want of a better word). Claire mentions my book in her latest post as one of the inspirations for her recent decision to start writing a novel, in the sense that it reminded her "that I had always wanted to be a part of that action". Without wanting to overstate my contribution to what I'm sure Claire would have eventually found herself doing no matter what, I feel really chuffed that someone might have found the book galvanising in that way--and that it might have played some small part in the work happening sooner rather than later. My only advice to Claire would be: be cautious about talking about the plot/themes etc of your book too early. I learnt the hard way that revealing too much to soon can have the terrible effect of killing it off. Having said that, I can't wait to see the end result when it arrives!

Talking of new arrivals, I spent yesterday witnessing the glorious birth of my new little (yet to be named) neighbour. Apart from my own, I have only attended two births--both of them the daughters of my wonderful friend, fellow community member and angelic songstress Emma Tonkin, who showed such grace under pressure--and used that voice to full and impressive effect. Never have a I heard vocal chords utilised so powerfully (as the nervous-looking women in the waiting room could testify to)! What can you say about an experience like this? It is a privilege beyond words, and the pride I felt in my darling friend, who endured what was (by any standards and especially for a second birth) a seriously gruelling, long and painful labour, brought me to tears. It was a reminder of the way birth takes us to our absolute limits, physically and mentally, and that no matter how much those in the room care and are working to be there for you, it is one in which you are ultimately alone--just you and your body (and your baby)--working through this enormous transition of becoming two from one. I was there to look after Emma's other daughter, Stella, so that she could see her little sister being born, and it was a pretty special day of bonding for her and I, too. (My kids were also pretty chuffed with the deal--my son spending the day watching movies with his best mate, and my daughter hanging out at the house of Ms Clare Bowditch, her favourite second mother, along with Em, recently returned from musical adventures in Berlin--read more here.) All round, an incredible day. It feels feeble to say thank you to Emma for letting me be part of such a significant aspect of life (her life and life in the biggest sense of the word), but I feel grateful in a way I can't find adequate words for.