May

 
 

A draft of an article or op-ed piece describing the project background and my experiences in crafting the work so far:

Matrescence: An artist giving birth to herself

Alexia Casiano
May 2024

I only learned about the word “matrescence” a few years ago. I had already been working deeply with themes of children, the inner child, intergenerational legacies, hope and survival on a changing planet – my interest in such themes sparked not only by my own desire to be a parent, but my background in psychology, nannying, and postpartum doula work with new parents and families. 

Matrescence, I read, was the process of becoming a mother – a developmental life stage akin to adolescence, but lasting much longer (arguably, much of one’s life). Here was a word, I thought, for what I was already going through: not yet pregnant, but dreaming of family, I was in the beginning stages of matrescence. Some people, perhaps, start this journey only once discovering they are pregnant, or don’t want to be, or have lost a child; how many different ways can one experience transition around the wild, incalculable change that is the possibility of carrying a new life into this world – or not? 

I learned that this term was first coined in 1973 by Dana Raphael, Ph.D., a medical anthropologist, to describe the development process that has existed since the dawn of time, but had never before been named or studied. Around 2016, Dr. Aurelie Athen picked up the mantle of research on matrescence, teaching courses in it at Columbia University. Others followed, with TED talks, articles, research, and more. In 2023, Lucy Jones, a British journalist and writer, published the first book titled “Matrescence” (I eagerly anticipate reading it, as the US version was only just released, a year later). I stumbled upon the book announcement on Instagram, staring in awe at the cover illustration, which mirrored so closely the drawings and paintings I had done early in my own pregnancy in 2022. What is it about pregnancy and becoming a parent that elicits this feeling: circles overlapping, morphing, shifting in and out of one another? 

Where does one end and another begin? Is a pregnant person one person, or two people? 

In January of 2022, I discovered I was pregnant just as I settled into my MFA program, all while working full-time. I was terrified, and exhausted. I was inspired, and curious, and excited to push forward and see what would come of this new – dual – adventure. I had no idea if I could even make it work, but I knew I had to try; for myself, and to set an example for my daughter. And I knew right away that the focus of my work during my MFA would be matrescence. 

I wasn’t sure what my limitations as an artist might be when I realized I was too nauseated sometimes to even get out of bed, so I set the goal for myself while pregnant to write at least one short prose poem every day. During this time of gestation, I also began weaving nests out of cardboard and discarded materials (like the string from maternity clothing tags, and the silver foil from protein bars and ginger candy wrappers). I made nests of clothing, bedsheets, amassed baby items. I discovered that pregnancy brought on excessive congestion for me (as in many pregnant people), and went through inordinate amounts of tissues, so I made nests out of those, too. I made self-portraits for the first time, capturing elements of my experience as my body changed and grew, and I contemplated what it meant to nest, prepare, and rest. I started to consider the nests in nature, and to bring my creations into the outdoors, where I watched them slowly decomposing back into the soil, grasses, and leaves around them. 

Why did my pregnant body, and my postpartum body, draw me back to nature? 

Matrescence is a universal process, and yet every single experience is unique. My personal experience of pregnancy, childbirth, and early parenting was painful, traumatic, and difficult –  even horrifying to me. At the same time, it provided me with exactly what I had longed for for so many years, and so much joy, peace, and love. Time unfolded slowly and yet with great speed; emotions became more vast and varied than anything I thought I could contain. I was (and am) more exhausted than I ever thought possible. 

Is the earth really our “mother” – and what has the earth had to endure to bear and sustain humanity? 

Over time, I realized how much there is to grieve and heal during the process of matrescence, even if everything goes “right.” To become a parent is to split oneself in two (literally, for the birthing parent); it means losing the life you had, and becoming someone entirely new, even as you contain the same person you once were, as if a seed that might sprout again one day. Meanwhile, a strange, fragile species is growing in your place. 

How could I capture this monumental transformation, this transition, this transfiguration? 

I began to notice time in a new way. I wanted to find a way to work with nature, instead of trying to fight against it. In my first year postpartum, I allowed observation itself to become a large part of my art practice: observing the seasons change; embedding myself deeply in the land and space around me; watching materials exposed to the elements over time. I let my lawn grow wild, braiding the grasses, building little nests as time went on; lying on the ground and watching the bees and mushrooms and moss in the undergrowth, and looking up at the trees and the sky from a different vantage point. 

When do mothers – and when does the earth – get a chance to rest, to grieve, to heal? How do we return to ourselves? Are we the same, or something entirely new? 

 

The project “Matrescence: Becoming Mother Nature” is a temporal sculptural installation situated as an open-air dwelling in my backyard that hopes to provide spiritual, if not literal, answers to some of these questions. It is a technical expression of multiple materials, particularly those that are recycled and reclaimed, such as cardboard, paper pulp, and plastic trash, as I contemplate the interaction of human detritus and the environment, and the future we are creating for the next generation. 

Moreover, it is an invitation for others to confront their own matrescence – whatever stage they might be in – or parallel transitions in their lives, and what kind of space, time, grief, joy, and healing they may need in this moment. 

The installation opening will be held Saturday-Sunday, August 24-25, 2024 in Kirkland, WA. Please contact alexiamakesart@gmail.com for more information and to RSVP. You can follow Alexia’s progress on Instagram @lexialoo and sign up for updates at www.alexiacameron.com/matrescence.

Saturday, 5.11.24

Project updates & plan

  • End of Spring semester; final meeting with project advisor on Monday.

  • Not enrolled during summer semester; final project semester is Fall 2024.

  • Reflection: I’ve been feeling really good about the project, my life, and my work ahead. Unfortunately, the past few months some of my family members in California have been experiencing very difficult times, and this has caused extra stress and delays in physical work done on the project so far. I have also been surprised at how much the weather has affected me: in cold, wet weather, my body doesn’t regulate well due to Raynaud’s Syndrome, which causes lack of blood circulation in my fingers, toes, ears, and nose. In the spring, the pollen immediately started affecting me, and I never realized before how much pollen is in the air and covering surfaces in our neighborhood, until I put chairs and tables and kids toys in the front yard and started spending time out there in the sun. As of today, the weather has suddenly turned to summer, with highs in the 80s. The sudden heat causes hot flashes and sweating which irritates my skin. I started this project with the intent to break down the barriers between myself and the outdoors; I am learning it is not always so easy!

  • I continue to recognize the scope of this project requires help and support, and have been gathering community, emotional, and physical support over the past few months which I believe will continue to pay dividends into the summer, as I complete the physical manifestation of this installation.

  • Since initial conception of the project last fall, I am interested to see how the nuances have gained shape and plans for specific material elements have changed as I have worked, played, rested, shared, read, written, and thought about the project. I now have a clearer idea of the details that will come together soon.

    Plan for summer:

    MAY:

    • Document project progress so far

    • Finalize and publicize date for installation opening

    • Send op-ed to local publication sources

    • Build roof supports for dwelling

    • Sculpt roots onto posts

    • Paper pulping

    JUNE:

    • Continue sharing information and gathering contacts for exhibit opening

    • Experiment with concrete/wire mesh/trash sculptures of hands

    • Gather blackberry brambles for roofing

    • Weave cardboard and plastic for canopies for roof

    • Sew blankets and pillows for interior

    JULY:

    • Send project updates to contact list

    • Hang mobile interior of dwelling

    • Gather wood/pallets and make temporary walls

    • Gardening/clean up yard

    AUGUST:

    • Hang paintings/photographs for temporary opening

    • Add any final touches to installation

    • Include table/space for participants to color and write feedback

    • Host opening on Saturday, August 24th and/or Sunday August 25th for neighbors, community, artists, and friends

  • September - December 2024: Final project class; finish project documentation from installation through exhibition and continue documenting deterioration over fall. Submit documentation and writing on project and community results as final project.

 

5.23.24

Inspired by conversations with mentors, teachers, friends, and community, I find I am honing in on a coherent identity as an artist and what my vision/business (and one-day nonprofit?)/career trajectory looks like. I am an interdisciplinary artist, consultant, facilitator, educator, and creative coach. My specific area of interest lies at the intersection of community-building, parenting, environmental awareness, mental health and healing, visual arts, and creative re-use.

I know I will keep evolving and clarifying this identity and self-awareness over time. For now, it can feel a bit like imposter syndrome, but it also feels good to practice saying these things out loud, noticing how the truth resonates with my soul, and aligning my actions with my mission and vision for my own life.

I have been talking to so many people about “Matrescence: Becoming Mother Nature” for months now (even years, when I think about the origins of this project!). Now it’s time to add formal communications channels to keep supporters, friends, and interested parties updated, and hold myself accountable to delivering project updates!

I drafted my first newsletter today. I am cultivating my mailing list (you can sign up at the link in the footer, or on the main Project Journal page) and reaching out to curious individuals for permission to add them to the network. I realized when looking at newsletter templates that, unlike many people, my main goal is not to sell anything, but to engage, inform, inspire, and connect. I am most excited about the communities I am strengthening for the future: real people who want to share real struggles, accomplishments, wonder, awe, and connection.

 
 

A Note from the Future (looking backwards, from May 2024):

One thing I have learned since beginning to conceptualize this project is how deeply time and thought are embedded as material elements that go into art-making. The first image on the left is one that was sketched, actually, in the fall of 2023 as I began writing my project proposal and imagining what this could become. I envisioned this sculpture, about the size of an adult sitting under an arch, and made a prototype arch support out of wire (center). I made a tiny prototype out of paper, wire, tape and string (far right).

I knew this wasn’t the completed form for my project, though. It felt like just one element; I wasn’t sure where or how this sculpture could fit into my overall installation, which I knew would be a bigger structure.

Over time, I have discovered that this is not the project that I am currently making, or even a part of it — rather, this initial sketch is informing what the bigger structure will become. It is a metaphor for a body, a physical place the body can enter and sit beneath, and the hands wrapping around my initial sketch will become larger hands holding up — bearing — the supports for the “roof” of the Matrescence dwelling.

This project started long before January of 2024; it actually started years ago, as a seed of an ache; a wish; a desire — to bear a child, to carry the burdens and the joys of whatever would follow — and to fully inhabit my body, to understand my connection and relationship to the natural world, and to accept my limitations and imperfections.

This project is about time, and change; growth, and transition. And it has changed, and will continue changing, up until its completion. All of the thoughts and experiments that have bloomed along the way make their way into the final product, even if in a different form. Even afterwards, it will continue to change, as it decays back into the environment.