Mierles Laderman Ukeles wrote the \u201cManifesto for Maintenance Art\u201d in 1969 after becoming a mother in the 60\u2019s. Ukeles interest lies in maintenance as an art form and subject matter for her performances. In her \u201cTouch Sanitation Performance\u201d she spent 11 months shaking hands with and thanking New York City\u2019s 8,500 sanitation men, in addition to interviewing and shadowing them, (Odell p.25)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Where we place our values is essentially how we choose to live our lives; similarly, what we choose to value in our art defines us as artists. I had already chosen to work on stories of people\u2019s maternal experiences as the core for my project (M)other, when I stumbled upon Ukeles\u2019 work. In (M)other, I interviewed a dozen people about their transition to becoming parents. Questions ranged from their experience of trauma, the myths of becoming a parent, and if parenthood had changed them? At the end I asked them if there was anything they could share with others about this transition, what would that be? With a simple question, a ripple effect was created. Stories were unveiled. Many people expressed how it felt good to talk about such an intense part of their lives and that they hadn\u2019t encountered the space and time in their daily lives to talk about it very often. \u00a0There was too much information to capture within an hour-long exposition. Instead, I chose to focus on 6 particular stories of change for the purpose of this online exhibition \u201cReappropriation Acte:01\u201d, presented through La Chaire Maternity and the Exposition Centre of the University of Montreal in November 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The stories I chose to expose are all very different. Although my subjects are all parents, and all have a few years perspective on being a parent (ranging from 3 to 17), their experiences are all so unique. Depending on their circumstances, the environments where they chose to birth or adopt, their cultural heritage, their age and medical predisposition, stories recounting their maternal experience are never the same. Even for two women birthing in the same hospital, with the same doctor, from the same social class and racial profile, stories of maternal experience vary. For the purpose of this exhibit, I chose to work with dancers because it is my chosen form of expression. Besides that, their ages, their sexual identities, their cultural heritage and birth places all differ. It is perhaps crucial to mention that because they are all dancers, they all have a predisposition to be particularly attentive to their physical health. The decision to reveal their postpartum bodies through partial nudity was done through consent and conversation. The reason for partial nudity was based on the intention of normalizing the postpartum body. It is integral to my research. It took courage and acceptance for some of the participants to expose this vulnerability. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Much of my work is related to meaningful life events. How we choose to live our lives is an art. I am fully aware that I make this coming from a place of total privilege. My experience is entirely dependent on the inherent privilege I was born into and the color of my skin, my social class and education. I am a white female living on Tiohti\u00e0:ka territory, otherwise known as Montreal. I cannot separate my own interest in the stories of becoming a parent without acknowledging my own background which led me to this work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Having had two children, I know from experience how varying circumstances influence birth on a grand scale; age, ability, location, race, gender, social class, sexual identity, relationship to partner, doula, midwife, OB\/GYN, education, information\u2026, are just a few of the factors that influence birth which can consequently change the course of one\u2019s life in drastic ways. During my first pregnancy at 25 years old, feeling very alone and unsupported and despite trying to get a midwife at a birthing center in Quebec and having failed, I made a last-minute decision to fly home where my parents were living in Vancouver, at the time. There, unlike in Montreal, I had the choice of midwife care. There was no waiting list, and I was encouraged to birth at home because of the low risk I presented. I will never forget the midwives from the U.B.C. midwifery clinic who changed the course of my birth education. They told me to read a couple of iconic birth books, namely Ina May Gaskin\u2019s \u201cGuide to Childbirth\u201d and Sheila Kitzenger\u2019s \u201cRediscovering Birth\u201d, which is an anthropological outlook on childbirth over time and around the world. These two books, along with the midwife\u2019s education, were transformational in my approach to how I\u2019d view birth and ultimately my empowerment as a woman. A pivotal moment during one of my prenatal meetings was when my midwife Saraswathi Vedam, asked my father how he was born. She was trying to convince my parents that a home birth was less risky than a hospital birth, in my case. He had forgotten that he too had been born at home in the Netherlands after the war. She went on to explain that getting into a car, while in labour, was the first of many interventions that ultimately slow down and lead to greater medical interventions such as cesarean-section. Birthing in my own bacteria (at home), my own space, music and light would all be ways to make me feel more relaxed, safe, and open. For me, it was the choice that made the most sense, and my parents were finally convinced too. It ended up being a 4 hour birth from beginning to end and my mother was the first family member to hold Ga\u00efa after stumbling out of her own bed just one flight of stairs above us. She hadn\u2019t heard a thing. Holding her first granddaughter in the suite that had been transformed into caring for her own father, in her own house, was special to say the least. There are many details worth mentioning about this birth, but one powerful moment which stands out was during the moment of transition when shit became really real, and my head was spinning. I believe in this moment of birth, we hit our most intuitive walls. They are the walls that usually prevent us from opening further the psychological barriers we need to break in order to move through and transition to the pushing phase. I remember thinking that my partner would probably not stick around, which over the course of time\u2026 proved true. I remember being scared and screaming in a high pitched voice. My midwife told me to use my gut voice down in my belly. At that moment I remember having a flash of women swarm through my visual mind. They were both women I knew and admired as well as women I did not know. They were ancestral and altogether we were united in our strength. They were there, maybe they were even spirits, telling me it was going to be ok. That I would be ok. That women had done this since the beginning of time and that this was our strength. From that image I found power and continued to birth, squatting and facing the midwives. I held them or they held me, not really sure who held who, but we held each other for strength.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What was interesting about hearing other women and men recount their stories of becoming a parent were moments I felt complete solidarity with them. There were moments where I could relate entirely, like with Caroline Laurin-Beaucage\u2019s story, when she recounts a similar moment during labour where she felt connected to the unity of women. How, in order to bring her baby into the world, she had to let go of her ego to make room for her sons. Or, other times, where I felt completely empathic for them. For example, in Brianna Lombardo’s story, where she recounts several losses before successfully bearing twins to term. Brianna\u2019s story makes me weep almost every time. It is worth noting that I am pregnant with my third child during the time I work on this exhibit, (M)other. That while I edited, translated, and archived these stories, I am bearing my own son I have yet to meet\u2026 Listening to Brianna\u2019s story, word for word, over and over again was challenging but also extremely inspiring. She is a true warrior: a brave and experienced fighter, to have gone through what she went through, and have the will to try again and again to bear children. She herself said, at the end of our interview, that had she not born twins she was not sure she would be able to share her story. And so is the untold story of many women and men who cannot bear children for so many reasons.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This exhibit is dedicated to those people who, for whatever reason, could not have children or chose not to. Sometimes the pain of lived history is too great to imagine bringing life into the world. Sometimes it is just not possible. And so these dances, stories, and translations are also there for the people who are silently grieving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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04\/03\/2021<\/p>\n\n\n\n
An Autobiographical Account<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After working with two artists who generously shared their accounts of becoming parents, which was followed by an archival sensorial improvisation, I decided that it was time to become my own subject. Although the saying \u201cHow do you know unless you\u2019ve tried it?\u201d can be applied to so many things (such as getting my children to eat their supper), it proved to be an act of necessity in the context of my research towards project, (M)other. I will attempt to make some personal juxtapositions between dance and birth, reflections that only came to me while I was dancing. In the position of facilitator it is important to first try what you are asking of others. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the dance world, as in other mediums of art, power structures: male versus female, choreographer versus dancer, director versus artist, professor versus student (the list continues), have always existed \u2026 I am aware that many papers have and are being written about power dynamics in the art world, namely in dance, but for the purpose of this blog, I will stick to a couple of reflections I had while I exposed myself and my journey into parenthood, in front of the lens of a camera. What is different about dance, and where I relate it to the act of birth, is our use of the body. Our bodies speak for themselves, are an expression and a language of their own. Sickness is a way our body indicates to us what we need to address. However, in birth, as in dance, we are focusing on the body as a means to bring life and express form; our words are not the first tool to come to our defence. Our words are being dominated by a concentration on what our bodies are doing. During the act of birth or dance, we use breath and sound and the power of what our bodies are doing overshadow that of our words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There is a difference between dancing fiction in front of the thousands of people and telling one\u2019s own story through the body in front of a camera. I have worked for a number of Montreal choreographers and have had the opportunity to perform internationally in theatres with a capacity of sometimes two thousand people. (This number seems crazy now given the current situation we are living in.) What I find interesting, though, is my ability to transform and expose myself in front of this many people, in the context of a theatre, whereas intimately exposing my life in front of one or two people and a camera, is terrifying. The medium of film is not live art. The mistake you made on film will not be forgotten, you can watch it on repeat. Yes, you can delete, photoshop and edit but it remains a less interactive and more manicured form. Cameras can focus on every imperfection, and while our eyes decide where they want to go, they can get only so physically close to the performer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n What I have chosen to research in (M)other are dancer\u2019s accounts of their transitions into the role of parenthood. It became apparent to me that I wanted to work through the medium of movement, and therefore I chose to address dancers in my community who are also parents. There is nothing fictional about this subject. There are many myths and concepts we use to describe motherhood, like the \u201cCult of the Happy Mother\u201d which I felt specifically compelled to d e c o n s t r u c t. My point is that talking about something so entirely personal, then expressing myself in relation to that truth, in front of a camera, and nude, is an act of extreme vulnerability (at least for me it was). I chose to reveal the body, nude, because it is important for me to show the postpartum body for all of its transformations and experience. I want to normalize the postpartum body. As a dancer who was told to stand in the back because my breastfeeding breasts did not fit the aesthetic of the company, I think dancers feel enormous pressure to \u201cbounce\u201d back to their pre pregnant selves. As if women did not already feel enough pressure to conform to whatever the \u201cit\u201d body is, as a dancer, our bodies determine our employability. If art is representative of humanity, in all its shapes and forms, then the postpartum body is one part of that humanity, which should be celebrated. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Telling my story through my body was challenging, and yes, difficult. This was exactly why I needed to try it before I asked other artists to expose their own journey. The empty gallery setting with its bare walls, concrete floors, and bright shining lights was at times reminiscent of a hospital setting. Although I birthed my children at home, being a doula, I have accompanied women through their births in hospitals. There is a feeling of vulnerability, exposure, and an inherent power dynamic between health care professionals and the birther. Those who are in control and those who are doing their best within the context to keep their power and hold on to their self-determination. Here, in the gallery, I had no one telling me what to do. I was the choreographer of my own work. Nonetheless I exposed myself. Having done so, I can be more empathetic, and, as doulas often say, \u201chold the space\u201d for others. <\/p>\n\n\n\n 08\/01\/2021<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u00c9plucher la m\u00e9moire<\/p>\n\n\n\n J’ai r\u00e9cemment publi\u00e9 une enqu\u00eate pour interroger la transition vers la parentalit\u00e9. J’ai \u00e9t\u00e9 honor\u00e9e, touch\u00e9e par l’intimit\u00e9 et le soin avec lesquels les gens ont r\u00e9pondu. Revenir avec d\u00e9tail sur la mani\u00e8re dont votre enfant est entr\u00e9 dans le monde peut \u00eatre tout autant valorisant que d\u00e9stabilisant, quoique vous ayez envie de raconter ou d’oublier. Chacun.e a une histoire \u00e0 raconter et c’est pour cette raison que j’ai envie de les mettre en lumi\u00e8re. Entendre les gens sur leurs exp\u00e9riences personnelles en tant que parents montre \u00e0 quel point notre soci\u00e9t\u00e9 a tendance \u00e0 cloisonner cette exp\u00e9rience, \u00e0 la mettre dans un placard. Parfois, il n’est pas facile d’y retourner et d’abandonner le pass\u00e9. Une participante de 70 ans m’a m\u00eame \u00e9crit pour me dire qu’elle \u00e9tait d\u00e9sol\u00e9e mais qu’elle ne pouvait pas r\u00e9pondre parce qu’elle ne se souvenait pas de son accouchement. Ma propre m\u00e8re a r\u00e9pond : \u00ab\u00a0J’ai eu quatre enfants et chaque exp\u00e9rience a \u00e9t\u00e9 diff\u00e9rente. Ces exp\u00e9riences se sont d\u00e9roul\u00e9es entre 1971 et 1987, de sorte que la maternit\u00e9 et les proc\u00e9dures d’accouchement ont \u00e9volu\u00e9 rapidement au cours de cette p\u00e9riode. Je me suis sentie compl\u00e8tement \u00ab\u00a0assom\u00e9e\u00a0\u00bb pendant l’accouchement puis directement totalement engag\u00e9e.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n Au fur et \u00e0 mesure de ce projet de recherche, j’en d\u00e9couvre la signification. La d\u00e9fintion de \u00ab\u00a0m\u00e8re\u00a0\u00bb d’une participante m’a aid\u00e9 \u00e0 m’en rapprocher: \u00ab\u00a0C’est difficile d’entrer dans ce r\u00f4le. C’est de souvent se juger par rapport aux autres m\u00e8res. C’est d’h\u00e9riter de plein de st\u00e9r\u00e9otypes mais parfois de les aimer. C’est \u00eatre fi\u00e8re d’avoir des enfants, sentir que j’ai accompli quelque chose d’extr\u00eamement grand, mais qui n’est pas dans le monde visible des accomplissements de la soci\u00e9t\u00e9.\u00a0\u00bb <\/p>\n\n\n\n Sentir que l’on a accompli quelque chose qui change la vie mais qui n’est pas visible dans le monde visible des standards des accomplissements \u00e0 succ\u00e9s de la soci\u00e9t\u00e9 : c’est peut-\u00eatre pour cela qu’il est si important pour moi de mettre ces histoires en lumi\u00e8re; prendre le temps et exposer les couches qui, petit \u00e0 petit, nous constituent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pour partager votre exp\u00e9rience de transition vers la parentalit\u00e9, et ainsi contribuer aux donn\u00e9s de ma recherche, veuillez remplir le sondage en cliquant sur le lien ci-dessous:<\/p>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/chairematernite.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/03\/Mother-Kim-1024x570.jpg\")
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