12 Steps above the Earth: or Straight into It

Twelve steps. That’s how far I walked from one end to the other of the tapestry Breasts, Children, Creatures, and Waste (2022) by Barbora Fástrová and Johana Pošová. I could have run, but not along the path of motherhood.

The handcrafted nature of the piece reminded me of my grandmother. She didn’t weave, but she crocheted round rugs from strips of jersey similar to those used in Barbora and Johana’s textile work. My grandmother would put those colourful, circular rugs, symbolic in that they came from ‘my mother’s mother’, a kind of metaphorical journey, on the wooden floor just inside the entrance of her garden house in Salininkai (a suburb of Vilnius). Those rugs always felt special to me. Not because I couldn’t (and still can’t) crochet like that, but because I witnessed them being born from old textiles, so vibrant and unplanned, each one different, shaped by the discarded clothes of our family. And I would eagerly wait for a fresh new little circle, the ‘new spring collection’ meant for the entrance, in which we would see ourselves again, or more precisely, what I, my mom, dad, or sis had once worn.

This practice, along with others passed down by my grandmother, resonated deeply as I took those twelve steps the length of the long, collaborative tapestry, handmade by the artists from discarded textiles that once belonged to someone, and which now, through the artwork, belong to all of us. In today’s textile-saturated world, the act of creating textile art may raise questions, just as the act of giving birth can raise questions in an overpopulated world. Yet the raw, physical engagement with the theme of motherhood began to resonate with my own journey into it, a state that is inseparable from the body, both grounding and binding, a deep connection, even a kind of dependence, all at once.

And since connection, especially tactile, textile connection, is so intrinsic to motherhood, I felt a strong urge to speak with the artists themselves. I won’t hide the fact that the topic of ‘mothering’ is personally relevant to me. Not in the way we often hear it asked: ‘How do you manage to combine motherhood with your professional life?’ To me, it’s not about ‘combination’, no patching together of separate pieces, but rather a tactical and tactile coexistence, an integrated state of being that naturally encompasses all of life and a creative field as well.

I’ve always been interested in exploring motherhood as something dynamic, multifaceted, and not romanticised or merely represented visually (‘visualised motherhood’), but lived, in relations. It makes me ask: What does ‘mothering’ or ‘parenting’ activate when it comes to sustainability, not only physical, but emotional, relational sustainability? In a world brimming with anxiety, absurdity and violence, these questions feel urgent, and even painful. So I asked the artists a few questions that were on my mind while walking by the work they created.

What does it mean to you to be both a mother and an artist?

Barbora: One of the few things that hasn’t changed since becoming a mother is my deep desire to create and work. My children are often present while I’m working, less so as they grow older, but I still encourage it. At times it was necessary and often more difficult to have them with me, but I couldn’t always disconnect from them and simply go off to work. When they were younger, it felt completely natural to take them everywhere with me, and now I think they genuinely enjoy being around when I’m creating. They even have their own projects, and we often work together in harmony.

Johana: Before becoming a mother, I thought nothing much would change in my artistic practice after giving birth. But the intense nature of my first son made me slow down, and I started to think more consciously about what projects I chose to take on. As he grows older, it’s much more possible and joyful to invite him into the process of creating, and everything is just easier. Motherhood, for me, has been about learning to be fully present, and at times surrendering, letting go of artistic or even personal goals. And then, gradually, finding space again for myself and my own needs.

What challenges on this path do you feel are important to address through art (and beyond)?

Barbora: One of the key moments in my career was the ‘Cheap Art’ project, a radical attempt to create a fully sustainable exhibition. I was pregnant with my first son when I wrote the project proposal in 2018, and looking back, I realise that was no coincidence. The project came from a strong desire to ‘save the world’ before my son arrived. Motherhood has definitely shifted my focus: it’s led me towards more sustainable practices and feminist themes. It awakened a voice in me that I had been ignoring, and gave me greater strength to confront injustice.

Johana: I never realised how hard it is to take care of a fully dependent person. Before motherhood, I was actually very performance-oriented, and my self-confidence depended on that. Suddenly, a whole new aspect of life opened up to me, and I realised how much it had been underestimated. There is little recognition for it in our society, and until then I had also unconsciously overlooked it in my own mind. All those hours, days and months filled with care, and the invisible labour, often go unrecognised. I was already environmentally conscious at the time, but motherhood made me realise how deeply connected caring for our planet is to caring for children, and even for future generations, for those who are not born yet.

There is so much strength, and real pain, involved in bringing a new life into the world. We should genuinely revere and support women for that, for the physical endurance, the scars, the sheer power it takes. Which makes patriarchy and the ongoing suppression of women’s rights feel even more senseless and outrageous than ever before.

What challenges did you face while creating the tapestry?

Barbora: At first the work was mainly an ecological message, a visual transformation between the natural and the synthetic. But gradually it also became about our own personal transformation as expecting mothers, and the process of making the tapestry itself.
The piece was part of a major exhibition for the Czech Government Office, to be displayed during the Czech Presidency of the EU Council in 2022. The greatest challenge at that time was navigating the bureaucracy that came with such an official commission, especially dealing with the constantly shrinking timeframe in which we had to start and complete the work.

Johana: Answering from the perspective of my third trimester at the time, it was incredibly challenging to climb the ladder every day, trying to complete as much of the tapestry as possible before giving birth, since we didn’t have enough time to make such a large-scale piece at our leisure.

This last response from Johana made me recall that weaving is an incredibly slow, time-consuming process, sometimes incompatible with the rapid pace of the contemporary world. Does the world of motherhood face the same challenge, whereby it must always be adjusted to and combined with something else, rather than absorbed into it? Those twelve steps, woven by the artists alongside their children, either on their way into the world or already buzzing around them, represent that slow, regular action, something that cannot be rushed, much like ecological problem-solving, or practices that ensure the sustainability of relationships.

In her Recrafting Futures: Feminist Practices of Material Engagement ^[1] (2023), Karolina Majewska-Güde, a curator and doctor of art history, analyses the practices of various contemporary women artists, activists and curators, and poses the question ‘Why craft and feminism, still?’ Karolina reminds us of the widespread use of crafts by Western second wave feminist artists who approached it as both a subject and a critical artistic language. She mentions that viewing craft as a legitimate art form became a way to recognise invisible labour, an invisible voice, and desires that are not just understood as a growing ecological material form but as something more dynamic. However, for any practice to be understood, it requires continuity of action.

The opportunity to engage sensorially and emotionally with the world of motherhood, connecting it to a longer, more continuous and embodied history, touches on a theme that may be difficult to grasp quickly without an experiential perspective. My initial association with my grandmother’s handmade rugs is a direct example of this.

Whether intuitively and unconsciously, as Johana suggests, or even seeking equality, we often avoid, and at times it feels uncomfortable, discussing professionalism in relation to parenthood. This tension may stem from a value system we have inherited, one rooted in patriarchal structures, where a person is expected to succeed as a professional detached from her or his parental identity. But is the personal not inherently political?

This framework of evaluation may simply be a legacy of past systems, yet still falling short in supporting true equality, especially when it comes to time, space, or bodily autonomy. And this is not a call to privilege one identity over another. Rather, it is an invitation re-engage sensorily, or ‘refeel’ how society can co-live with parenthood, through deeper empathy and a willingness to listen to its needs, without turning it into a race or competition, within contemporary cultural and professional life. How might such a dialogue take shape through the body, through space, and through the presence of peace, with each other, and the Earth.

Thank you to Barbora and Johana for the chance to follow the many threads intertwining creation and motherhood in colourful steps. I invite everyone to experience the themes of body, slowness, time and connection in the exhibition Breasts, Children, Creatures, and Waste at the Contemporary Art Centre, running until 11 May. The installation is not for mothers or about mothers, it is for anyone who is in any way connected to them. Who isn’t?

Dr Jelena Škulis is a researcher, lecturer and artist, focusing on connection with the material and the community. A graduate in social sciences (psychology) and doctoral studies in visual art, she creates her practice from handwork, slow weaving, everyday language, different materials paraphrase, performative action, and trying to be a part of the community.

Barbora Fastrová (b. 1988) and Johana Pošová (b. 1985) have been collaborating since 2014. In their artistic practice, which spans a range of media, the duo explore the relationship between nature and (Western) culture. In the autumn of 2018, they launched a long-term project entitled ‘Cheap Art’. The artists place a strong emphasis on recycling and waste, as both a creative method and a conceptual theme. Through experimentation, they aim to understand how their conscious and ecological approach influences an exhibition’s preparation, the final form, and the audience experience.

Fastrová and Pošová have held solo exhibitions at the Čepan Gallery in Trnava, Slovakia (2023), the Entrance Gallery in Prague (2020), the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague (2018), the Temporary Parapet Gallery in Bratislava (2018), the Třinec City Gallery in the Czech Republic (2018), the Ferdinand Baumann Gallery in Prague (2017), the INI Gallery in Prague (2017), the Syntax Gallery in Lisbon (2016), the TIC Gallery in Brno, Czech Republic (2015), and the Berlinskej Model Gallery in Prague (2014).