Fear/Love - Paintings of Darkness, Lightness, and Parenthood

Last year, I worked on a series of paintings called "Fear/Love" that explores conflicting emotions in parenthood and plays with darkness and light. I was inspired to create these paintings after trying to explain what motherhood is like to my childfree friends. No matter what I said, it felt inadequate. No words could describe the depth of emotion, or how the worst experiences could also be laced with wonder and happiness.

I initially wrote a blog for each painting, but now I'm putting them all together in one blog for more cohesion. The series feels finished at the moment, but if I ever revisit the topic in the future, I'll add those paintings here.

“Afternoon Nap” (acrylic on paper, 45 × 60 cm)

This self-portrait captures the duality of motherhood, the exhaustion and stress as well as the transcendent joy and love. It's based on a selfie I took years ago when my daughter was a baby and slept best when I cradled her, either in a carrier or my arms. We spent thousands of hours like this, since I often had migraines and needed to rest anyway. During those naps, I was so sick and weary, yet full of peace and warmth, a contrast of emotions that's hard to describe in words, so I painted it.

"Balcony Sunbeam” (acrylic on canvas, 60 × 80 cm)

This painting was inspired by a little balcony we had when my daughter was a toddler. The balcony was simple, even ugly - wooden slats and a cement wall overlooking a busy road, sidewalk, and parking lot for a retirement home.

My daughter loved it. To make it more comfortable for her, we covered the wooden slats with green outdoor carpet. With a few toys and a flower box, it became cozy like an additional room. But unlike the other rooms, I could never leave her alone on the balcony for long. She liked peering over the edge, and I was afraid she'd find a way to climb over the wall and tumble down if I didn't keep an eye on her.

So I sat inside and watched her play, or joined her in the sunbeam. We ate popsicles, blew bubbles, and watched people together. I propped her up sometimes to give her a better view, clutching her close to me. The balcony became a central point for so many happy memories. It might've been the most beloved spot in our home.

But it was also the most dangerous. A place of joy or fear, depending on your perspective.

“Strawberry Season” (oil on canvas, 40 × 50 cm)

I made this painting as a gift for my father-in-law who, over the years, has grown and harvested buckets upon buckets of strawberries, often cooked into strawberry jam and canned by my mother-in-law. Besides strawberries, my in-laws have also grown apples, blueberries, red currants, and lots of flowers: tulips, sunflowers, hollyhock, rows of wildflowers…

It's a lot of work. Every year, there's a flood of fruit that has to be plucked and preserved, as well as seeds to plant, weeds to pull, and grass to mow. Hours of labor.

It's peaceful work, though, exhausting yet relaxing. Garden work was especially peaceful during the pandemic when we lived together for almost two years, sharing childcare, housework, and of course, strawberry picking. While crouching beside the strawberry patch or making strawberry jam with my daughter, it was easy to forget we were in a lockdown.

Though serene, the work was still tiring and time-consuming. I was happy to help out, and also happy when it was over - a mix of emotions I've seen in every gardener who grows and preserves food. This painting captures that peaceful labor, the fulfillment and exhaustion, shared with a child.

“Fighting a Fever” (oil on paper, 30 × 40 cm)

This painting captures a sight familiar to all parents: a sleeping child sick with a fever. To me, caring for a sick child has always caused a mix of emotions: love and worry, feeling helpful and helpless at once. It's a sweet and stressful experience, heightened if you're also sick yourself.

As a reference, I used a photo of my daughter when she was six years old and suddenly came down with a fever during a weekend trip. Since the weather was beautiful, we had outdoor activities in mind for the weekend but ended up holed up in the cabin instead.

Yet somehow, the trip was still fun. We all remember it fondly despite the fever, or maybe because of it.

“Pink Lantern” (oil on paper, 30 × 40 cm)

This painting shows a Dutch holiday, Sint-Maarten's Day, when children go door to door with lanterns, ring doorbells, and sing songs for candy. But in this case, the holiday is broken by the Covid-19 pandemic, creating distance and loneliness alongside the joy and beautiful lights of the celebration.

To prevent the spread of the coronavirus, everyone had to stay in small groups and avoid close contact with neighbors. Children couldn't go out in large groups, as they usually do, but instead went out alone or in pairs.

Nevertheless, people kept their lights on, opened their doors to hear the singing, and left candy outside on tables for kids. Despite the sadness of the pandemic, there were a lot of smiles for the kids and a feeling of warmth that persisted even from a distance.