“Fearless warrior woman. War survivors. Grateful for the simple things. Embarrass me as a child; makes me proud as an adult. A real original. ”
Somehow I am the one producing the art for Louisiana’s latest exhibition, ‘Mother!’, A tribute to motherhood co-curated by Marie Laurberg and Kirsten Degel, who have been proud of their place in the famous museum’s west wing, since it reopened late last month, where it continues until August 29th.
Upon entry, all visitors are encouraged to write something about their mothers (Mother in case you are a language disaster zone) and I am no exposer. The above is all spontaneity.
My mother was Eleanor from Aquitaine
I suppose Mrs. Hamilton has always reminded me of strong female historical figures: Boudica, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Lucrezia Borgia … and I realize that as I write this, I have written about her in this newspaper before.
“My pseudo-Viking mother continues to drop hints of being cremated on a boat – if the wizard’s generals were right that they were made of wood, she should take a treat,” I wrote in 2013.
“I’m glad they stopped burning witches in Northern Europe when they were the youngest, there’s a good chance I’ll never be born. But then again, maybe I’m being unfair to my mother – with her talents for blaming, she probably would have avoided catching for years, ”I remarked in 2008.
But if all this sounds too Hamilton-centered, it’s the point: ‘Mother’ is a deeply personal exhibition that we can all relate to. So get out of the writing task at the entrance and you are cheating yourself of real fulfillment at this exhibition. It is important that you get in the zone.
I know what my mother would say about the opening scene to greet us: “Beyonce who? Oh, an American. How creepy! “There were no caesarean section clauses when she gave birth to my Goliath brothers (I’m family round) back in the 1960s – Beyonce Knowles can take her Christmas tree imitation and … she does not know she is (or they are born.
But after this abomination – a poorly recommended attempt to simultaneously and connect with reference-hungry visitors who are right here to take a picture of the beautiful statue park and share on Instagram – I am convinced that Mrs H would start get stuck.
There are some belt exhibits to see: from photos that hide delicious details that can be easily missed, to provocation that digs into your ‘everything is fine with life’ behavior and forces you to look good on yourself. It’s personal … do you get it now?
Knee-deep in memories
One of my earliest memories was hiding behind my mother’s knees for my brother. Creep up behind the couch, attack with malicious intent, run away and hide like a coward, and repeat – sometimes with a pose of friends. One day though, I knew I was going to have to leave the heat behind those knees forever.
But that’s where I get taken back when I am confronted with Kaari Oppson’s amazing sculpture ‘Mother’s Legs’. From the ceiling hang many spindly limbs, some seemingly tree trunks of trees, others tired and varicose veins – a reminder of how much rests on a person’s legs.
Laure Prouvost’s ‘Mootherr’, specially carved for the exhibition and presented in a dedicated space, is another standout sculpture I will not forget in a hurry. Nightmare, womb-like and ethereal, this is not only my mother but all mothers: enough teats for all of us, but remember the messy floor. Who said motherhood was easy.
Filled down Tracy’s duvet
It can also get harder. Suddenly I save a thought for my widowed mother, forgotten by her three sons on the south coast of England (daughters for life, sons until they get a wife, eh), when I read the reflections on Britain’s very own Tracey, I forgot to make my bed again ‘Emin.
Read in my mother’s diary: My mother wrote in her diary: ‘My mother died today’. I, in turn, wrote in my: ‘My mother died today.’ No one will say this about me. The end, ”is a post.
“There is no point in investing in my children’s tenderness between Antoine’s calm indifference and Sophie’s selfish arrogance! My only consolation is that she’s so sick that she’s going to visit me in my grave more often than in Rue Boulard, ”is another … not sure if it’s Emin, but it’s next door.
Unlike me … because I crossed the North Sea to get away.
I love you Mmmmunck
Other highlights follow: I pat myself on the back to observe the clever subtitle in Catherine Opie’s self-portrait of her breastfeeding her baby.
‘My dog is cuter than your baby’ is exactly the ‘pick me up’ we all needed after Beyonce. All good art needs an antagonist … hell, do all goodness.
But while Manjari Sharma and Irina Rozovsky’s five-month iPhone photo exchange ‘Seeing Your Face’ is thought-provoking, I can not help but think it would have been better if they had not both been born within a few years of each other. .
And yes, I love Edvard Munck’s ‘Madonna’ and ‘The Dead Mother and Her Child’ – anything by Munck, basically.
نتحدث عن ، maybe I should call the old bird and tell her I love her too.
المصدر الصفحة الشمالية