Jayne Matricardi (she/her)
Tired Mother/Hidden Mother, 2020
Oil on wood
12 x 12 x 1.5 inches
This is the face of a tired young mother who had been hidden from view behind a delicate, paper frame in a tintype from the 1800’s. While she is not my blood ancestor, I am her direct descendant: heir to the suffering, weariness and exhaustion of motherwork that has been etched into her skin. In my re-presentation and unveiling of this mother, bedraggled, raw, and vulnerable, I am not only revealing but re-asserting her presence that was supposed to have been hidden, ignored, overlooked. Simultaneously, I am drawing attention to the untenable burden currently faced by mothers during the COVID-19 pandemic.
Tired Mother
Your beautiful daughter
healthy, full cheeks
looking slightly out of frame.
Polka dot backdrop
strange bow in her hair
but it wasn’t.
That was my first clue.
The second,
I noticed your hands merged with ruffles,
one on each side to stabilize.
I knew you might be back there covered
by a Persian rug, or scratched
at least your face blackened.
So with a sharp knife
I cut through the crusted glue
incising carefully.
Tin fell away from delicate oval
embossed paper no longer framing.
Thin, irregular metal in my palm
as you came into view, blurry,
easier to see at an angle between
the glare and sheen.
A shock.
To see your face with eyes on me
a sudden sucking in of air
too quickly, straight into my stomach
because I already knew you.
I knew your tired
your plodding
your weary
your holding
Your holding her. Always
holding still for the light, long exposure
to travel through time and space
behind the photographer’s black drape.
For 100 years (or more perhaps?)
you sat
quietly behind the frame.
Holding.
And as soon as I saw you
I loved you
and I held you
Still.
Jayne Matricardi (she/her)
Tired Mother/Hidden Mother, 2020
Oil on wood
12 x 12 x 1.5 inches
This is the face of a tired young mother who had been hidden from view behind a delicate, paper frame in a tintype from the 1800’s. While she is not my blood ancestor, I am her direct descendant: heir to the suffering, weariness and exhaustion of motherwork that has been etched into her skin. In my re-presentation and unveiling of this mother, bedraggled, raw, and vulnerable, I am not only revealing but re-asserting her presence that was supposed to have been hidden, ignored, overlooked. Simultaneously, I am drawing attention to the untenable burden currently faced by mothers during the COVID-19 pandemic.