Emma Howell
27 July, 2025
This 2025 collection of original artwork is a visual language for everything we struggle to say about motherhood, identity, and healing. These pieces will do more than just decorate walls – they will tap into memories, emotions, and truths that live just beneath the surface of all of us.
It Starts With a Story
I want to start this blog post with a personal story – because, really, it’s the story that catalysed this entire body of artwork. I’m often in two minds about how much I share with the big wide world. If you know me in real life, you’ll know I’m someone who brutally (and sometimes regretfully) overshares -someone who tells it how it is and wears vulnerability on my sleeve. But online, I’m a tad more hesitant. Some things feel like they should stay on a “need to know” basis.
My IVF journey probably would’ve stayed under wraps… but a creative flame has been lit – and from it, an art collection is growing. So, as potential collectors and art community members, maybe you do need to know.
After a few years of infertility and an investigative operation, we were advised to follow the path of IVF to help find the souls of our babies. It still feels surreal to write that – and I can’t quite believe we went through it.
For those who don’t know, IVF is a gruelling process – emotionally, mentally, and physically. It doesn’t just put your body through the wars; it also wreaks havoc on your mind. For me, it shattered my sense of control – and deeply shook my ego (and still does, to this day).
I kept thinking the universe was testing me, teasing me, punishing me. It knew how much I’d avoided medication or biological intervention for most of my life… and now here I was, injecting myself with the highest dose of synthetic hormones, day after day. Every sharp pinch of the needle was a painful reminder that my body couldn’t do this alone.. that it wasn’t working “naturally.” Others did, why didn’t mine? As someone who is pretty meticulous about health and fitness, why has this happened to me?
I wallowed, sobbed and fully embedded myself into this victimhood. I withdrew from everything, refused to see friends and sat on my couch for months and months, feeling sorry for myself (and for Jon, who had to watch his wife essentially disappear). He was going through it, too. And boy, did I keep forgetting that. I was a selfish fool, totally enveloped by my “woe is me” attitude and constant life comparisons.
After the egg collection, the wait was gut wrenching. The IVF clinic phoned the day afterwards to tell us how many eggs fertilised and then each subsequent day, how the embryos were doing. You don’t need to know numbers here, but fast forward.. our first embryo transfer failed. I smashed things up in the house, I curled up in a ball on the floor, I screamed into pillows and talked to a dull face in the mirror… then we forced ourselves on our trip to Austria. To the mountains. Rest. Reset. Breathe.
Fast forward to our second embryo transfer and a trip to Snowdonia where I screamed into the gigantic sky “give us a sign our baby will reach us”.. we finally had our positive. 9ish months later, Lilah Hope Munson was born on her exact due date.
Entering Motherhood
Now, I have to be clear – the gratitude I have for Lilah is monumental. Monumental. But I have to hold my hands up to this – I found the “newborn trenches” horrific. Shocking, debilitating, terrifying and guilt-ridden. Sobbing in the bath, screaming into pillows (again), driving away not wanting to return, using words I’d never normally use 👀, smashing bowls and well, you get the picture.
Look, I’m not just saying this to be negative or to complain or to even excuse my behaviour, but as far as I’m aware (from both medical and mum conversations), Lilah was a particularly difficult newborn. No point going into detail – if you know, you know.
Be that as it may, and fast forward 6 months (where we are now), I truly believe that Lilah’s soul was matched with mine for a reason. You’ll know from my past collections and reflections that I believe our entire lives and character development revolve around nourishing lessons. Hard times are blessings in disguise, and moments for reflection, education and evolution.
N.B. on motherhood.
If you’re someone who is still longing to become a mother – I see you, I hear you, I feel you. I know this collection might stir complex feelings, and I want you to know you’re not forgotten here. Your story, your ache and your hope – it matters deeply. And I’m firmly holding your hand through this, quietly and lovingly, as you navigate it all. This collection holds space for your journey too. Also, if you ever want to talk to someone outside of your own circle about it, please never hesitate to email or DM me on Instagram. I spoke daily to a very special somebody (also been through IVF), who I was connected with through an art collector (you know who you are) – and I’m not sure I would have got through it all without her coaching.
Now It’s Time For Your Story
While my story may have lit the first creative spark, this collection isn’t just about me. In fact, it very quickly became about us (meaning you, too).
As I’ve found myself navigating motherhood – healing, breaking, softening, growing.. then also attending various Mum meets and repairing my friendships with those with babies etc.. I started to realise that what I was experiencing wasn’t unique to me. The loneliness, intensity, joy, rage, devotion, and complete undoing that comes with becoming a mother is something so many of us carry, silently. I knew that an art collection had to be made from this and it would hold more than just my own story.
So, I opened the door to the rest of you.
Nearly 100 submissions have flooded in from mothers, daughters, grandmothers, fathers, birth workers, those longing to become parents, and those still deep in the fog… I read through each one – every line and every tear-jerking truth. And I’m going to translate these words (along with my experience/feelings) into abstract paintings – 50 to be exact.
Every painting in this 50-piece collection is paired with a real story (or two), a shared memory and a collective truth. For example there’s a piece called Beautiful Chaos, another named The Rage is Real, one that asks Did I Change or Begin? – and all of them are drawn from lived experience.
This collection is raw, emotional, and unapologetically honest – a visual language for what’s often hard to say out loud. Through texture, layers, mark-making, and movement, each piece speaks to something deeper than our maternal biology. While personal motherhood experience sparked this work, its reach goes far beyond those who have carried a child.
It’s meant for every stage of life: those who mother quietly and invisibly.. for the sons and daughters still healing from their own mothers, and anyone who has lost a baby, a mother, or a version of themselves. It holds space for the hopeful, the grieving, and those who are remembering. It’s also for partners trying to understand, and grandmothers who carry generations in their hands.. or indeed those who are trying to break free from their generational “curses”.
Whether you see yourself in the exhaustion, the transformation, the quiet rituals, or the wild, overwhelming love – this collection was made to hold all of it. A daily reminder: you are not alone.
See this collection as a visual archive of becoming, with emphasis on loss, love, and rebirth.
I can’t wait to share it with you.
The Details
Each original artwork in The Motherhood Collection will be:
5 x 6 inches, acrylic, oil and mixed media on paper
£80 unframed or £112 in a bespoke frame.
There will be just 50 in total – each a one-off original piece.
Launch date is TBC, but subscribers to my mailing list will receive an exclusive private launch invitation before the collection is made public. Early access, early love.
If you have any questions about the collection, please do not hesitate to ask via my contact page.