Emma Howell
3 August, 2025
Painting Motherhood
Whilst Lilah sleeps upstairs (on her front, with her butt in the air), I’m carving out a moment to write a post about The Motherhood Collection – more specifically, the aesthetic and emotional foundation of it.
Motherhood isn’t a story that fits neatly into words. It arrives in waves – quiet, chaotic, humbling, and often lonely.. a rhythm that changes by the minute I swear. Usually, in moments of loss, grief or uncertainty, I’d turn to painting and fully immerse myself into a flow state, but during this time.. it’s been rather tricky. The fogginess, the noise and the pace of early motherhood have made it difficult to find space to create. And yet, there is a small fire burning within.. not because it comes easily, but because it’s how I’ve always made sense of what I’m feeling.
The Motherhood Collection is growing slowly – like most things in life. It’s shaped by the blur of Groundhog Days and the mess that never really clears. The overwhelming nighttime rage after yet another abrupt wake-up, crinkly books and rattles scattered across the floor, sobbing in the bath wondering if the infertility was a sign I wasn’t cut out for this – it’s a lot. The TV rolls into another episode, the dog sulks like Eeyore in the corner, and I’m trying to hold onto the last scraps of my old self whilst I morph into this other woman I do not know.
These paintings don’t try to explain all of that – they simply sit with it. Not just from my experience, but also by the stories shared with me through your submissions, too.
How Motherhood Looks in Colour
You may know that I explore still life, landscape, and abstract expressionism within my practice… depending on the season I’m in and how my mind and hands decide to work. This body of work leans into abstraction, led mostly by intuition. Each painting begins with a feeling: a tight chest, a rare moment of peace, a late-night wailing session, or a deep breath of hope..
As I read the submissions and revisit my own early days of motherhood, colours start to surface.. a soft, radiant yellow resonates from hope – delicate but persistent; a pale, flushed pink echoes kisses on her silky skin; a sharp blood-orange rushes in when rage takes over after another sleepless night; and a thick, heavy grey hums with the repetition and fog of it all. These shades aren’t just visual, they carry significant emotional weight for me.
Alongside the everyday chaos and the inspiring stories you’ve shared through submissions, the collection’s palette is coming to life with help from Mother Nature herself. Colours appear during slow pram walks to get Lilah to sleep – in the shifting light across rickety pavement, the soft moss creeping up garden walls, the faded pastels of late-summer hydrangeas (although, mine have died..), and the dry ochre tones of sun-scorched grass (it’s been pretty hot, hasn’t it?!). These moments outdoors not only help me catch my breath, but they are also helping me birth The Motherhood Collection. The colours I gather are finding their way back into the studio and onto paper.
Rhythm, Repetition, and Rest
You might notice repetitive lines and/or marks on some of the works. For me, they mirror the broken record feelings of motherhood.. the comforting monotony and, at times, the deep emotional stretch of doing the same thing again and again.. and again. Large washes or blocks of colour and quiet areas of negative space offer the eye a pause.. a moment to slow down, catch your breath, and gather yourself before moving on. Or perhaps, they hint at vacancy, loneliness, and the dull ache of loss.
This isn’t about painting a literal experience. It’s about revealing what lies beneath.. the layered feelings, the quiet strength and the raw edges of motherhood.
The Raw and the Real
Motherhood isn’t tidy or linear. Neither is this body of work. There’s this raw beauty in the messiness… in its intuition and the way it remains unfinished in places. These paintings hold the love, the loss, the shifting identity, the everyday moments, and the magic all at once.
If any of this resonates with you, I invite you to explore the collection (once it’s ready). Maybe a piece will reach you where words fall short. Maybe it’s simply a quiet reminder that you’re not alone.
I hope this has given you a sense of what the collection is becoming – slowly, honestly, and in the thick of real life. Now, I better get back to little lady Lilah.