Tanya Nixon-Silberg speaks with Matresence curator Catherine LeComte Lecce:
1.) Can you share your background and artistic journey with us, particularly regarding your evolution as an artist?
How do we make meaning of the world with art? I explored this concept with young kids and began working with Allison Crony-Moses. She looked at me and said, “You’re an artist, why aren’t you making art?” That encouragement led to my first exhibition last year, titled Unadulterated Black Joy. We were supposed to create something from that experience for the show, so I made three beautiful busts that depicted intergenerational play. This theme of play, inspired by my own childhood games like hand clapping and double dutch, resonated with Black women in Boston, reminding them of their youthful joy. The success of this project inspired me to keep creating.
I’ve since participated in other exhibitions, like one focused on James Baldwin, where I created an embroidery piece based on his letter to teachers. My work is part of Little Uprisings, a project that collaborates with teachers and institutions to bring racial justice to the forefront, highlighting not just oppression but also Black joy. I recently learned embroidery and created a panel featuring some of Baldwin’s words, aiming to combine personal expression with pieces suitable for exhibitions.
My art often starts with an idea sparked by a call for submissions. For instance, you reached out to me based on a recommendation from Allison, and it was an incredible opportunity. Accountability drives me to create for specific purposes, though I sometimes question if that’s the right approach. However, my practice always aims to connect with Black people, fostering communication and reflection. I love seeing people interact with my work, sparking conversations and memories about our shared experiences and joy.
Ultimately, I consider myself a “joy artist,” focused on reaching and uplifting the Black community through my work.
2.) Can you walk us through your artistic process for your featured piece in Matrescence? What inspired the work?
I think what inspired the work is my 11-year-old, who has all the opinions I taught them to have. I’ve been reflecting a lot on how I respond to their growing independence and self-discovery, especially as a social justice educator. My child is going to dissent, and how do I handle that? Kids aren’t typically allowed to dissent; they can’t say no, but I can. That power dynamic isn’t fair, so I grapple with how to navigate it.
There were phrases I heard growing up that I don’t say to my child on purpose. For instance, my mom would say, “I’m not your little friend,” whereas I tell my child, “I’m your friend.” This reversal brings up feelings of guilt and questions about parenting norms. I started asking friends about phrases their parents used that they now avoid with their kids, and what they say instead. I even posed the question in an international Facebook group for moms of color, and the responses were eye-opening.
It’s crucial to consider the experiences of moms of color because parenting norms are often dictated by a white lens, influenced by racism and systemic pressures. Reclaiming our power through the language we use is essential. I wanted to explore and highlight this in my work. Whenever I discussed it, everyone could instantly recall a phrase their parents used and how they’ve adapted their language with their own kids.
There’s also a movement called gentle parenting, which has sparked conversations in my community about its meaning and effectiveness. This inspired me to think about the journey from the old phrases to the new ones, emphasizing the necessary unlearning and decolonization. It’s not just about the end phrases but understanding the transformation in between.
For this piece, I’ve been doing a lot of embroidery, a slow and reflective process, to sit with these words. For example, the phrase “Stop crying before I give you something to cry about” versus “It’s okay to cry; sometimes I cry too.” On the surface, it’s a straightforward swap, but I’m interested in the nuances in between. I asked moms to record their thoughts on how whiteness and colonization influence these phrases, creating a more in-depth narrative.
I plan to weave all these words together into a document, forming a map of past, present, and future mothering. It’s a messy, necessary process that highlights the importance of doing this work in community.
3.) What specific challenges did you encounter when you first became a mother while also balancing your career as an artist?
I started doing work with kids because of my own child. At first, I didn’t see many challenges, but looking back, I realize time was a significant issue. Most of my work had to be done after bedtime when my kid was little. When I organized events, they were often geared toward my child’s age group, so my child would be there. It was tough having to share my attention between my kid and other children during these events.
Another challenge was the financial aspect. A lot of this work isn’t paid, and that was tough. As the primary breadwinner in my family for a while, my husband and I had to invest in materials and babysitters, which could be financially straining. However, as David saw my dedication and the importance of this path, he became very supportive.
A significant challenge for me has been dealing with imposter syndrome, both as an artist and a mother. I constantly questioned whether I should be pursuing art. The feelings of self-doubt in motherhood and artistry often overlapped. But I realized that if I can help raise a child, I can also express myself artistically. I have things to say, and so does my child.
The intersection of motherhood and artistry has started to meld together in my work. My first piece was around play, incorporating Barbie shoes. My second piece was about working in schools, including my child’s school. Now, my work often reflects motherhood. These experiences enrich each other, even though I sometimes question if I should continue.
In the end, the desire for community and self-expression drives me. I want to create a community for myself and my child. Despite the challenges, I believe in the importance of my artistic voice and the need to share it.
4.) What advice would you give to other mother artists?
I think the advice I would give to other mother artists is: make the thing. Just make it. I also struggle with perfectionism, and I find it really hard to create something without a detailed plan of what it’s going to look like, how it’s going to come out, and the steps I need to take to make it. This can be crippling and stop you from actually doing what you want to do.
I believe every mother has something to say, and other mothers deserve to hear it. So, make the thing.
5.) Have you found any support networks or communities that have been particularly helpful in your journey as a mother artist?
I have found my community through the collective we started with Alison Crony Moses and Zahirah Nur Truth. Our collective is called Unadulterated Black Joy. The name comes from a retreat we had in this space where we discussed connecting to our joy. We explored what it means to connect to our joy through body movements and other activities.
I was creating a piece at that time because I am also a puppeteer. The piece featured a little black puppet dancing joyfully, highlighting stories of joy that are often untold. In children’s books, black characters, especially black girls, often have to overcome obstacles related to their race. I always wonder whose benefit those stories serve. So, we focused on highlighting pure joy. The idea of unadulterated joy involves shedding adult constraints and embracing childhood joy. If we didn’t experience joy as children, we explored what it could look like for our kids and ourselves now.
Being in a community with other moms, some of whom are artists, has been incredibly helpful. I often reach out to Allison for advice about art world issues that I struggle with. She provides guidance, and I do the same for her. This mutual support is invaluable.
Another important aspect of our community is that we all understand the challenges of being mothers. When we plan events, we ensure that kids are welcome and involved. Many spaces, including fellowships and artist communities, don’t accommodate mothers. They don’t ask if you have a babysitter or consider the logistical challenges mothers face. This erasure of the work we do as mothers and artists is frustrating.
Practically, separating motherhood from artistry is challenging, and many people think we should keep them separate. However, I want to do both. I want people to acknowledge both roles. Being in a community with other mother or primary caretaker artists makes it more expansive. It allows us to think about inhabiting a space in new ways. When other mothers are present, there’s a level of nourishment—both body and mind—that we all need.
6.) How do you think society’s perception of motherhood and artistry has evolved, and what changes would you like to see in how mother artists are supported and recognized?
I actually don’t think I’m qualified to answer the question about the evolution of society’s perception since I only recently began identifying as an artist. Because of this, I haven’t experienced the indoctrination that happens in the art world where you’re supposed to present just one aspect of yourself, say one specific thing, or exhibit pain for the masses. I don’t show up in those spaces because that’s not my approach.
So, I don’t know much about the evolution of societal perceptions, but I do know about my personal evolution. When I’m faced with challenges, I question how I’m supposed to manage them with my child. For instance, if I’m invited to an event, I send an email asking what I’m supposed to do with my kid during the event and whether they have any provisions for mothers.
Regarding the changes I’d like to see in how mother artists are supported and recognized, I think shows that explicitly invite mothers are fantastic. For example, I attended a show about motherhood at MassArt, and some pieces didn’t resonate with black motherhood. Different experiences in motherhood, birthing, and societal views need to be acknowledged and represented.
I’d like to see more art that deals with the unique experiences of motherhood, especially black motherhood. Many exhibitions and pieces focus on pain, which is valid, but I’m looking for more balance. Motherhood, like black identity, is multifaceted, and big institutions often showcase only one aspect. I want to see more diverse representations that reflect the varied experiences and emotions of motherhood. This would create a richer, more inclusive narrative and provide support and recognition to all mother artists.
