INTRODUCTION to the "Umbilical cord" mini collection

This problem is as old as the world and, it seems, is generally unsolvable.





Almost always, when playing with my son on the playground, I notice them. Mothers who don't love their kids. There are a lot of them in my neighborhood. And how many of them are there in our 4 million city?.. In the country? Europe as a whole? In the world?..

They can never be recognized immediately. Dislike for a child is hidden deeply and thoroughly. In the overwhelming majority of cases, a woman does not allow herself to be aware of her feelings. As dislike for her kids is tabooed at all times and, probably, in all countries and cultures of the world without exception. It's rather felt by some kind of instinct, read by involuntarily admitted glances or gestures, a voice creaking at other moments, even the manner of discussing the peculiarities of raising a child in communication with other mom friends. Oddly enough, all too often, perfectly caring mothers don't love their babies.

It is believed that love for their child in women is instinctive - after all, most mothers really love their children in one way or another. But often things are not so simple. And I'm not talking about postpartum depression or parents weary of a tough chore. And I'm certainly not talking about asocial, addicted, or other troubled women, but about the most ordinary who are among us.

One never knows why a woman gives birth. In many cultures, she gives birth when her family forcibly gives her in marriage. She can get pregnant unexpectedly (got knocked up). She gives birth because relatives and friends keep tactlessly reminding: "Tick-tock, dear, it's time." She gives birth to keep a man or gain his opportunities. Gives birth to receive social assistance. Or because that's the common way - there is an absolute majority of such cases. Women just go with the flow, give birth according to tradition, and do not ask themselves uncomfortable questions. Unprepared for motherhood, these women naively believe that they will first give birth and then will fall in love with the baby, and do not even realize that too often it does not work like that...

By the way, the Internet, both in English and in my mother tongues, is replete with revelations of women about their dislike of their own children, intolerance of motherhood, and their broken lives. If interested, google it. Get surprised.

Today I am both a mother and a daughter, and therefore I do not want and cannot be an arbiter in this story. But I suspect that loving your child is like a lottery. Nobody knows who will misfire.

The eternal life drama "mom-daughter" or "mom-son" is not only living for psychologists and various coaches. This drama can even influence the course of world history. What was little Adolf's mother like? Did she love him?.. Did she take him in her arms, hug, smile and caress the boy?.. And Joseph's mother?.. And Mao's?.. And a lot others'?.. The most prominent example today is Afghanistan. I do not publicly comment on the situation with the rights of humans, particularly women (i.e. mothers or future mothers) that is happening there now. But I am closely following it (and horrified). Women without the right to education, sports, career, and, in general, to self-realization, women whose role has been reduced to being just a “field” to regularly produce crops... - this is not sad. It's suicidal. And such women are doomed to give birth too. Living in fear, suppressed, ousted, narrowed in rights and reduced only to their biological functions, will they be enough for love?.. What if not?.. What kind of children will they raise? Even more depressed girls and aggressive boys?..

Each painting in this mini collection is a story. A story of a unloved (unloving) mother and / or unloved (unloving) daughter. I paint more women and write about women because I think I understand us better. Although the “mother-son” relationship (and I am the mother of the son) not only does it have less of a drama but in many cases much more. And this relationship are worthy of further reflection and searching...

P.S. And there is a “real” umbilical cord in every painting of the collection – the thick layer of a paint connecting mother and daughter