MOMification

​Of all the transformations a woman may experience, surely one of the most miraculous—and bewildering—is motherhood.

​Is that wonder we see?
Terror?
Exhaustion?
Perhaps all three.
Her expression begs the question...

How in the name of all things holy did this happen!

The sarcophagus seemed an appropriate container. Motherhood is, after all, both a birth and a burial. A child is born, but something of the woman who existed before that child is born disappears. Not lost—but transmuted. Her old life, her old freedoms, even her old understanding of herself are rearranged around this astonishing new creature who is utterly dependent upon her.

​On the sarcophagus' exterior, ancient Egypt morphs  with modern motherhood.
There she is driving her chariot, children aboard, soccer ball in hand, racing toward the next obligation. The family dog runs alongside—or perhaps that's Anubis, jackal-headed guardian of the dead. Frankly, when you're late for soccer practice, either seems plausible.

​On the other side, Mother offers ice cream cones to eager children while the family cat—or possibly Bast, Egyptian goddess of protection, pleasure and domestic life—observes from above.
The sacred and the mundane have become indistinguishable.
And perhaps that's the point.
Motherhood is creation at its most elemental, followed almost immediately by laundry, sleepless nights, scraped knees, snacks, carpools, forgotten homework and the profound realization that love is limitless.