Social Art “Between a mother and an artist” Shizuoka edition(2)
October 12th Shizuoka Performance: Mikita Hase Presents “Otodama Yakai vol.9 — Ega-ku-” Featuring Japanse percussion, Wadaiko Mikita Hase × Original Instruments Katsutoshi Shirasuna × Singing and dancing Ekotumi.
“Between a mother and an artist” is a social art project currently in progress. Through my activities as an artist and a mother, I, Ekotumi, will explore over the course of three years whether it is possible to balance motherhood with an artistic career, and if not, why not. If it is possible, under what circumstances can this balance be achieved? I will reflect on these questions through my interactions with society.
🌏Details
https://ekotumi.medium.com/social-art-between-a-mother-and-an-artist-1-643c50aad36a
As both an artist and a mother, the challenges of balancing the two can be summed up as follows:
- Securing the time and mental focus (concentration) for practice and creating work
- Arranging the time and focus for rehearsals and performances, as well as babysitting during those times
- Managing transportation to venues with my child
- Maintaining both my and my child’s health
Then there are the associated costs. Listing every detail would be endless, but if I were to name the main anxieties and difficulties, that’s about what they would be.
A few days before the performance, Hase-san, the organizer, sent over the schedule. Among the To-Dos for each staff member, there was a “Babysitting Staff” section highlighted in red. Ever since my daughter Mini-Tumi turned one, I’ve become much more emotional, and just seeing that note made my heart swell. Even though he’d promised support, knowing they’d gone out of their way to ensure that an “artist with a baby” could focus on her work — taking on extra costs and efforts — touched me deeply. Honestly, I’m not sure if I would’ve been as accommodating if I’d been asked to make such adjustments before giving birth myself. Filled with gratitude, I continued preparing for the day.
Then, a new issue arose due to the changing autumn weather. First, Mini-Tumi’s health. Second, her belongings. My little one, who’s still building her immunity, catches every cold. With days swinging from warm to cool — short-sleeve weather by day, long sleeves by night, and chilly mornings — she soon had a runny nose. And this directly impacted my own health. Even with a mask, her sneezes would sometimes sneak through, exposing me to every cold germ she had. I never imagined before giving birth that maintaining my health would be such a monumental task. Before giving birth, I naïvely thought as long as I managed night feedings and crying spells, everything else would work out. Such wishful thinking was like a useless husband’s attitude. Determined to keep my throat healthy and avoid catching a cold, I ate relentlessly — lots of nutritious food, fruits, and sweet milk for throat protection, even though I rarely drink it. I couldn’t fight the battle if I didn’t fuel myself. Though I didn’t step on the scale, I suspect I gained about two kilos in that last week before the performance.
Next came packing for Mini-Tumi. Clothes for warm weather, clothes for cool weather, cozy pajamas, a light jacket for layering, and a heavy coat. The unpredictable temperature swings meant I packed way too much, not knowing what would actually be necessary. I used to be a minimalist when it came to my own belongings, but I’ve since learned to pare down even more. The human can surpass its limits, apparently. With all my gear and Mini-Tumi’s clothes, I was looking at two full suitcases. I knew bringing a baby carriage would be impossible. So, I added a compact blanket to our luggage in case she needed a nap on-site (though, as expected, she ended up stepping on it in her shoes and never used it for napping). The two suitcases were crammed. For a mere two-night trip, the sheer volume was daunting — it truly felt like a test of physical capacity.
I bundled Mini-Tumi in the baby carrier string, stacked a big bag containing her travel essentials (toys, mostly) on top of the suitcase, and pushed it along with my other hand as we headed toward the Shinkansen platform. Even though we’d arrived at the station 30 minutes early, unlike during rehearsals, we barely made it to the platform in time. Mini-Tumi, who I hoped would sleep, was ecstatic to see so many Shinkansen trains departing, waving excitedly. Clearly, there’d be no napping on the train.
As expected, Mini-Tumi stayed awake the entire time. While carrying her, I rolled my two suitcases to the reserved large-luggage area. Though my bags weren’t oversized by any means, I’d booked this spot since they wouldn’t fit in a regular seat. But when I arrived, I was dumbfounded. The storage space was split into an upper and lower section, and every seat in my row could only use the top space. How could that be? It’s a designated “large luggage” area, so of course it’s going to be heavy! I didn’t weigh them, but with my equipment, each suitcase had to be over 20 kilos, and I couldn’t lift them, especially with Mini-Tumi in my arms. The lower area was empty, but for some reason, it was out of bounds. Even travelers from overseas with large, heavy luggage would struggle with this. I couldn’t understand why it was designed this way. If the lower part is free, let us use it! The whole system seemed to assume that “if I can do it, surely everyone else can too,” reflecting a mindset that disregards individual circumstances. Since having my child, I’ve developed these small grievances. I think it’s because, before giving birth, I could get by with brute force when needed; now, I simply can’t.
Seeing university students in line for the elevator they don’t really need, or people leaning against the baby carriage space on the train, absorbed in their phones — since becoming a mother, I encounter both immense kindness and stark indifference. Things I used to brush off with “well, that’s just how it is” now leave me sighing deeply. Is it selfish of me to wish people could imagine things from a different perspective?
