When reading about Tabitha Soren’s photographic series Motherload, the first thing to capture my attention is her concept statement: "This project began as a hedge against life as a mother overtaking life as an artist." The second is the following admission: "There have always been women artists, including very driven ones, who have never harbored doubts about the feasibility of straddling the line between motherhood and creative accomplishment. Motherload is not for them."
If you’re not yet familiar with Soren’s work, she has carved out a unique space within photographic arts, focusing less on capturing any “decisive moment” and more on immortalising the nuanced moments of in-between and belation. Drawing from her experience as a TV journalist, Soren’s portfolio is filled with explorations of what she calls "impediments to the humanistic encounter"—the challenges and disruptions that shape our experience of the world. In Motherload, she expertly captures the chaotic, repetitive, and often invisible aspects of daily care that can overwhelm a mother’s identity and extinguish any form of creative fire.
So, why did Soren’s project statements strike me with such intensity? While contemporary discourse on the trials of motherhood is gaining ascendancy—“the sleep deprivation of newborn life is only the beginning of the emotionally turbulent and physically draining rollercoaster that is motherhood”—globally, we are still recovering from an over-polished view of maternal life. There remains to be a great deal of shame surrounding the hardship of motherhood, as if admitting the challenge is akin to admitting incompetence as a parent: “The pressure to love being a mom was overwhelming in my community, and this project was a way to grapple with that pressure and feelings of ambivalence about being a mom or my ability to be a good mom.”
This project refuses to pander to such pressures, and its confrontational nature—unwilling to conceal this “sloppy, ugly, disheveled time of life”—is spellbinding. “Instead of bliss, I felt very taxed and very needed, yet also very invisible. The ghostly images capture that ethereal quality of not feeling like a whole person. In the photographs, I’m not really in focus because my brain wasn’t in focus either. I was also out of view from much of the outside world because I was on my side of the bed, nursing, napping, consoling, rocking, changing diapers, etc. Honestly, being an artist and a mom is like running with weights on.”
As a photographer, Soren is accustomed to seeking clarity, but in this series, the deliberate soft focus and the passage of time evoke a sense of impermanence and motion. The portraits are further layered by the presence of two sisters, moving in and out of the frame, adding complexity and depth to the intimate scenes. The result is a body of work that is not merely a reflection of one woman’s experience, but rather a profound meditation on the constantly evolving, interconnected—and, at times, solitary—nature of motherhood.
We are not unfamiliar with rageful or grotesque works from women artists, from Judith Beheading Holofernes to The Three Minute Scream, but sleep-deprived, isolated, running-on-fumes mothers? Less so. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve checked another woman artist’s biography to see if she is a mom. I think, oh god, her work is so great, but does she have children? Like, are we in the same race?” It’s not that a new genre has been born—Soren encourages readers seeking to explore more works and interpretations of modern motherhood to pick up a copy of Mother Reader—but rather that only now, even if partially, does the world seem ready to talk about the limiting nature of motherhood in the arts. Soren agrees that this is part of what spurred her to continue with the series: “I’d never seen this kind of work before. Not because it didn’t exist, but because there wasn’t a platform for it. And that’s a really good reason to pursue it.”
The use of aerial photography feels particularly poignant in this piece, a time when mothers, though somewhat quarantined, often feel exposed and at risk of judgement. I wonder aloud whether this technique serves as a metaphor, particularly with regard to showing a wider perspective on mothering, rather than focusing on an individual experience. “For me, the camera POV was essential to keep the camera equipment in the room at all times, but out of the way of my husband and children bumping into it or breaking it. However, it does allow a more universal approach to the subject since it’s from ‘on high.’”
The locked-off shot was the most essential element of Motherload. Its consistency allows even just a day of Motherload to layer into one another, capturing the exquisite and trying intimacy of early motherhood. “I love that in one Motherload photograph, time elongates and space shrinks.” Soren layers all 400 photographs from the series in My Great American Novel* in a moving time-lapse. “One of the main challenges I’ve faced as a woman artist is the conflict I feel about caring for someone, loving someone, yet remaining dedicated to my art in an undivided way. I think that, generally, men find it much easier to be selfish. And you do need to be selfish. I think the reason I keep working on motherhood in so many iterations is that the process helped me realize more deeply that I am both an artist and a mom—and that I am as proud of one kind of expression as the other.”
If I may offer an interpretation, I see persistence and tenacity in all of these scenes; any rage, no doubt felt against the lack of support for women artists, is used as creative fuel and quietly layered into the pieces. It is perhaps for this reason that, when Soren looks back at these works, she feels “like a survivor.”
Yes, the project is absolutely a hedge against life as a mother overtaking life as an artist—and not for those who deny the challenges faced by women creatives. Yet, they are far from hopeless. “My art delves into the pockets of pain we live in, but also the hope that carries us through. This is why my work takes so long to make—there are layers of experience, both highs and lows, woven into every piece. Exploring psychological states has always been at the core of my work, whether the subjects are athletes, babies, or fingerprints. Each image reflects the depth of human experience, and that depth requires time to unfold.”
Conclusion
Motherload, a project 15 years in the making, extends beyond Soren’s personal story, inviting viewers into the shared, universal experience of maternal connection. Soren is not interested in dissecting identity or detailing specific moments of pain or trauma; rather, her focus lies in uncovering the subtle, often intangible threads that bind us all. This is no easy feat, as it requires avoiding the pitfalls of sentimentality or cliché. Yet, her work remains deeply rooted in the raw, unvarnished reality of life. *The title of this work stems from Soren’s husband writing and releasing a best-selling novel during the time she was only able to focus on “keeping this baby alive”.
For a closer inspection of Soren's photography, please visit her gallery or get in touch.