Bianca Raffaella Remnants of First Touches, 2026

Much of the raw pale umber linen remains exposed. A pale, fragmented figure emerges through the centre of the canvas. A rounded head-like form appears in the upper middle, but the rest of the body breaks apart into separate white, grey and blue traces. Dark charcoal-grey lines curve across the centre, while watery blue paint runs downward through the lower half. Faint areas of gold appear to the right, glowing softly against the linen.

The mother and baby are not clearly separated into two bodies. Instead, the image feels like a collection of traces: a head, a curve, a touch, a stain of colour. I used a dry brush in parts of this painting, so the surface becomes rough and scratchy.

This work comes from the first days after my son was born. He needed blue-light treatment and was repeatedly moved in and out of an incubation tank. The blue in the painting comes from that light. The gold makes me think of the small syringes of colostrum, and of those brief periods when he was allowed out of the tank. Sometimes it was only about fifteen minutes.

I remember feeling as though he wasn't quite mine yet. The treatment had taken over everything. He was meant to wear a mask to protect his eyes from the blue light. Because of my sight, I couldn't independently check whether that mask was properly in place. I found that frightening. So when I remember those first moments of skin-to-skin contact, tenderness and fear are mixed together. The memory itself feels hazy.

That is what I wanted the painting to hold.