Maman Vulva

Acrylic and Collage on Wood Panel | 30×30 inches | 2025 | Divine Feminine

What is a woman?

Not the answer anyone gives you. Not the legal definition or the biological one or the cultural one or the one that gets argued about on the internet at three in the morning. The real answer. The one that lives in the body and the memory and the dream and the drawer full of things you kept for reasons you couldn't quite explain at the time but understood completely later.

Maman Vulva is that answer.

Think of those antique wooden letterpress trays — the ones with dozens of small compartments that people hang on walls and fill with shells and stones and buttons and small found objects, each one a memory, each one a talisman, each one a piece of a story that only makes complete sense to the person who collected it. This painting is that tray. Its compartments are made of collaged paper and anatomical illustration and dream fragments and found text and blue crystal and body parts rendered in the cool language of medical science alongside the warm language of lived experience.

Here is the spine, mapped with the precision of a nineteenth century anatomist. Here is the heart, its chambers labelled in a language that has nothing to do with love and everything to do with the muscle that keeps us alive regardless of what we feel. Here is the hand. Here are the feet. Here is the skeleton — the architecture beneath everything, the structure that carries all the softness above it without complaint, without recognition, without anyone ever stopping to say thank you to their own bones for the extraordinary work they do.

And scattered through all of that scientific precision — the other things. The things the anatomy textbook never covered. Blue crystal formations that carry their own ancient energy. The word MAMAN in wooden letters, the first word most of us ever said, the word that contains an entire universe of need and comfort and complicated love. The letters V U L V A spelled out with the same wooden type — not as provocation, not as shock, but as simple, radical, long-overdue naming. A blue book, closed, its contents private. Fragments of the female torso in various states — classical, photographic, illustrated — the body seen from every angle except the one that reduces it to a single thing.

A woman is the spine and the heart and the crystal and the word maman and the bones of the feet that carry her everywhere she has ever gone. She is the dream captured on waking before it dissolves. She is the talisman kept in a drawer. She is the recipe passed down without being written, the memory that lives in the hands rather than the mind, the thing she knows without knowing how she knows it.

She is all of this simultaneously. She has always been all of this simultaneously. This painting simply had the audacity to put it all in one place and say — look. This is what a woman is. All of it. At once. In thirty square inches of wood and paper and paint and crystal and the wooden letters of her first word and her most essential word and every word she has ever been afraid to say out loud.

✦ Original, one-of-a-kind painting ✦ Acrylic and collage on wood panel ✦ 30 × 30 inches ✦ Created 2025 ✦ Part of the Divine Feminine series ✦ Free worldwide shipping

Spine. Heart. Crystal. Maman. All of it — woman.