If the sense of belonging could be formalised, it would take form in the art of Carmen Schabracq (Amsterdam, 1988). The Mothers I Wear – a visually stunning and conceptually intense exhibition – is currently on show in RedLab Gallery a Milano. Under the charmingly insightful curation of Leonardo Regano, the corpus of Schabracq’s artwork becomes a narration of generational continuity, lightness of collectivity and conscious motherhood.
Carmen Shabracq, “The Mothers I Wear”, installation view with “Piece of Life Tree”, 2024, applied linen, wool and velvet. Photo Simona Foi, courtesy Red Lab Gallery
Valeria Radkevych: As soon as I entered the gallery, I had an immediate visual impression. Your art speaks of feminism through the female body in the most sincere way possible. Formally, it does not align with conventional feminist art, but it is feminist on many other levels. In the centre, one work immediately catches the eye: a horse blanket shaped like a woman’s skin, soft and welcoming. Have I understood correctly?
Carmen Schabracq: Yes, exactly, you’ve got it spot on. My feminism is more connected to the female body than to direct political discourse, even though I think that, ultimately, it’s always political. I believe it concerns everyone, and it’s important that men are feminists too. I celebrate the biological dimension of women, but I don’t want to mythologise motherhood: a woman without children is just as powerful. It’s essential that it doesn’t become an obligation. For me, however, motherhood was an experience that made me come to understand many things.
As a matter of fact, your work does not promote motherhood as a social concept, but as a corporeal experience. This is evident in The Ring of Fire, for example.
The Ring of Fire celebrates the most intense and beautiful moment of childbirth, when the baby’s head appears and vital energy is at its peak. It connects to art history, where women giving birth or showing their vulva becomes a symbol of strength and protection. My experience of childbirth was incredibly positive and gave a more powerful meaning to this story. During labour, I felt like an animal, guided by instinct. Even though I do a lot of research in my work, my way of creating also remains instinctive.
Carmen Shabracq, “The Ring of Fire”, 2024, wool and acrylic, crochet. Photo by Simona Foi, courtesy of Red Lab Gallery
It seems that the birth of your daughter prompted you to reflect on family ties and relationships with others. The work When Roots Start Riding Horses depicts a horse made up of human bodies. Is this a reference to the collectivity?
Motherhood made me reflect on my ancestors. Having a daughter means passing something on, but art works in the same way, always leaving something for the future. The idea behind the work is based on a concept similar to “we stand on the shoulders of giants”, but I don’t think we should see the past as being superior to us. Each of us is made up of many people that we carry within us and pass on to our children. Family can be biological or chosen. The horse, linked to my surname Schabracq, which means “horse blanket”, symbolises migration and nomadism. My Jewish family has always had to move around before settling in Amsterdam, and I think we all carry traces of these movements with us. This work is about memory and migration, but also about the awareness of the traumas that can shape generations and that we can try to pass on in a more light-hearted way.
Carmen Schabracq, “When Roots Start Riding Horses”, 2024, oil on linen. Photo Simona Foi, courtesy Red Lab Gallery
It’s nice that the horse stands for family background. So, is collective memory at the heart of your research? A series of self-portraits here, as I imagine, won’t be self-congratulatory, but will always reflect the familiar dimension.
Both portraits are about me, but also about my mother and grandmother, especially My Ancestors’ Wings, where their likenesses are clearly visible. In a way, they are also portraits of them, because they are part of me. I painted myself wearing the traditional clothes of my maternal family, who come from Flanders in Zeeland, linked to rural life and the history of my homeland. In addition to the high, pointed shoulders, there is a particular detail in the traditional costume of Axel: the “golden curls”. These are two horns protruding from the white hat, a jewel the origin of which is difficult to trace because those who knew its history are no longer with us.
Carmen Schabracq, “My Ancestors Wings”, 2025, oil on linen; “Great Grandmother”, 2025, oil on linen. Photo Simona Foi, courtesy Red Lab Gallery
Speaking of horns. The masks, which feature strongly in your work and often have horns, are they a dressing-up costume or a hiding place for you?
Masks have always fascinated me. I have been studying them for about 20 years, because they are both art objects and ritual instruments, present in all cultures, especially in the most isolated places, such as mountains and islands. I don’t use them to hide myself, but to enter another world, performative and imaginary, linked to pagan traditions and play. I am touched by how they can be both frightening and funny, harsh and tender: I think of the Bulgarian devils or the figures of Southern Italy, who chase away evil with something beautiful and playful. This ambivalence excites me because it brings sweetness and lightness to life.
One of your paintings, The Great-Grandmother, made me smile. It’s a skull, so is that how you imagine your great-grandmother?
Yes, because all that remains of ancestors whose faces you don’t know is their skull. For example, I have a real skull in my studio, and I really like having real objects to draw inspiration from. It was given to me as a gift, and I often find myself imagining who this person might have been when they were alive.
Valeria Radkevych
Info:
Carmen Schabracq. The Mothers I Wear
24/09/2025 – 15/11/2025
Red Lab Gallery
via Solari 46, Milano
redlabgallery.com
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