Becoming, Being, Unbecoming

Rebecca Pesa

This Morning · This Afternoon · This Evening

Series of three · [Medium] · [Sizes]

Do you ever look at your kids and think, how did I get so lucky?

That's what this painting is about for me. Those little moments when you stop and think, I actually can't believe I get to be their mum.

This started one morning when my baby and I were outside playing with colour in the sun, with the chooks wandering around us. It's that feeling I get watching my eldest do two backflips on the trampoline, or just looking at them and feeling so bloody lucky.

Of course, a lot of the time motherhood is hectic. There's a million things going on, and with my ADHD brain, I don't always find it easy to just be in the moment. I'm often thinking about the next thing, or the thing I've forgotten, or everything that needs doing. Sometimes it takes a little moment like this to stop and realise just how good life actually is.

I made this painting from one of those mornings. Then I cut it up and started playing with the colours and patterns, and it became something completely different.

This is the first of three little pieces: This Morning, This Afternoon and This Evening. Each one a little moment in time.

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Rebecca Pesa

Joy

[Medium] · [Size]

Joy is one of those things I don't think you can force. Sometimes it's obvious, and sometimes it's buried underneath everything else that comes with being a mother.

This work is about that feeling. The brightness, the energy and the moments that remind you how much there is to love, even when everything feels like a lot.

I wanted to make something that felt joyful without needing to explain itself.

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Rebecca Pesa

Lineage

[Medium] · [Size]

I keep coming back to the idea of what we inherit. Not just the things we can name, but the things we carry without always knowing where they came from.

The weaving in this work speaks to those connections. The threads of family, the women who came before us, and the things that are passed down through generations. Some of these things hold us together; others are ours to question, change or let go of.

Becoming a mother has made me think differently about what I carry forward, and what I want my own children to inherit.

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Rebecca Pesa

Nan's Garden

[Medium] · [Size]

This work comes from thinking about my mum and the way care can be expressed through the simplest things. Gardening has always held a particular place in my memories of her.

There is something about tending to a garden that feels connected to motherhood. You put in the time, you nurture what is growing, and you learn that not everything happens when or how you expect it to.

Since becoming a mother myself, I have found myself looking back at these ordinary moments differently. They become part of the story of where we come from, and the ways we learn to care for one another.

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Rebecca Pesa

Love Letters to Eli

[Medium] · [Size]

So many nights, it was just you and me, awake together in the quiet.

When Eli was born, I wrote a journal entry about how me and the night were enemies.

I was up so much with him, like most new mums are, and I remember feeling really lonely in those early hours.

I used to look out towards the sea and see the cargo ships, or just a couple of little lights out there in the darkness. And somehow that made me realise I wasn't the only person awake with my baby.

There were other people out there. Other mums awake with their babies. Other little lives happening while the rest of the world was asleep.

And that made me feel less alone.

Over time, the night actually became something I loved. It became this really special time with Eli. Just the two of us awake together, looking at his perfect little face while everything else was quiet.

It's funny because I used to hate the night, and then this little boy came along and completely changed that for me.

That's why this piece is called Love Letters to Eli. It's really a love letter to those nights with him.

The woven element you'll see throughout a lot of my work has also become really important to me. It represents motherhood, gender roles, feminine heritage and lineage, and the things we carry with us from the women who came before us.

In this piece, even the house is made from that woven form.

But really, this one is just about me and my first baby, awake together in the quiet.

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Rebecca Pesa

My Sons & My Moons

[Medium] · [Size]

Becoming a mother has changed the way I understand time, identity and the rhythms of everyday life.

My children have become part of how I measure the world. There are different phases, different needs and different versions of myself that seem to emerge along the way.

The sun and moon imagery speaks to these changing rhythms. Motherhood is not one fixed state. It moves between light and darkness, closeness and distance, certainty and the constant feeling that you are still figuring it out.

This work reflects the world I find myself in now, shaped by the children I love and the person I am still becoming.

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Rebecca Pesa

Vessels

[Medium] · [Size]

The vessel has become a way for me to think about the female body, motherhood and the things we carry.

A vessel can hold, contain, protect and give. It can also be emptied, broken or changed by what it has held. I am interested in these contradictions, and in how our understanding of ourselves shifts throughout our lives.

The series moves through three figures: The Maiden, The Mother and The Ancestor. They are not intended as fixed definitions of womanhood, but as ways of thinking about the different stages, roles and histories that live within us.

We are shaped by those who came before us, by what we experience ourselves, and by what we choose to pass on.

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Rebecca Pesa

Everyone's Invited to Dinner

[Medium] · [Size]

Coming from a Greek background, so much of how we show love is through hospitality. I've always really enjoyed having people over.

I have been thinking about the idea of the village: the people who gather around a family, share the load and make space for one another. The tables in this work are a representation of that village, and of company.

When I had my son, my village showed up in such a huge way. And when my youngest son had an accident last year, I was surrounded by love, by people, by my village.

Motherhood can be isolating, even when you are surrounded by people. We are often expected to manage so much on our own, when so much of raising children has traditionally happened within a wider family and community.

The table becomes a place to come together. A place for stories, food, mess, arguments, laughter and connection. Not everything has to be perfect for everyone to have a place.

And the wine glasses? Just a quirky little mum life vibe.

This work is an invitation to gather, to make room for one another, and to remember that we were never meant to do it all alone.

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Rebecca Pesa

Prayers to the Suns

[Medium] · [Size]

There are so many things I want for my children that I cannot give them or protect them from. Becoming a mother has made me understand how much love can sit alongside uncertainty, and how often we find ourselves hoping for the best without knowing what the future will bring.

The small red Greek squares in this work are like prayers for my son. They connect my hopes for him with my own Greek heritage, bringing together the family I come from and the family I am raising.

For me, the work is about the quiet hopes we carry for our children. The things we wish for them, the things we fear, and the love that sits underneath all of it.

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Rebecca Pesa

Tapestry

15 blocks · Chalk on timber [confirm]

This work is a response to my experience of infertility and IVF.

I chose chalk because of its imperfections. Every stroke is visible. Each mark meets another, but never in exactly the same way. I was drawn to the honesty of that. The evidence of every movement, every attempt, every mark left behind.

My journey through infertility and IVF was made up of individual cycles, each carrying its own weight. Hope, disappointment, waiting and trying again became part of a process that was difficult to explain to anyone who had not experienced it.

The tapestry brings these marks together. None of them tells the whole story on its own, but together they hold something of what that journey felt like.

Each small block has its own colour, texture and character, but it also becomes part of something bigger when placed alongside the others. I am interested in the way separate experiences can sit together without losing what makes each one distinct.

This connects with the broader ideas in my work around motherhood, family and the things we carry. We are made up of many different moments, some joyful and some difficult, that gradually become part of who we are.

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Rebecca Pesa

The Knowing

[Medium] · [Size]

This work developed through the process of making rather than from a fully formed idea.

I followed the colours, patterns and textures as they emerged, allowing one decision to lead to the next. Sometimes I knew what I wanted to do; other times, I had to trust the process without knowing where it would take me.

There is a kind of knowing that comes from making, from paying attention, trying things and allowing yourself to change direction. It does not always arrive as a clear answer. Sometimes you recognise it only once the work is finished.

For me, this piece holds something of that experience: learning to trust my instincts and allowing the work to become what it needs to be.

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Renee Brightman

Nana's Garden I

98 × 98 cm · Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas

Nana's Garden is a heartfelt depiction of my mother's garden, a place where flowers, colour and life come together in beautiful abundance.

Bursting with colour and full bloom, the garden is a reflection of the warmth, love and comfort that make a house feel like home. A place where everything grows a little wild, where beauty is found in the imperfect, and where you instantly feel a sense of belonging.

Through layers of acrylic and expressive oil pastel, Nana's Garden captures not just the flowers themselves, but the feeling of being there. The familiarity, the nostalgia and the quiet joy of a garden lovingly tended over time.

A celebration of the spaces that hold our memories, the women who nurture them, and the simple beauty of feeling at home.

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Renee Brightman

Nana's Garden II

[Medium] · [Size]

Nana's Garden is a loving tribute to my grandmother and the beautiful garden she has so tenderly nurtured over the years. A place where everything has its place, yet nature is given the freedom to flourish. Where every flower, every pathway and every little detail feels thoughtfully considered and lovingly cared for.

At the heart of the garden are her iconic hydrangeas, blooming in rich burgundies, soft pinks and beautiful blues. Amongst the flowers grow snap peas, ready to be picked and eaten as you wander through the garden. A simple little pleasure that makes exploring this beautiful space feel even more special.

There is an artistry to the way my grandmother gardens. A quiet tenderness in the way she tends to each flower, creating something that is not only pristine and beautiful, but warm, welcoming and full of life. A place where nature is not just something to admire, but something to touch, taste and experience.

Nana's Garden is a celebration of her love, creativity and the beauty she has cultivated. A reflection of how a garden can become an extension of the person who cares for it, and how the spaces we lovingly create become part of the memories and stories passed down through generations.

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Renee Brightman

Washing on the Line

4 × 20 × 20 cm · Acrylic on canvas

Washing on the Line is a reflection of the endless cycle of washing that comes with motherhood. The sheets, the towels, the swimmers, the tiny clothes and the beloved toys. A never-ending rotation of washing, drying, folding and starting all over again.

But amongst the mundane is something quite beautiful. Every stain, every speck of dirt, every bit of food and grime tells a story of a life being lived. Of adventures had, meals shared, puddles jumped in and memories made.

What can sometimes feel like an endless chore is also a quiet reminder of a home full of life, love and little people growing. A celebration of the ordinary moments of motherhood, and the beauty found in the everyday chaos.

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Renee Brightman

The Forgotten Fruit

50 × 50 cm · Acrylic on canvas

The Forgotten Fruit is a playful reflection of the everyday chaos of motherhood, captured through the humble family fruit bowl. Half-eaten apples, forgotten pears, fruit that was desperately wanted yesterday but completely rejected today. Some fresh, some bruised, some slowly growing mould, all telling their own little story.

It's the endless cycle of offering, preparing, peeling and picking up after little hands that take one bite before moving on to the next adventure. A familiar scene of changing minds and fleeting appetites. What might seem like a bowl of forgotten fruit is really a snapshot of family life.

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Renee Brightman

The Flannel Flower

[Size] · Acrylic on canvas

The Flannel Flower began as an exploration of postpartum depression, an attempt to capture the heaviness, darkness and emotional weight of a time that once felt all-consuming. But as paint met canvas, something unexpected began to emerge.

Through layers of deep blue and darkness came light, soft greens and flowers in full bloom. What was intended to reflect a difficult chapter became a beautiful realisation of just how much life had grown beyond it.

The flannel flower, a symbol of gentleness, healing, inner calm, resilience and adaptability, became a fitting reflection of this journey through motherhood. A reminder of the quiet strength it takes to move through difficult seasons, to soften, to heal and to find yourself again amongst the changes.

The darkness is still there, woven into the layers beneath, but it is no longer the whole story. In its place is growth, knowledge, fulfilment, love and the excitement of new beginnings.

The Flannel Flower is a celebration of becoming. Of finding beauty in the journey, strength in softness and recognising that even after the darkest seasons, we can bloom again.

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Renee Brightman

While You Sleep

[Size] · Acrylic on canvas

While You Sleep captures one of the quietest and most tender moments of motherhood. A child sleeping peacefully in bed, the world around them finally still, and the beautiful calm that settles over a home after a day full of noise, movement and life.

There is something so special about these fleeting moments. The little hands that have been busy exploring, the feet that have been running, the voice that has filled every corner of the house, all finally at rest.

It's in this stillness that we get to pause, to look at the little person in front of you and feel the overwhelming love that exists amongst the exhaustion and chaos of motherhood.

A gentle reminder of how quickly these moments pass, and how sometimes the most ordinary, peaceful scenes become the memories we hold onto the longest.

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