Milk, Clay, and Ashes

I’m a middle-aged woman who had babies late—too late, some might say.
Because I waited. Chased the dream. Built the career. Delayed the rest.
I grabbed every tool, every tech, every coil that gave me control over pregnancy.
Control felt like power. Freedom.
Motherhood? Later. Maybe never.
Because in today’s world, motherhood is treated like a career killer.
And I believed it.
But Jōmon pots told me otherwise.
Even as hunter-gatherers, the Jōmon shaped elaborate fertility vessels.
Because birth was incredibly dangerous.
No scans. No epidurals. No safety nets.
Motherhood meant risking everything.
Today, we survive the birth. But the woman inside the mother? Not always.
So they made these vessels—part prayer, part protection, part celebration.
Symbols to hold fear, to call in strength.
Clay guardians for mothers and the lives inside them.
When my first son, Issey, was born, I ran back to the studio. Fast.
Hired a nanny. Missed his first step, first word.
I fought like hell to keep motherhood out of my studio.
I was terrified it would ruin everything I’d built.
I pretended I hadn’t changed.
But I had.
A new studio era began—haunted by my old self.
I felt torn. Artist or mother.
Scared of becoming irrelevant. Mumsy. Forgotten.
Trying to prove I was still the same—just with breast pumps and less sleep.
Then came Hakuseki. My second son.
Something shifted.
I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
I was being reshaped. Not erased—but re-formed.
Now I make work honestly—brutally honest.
It’s not serene. It’s not quiet.
Clay in one hand. Four kids bouncing around the studio—and in my head.
It’s a fight. A wrestle. A daily negotiation with time, noise, love, and self.
And I ask:
Can we talk about this without shame?
Can motherhood be a force—not a flaw?
I’m building new talismans.
For working mamas.
Not-yet mamas.
The almost-mamas, might-never-be mamas.
We have no map. No precedent. So I’m making new ones.
Fertility vessels for women today.
Not the end. The birth of new mythology.
A talisman that honours the mess.
That witnesses the sacred shift.

We are the vessel.
We are the fire.
We are the artists.

We got this. (With a Baby Monitor.)

Noe

ROUGH DIMENSIONS: H: 45cm x W: 28 cm x D: 25 cm

(approx.)