May 1–31, 2026
Some things are made to be given.
Some are made through care, through loss, through time.
Some are made for futures we may never see.
MOTHERS is a group exhibition featuring the work of ten Greenville female artists, exploring motherhood, being mothered, and the act of making as a form of care.
Join us on May 1st from 6 pm-9 pm for our Opening Reception and experience the story told through each piece individually and collectively.
Through fiber, quilting, oil painting, collage, and mixed media, each piece offers its own interpretation — quiet, complex, and deeply human.
We invite you to spend time with the work, to reflect, and to take part in the conversation. As a community juried exhibition, YOU are the jurors. Artists work hard to give the world so much, much like mothers. Voting for your favorite work is one way to give back to these artists.
Community voting is open May 1-7. Scroll through the work below (or better yet, come experience it in person) and then vote for the work that speaks to you the most at the bottom of the page. Exhibition awards will be announced on May 8th.
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Mary Lekoshere
Bone of my Bone, Flesh of my Flesh
Oil on birch panel, 11"x15", NFS
“Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,” although historically not used to describe a parent-child relationship, is the instinctual sentiment I felt towards my daughter.
Even though my children are quite literally of me, they do not look like me, as my husband does not look like his mother, and my niece, pictured here, does not exactly resemble hers. There are aspects of my childrens’ lives that I will never be able to relate to completely, yet I am their mother and worthy of the title. This piece is for all the mothers that don’t “match” their children, whether carried in their wombs, or brought to their hearts in the many ways that life brings people together.
The quilted background represents heritage and generations—if not stretching back, then building forwards.
Alyssa Stinedurf
Careful Handling
Mixed media, $285
The beginning of Motherhood is the most vulnerable time of a women's life. Your body changes, grows, and exposes itself to the world. Every part of you is raw and out in the open, while also facing an expectation from everyone around you to maintain standards of conventional beauty and hide your pain. You wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable with your problems. The mother stares on in determination or dissociation, it's hard to tell. I worked with very delicate material for this portrait, creating a translucent painting that blows in the breeze, or simply when someone walks past. Beauty and vulnerability colliding inside a woman alone, exposed, and creating life. Framed in an embroidery hoop, a utilitarian tool designed for stitching and creating, much like the subject herself. She exists in a state of delicacy and creation, herself so vulnerable even a small breeze could disrupt her.
Erika Strickland
Eyries Horizon
Acrylic on canvas, 48"x33" NFS
Eyries Horizon was painted as I sat with the Lord in grief, remembering my sweet 16-week-old nephew, Jacob, and carrying the sorrow of loss alongside my sister, his mother, Christa. Yet the heart of this painting began much earlier—high above the earth. While flying home from Jacob’s funeral, the instrumental piece Eyries by Jakob Ahlbom filled my headphones as the plane entered a vast horizon of clouds. The hills below disappeared beneath mist while light opened across the sky. Suspended between earth and heaven, the experience felt holy and quietly held. Some days after landing, during a time of worship, that stillness in the sky unfolded across the canvas. Seven months later, with shock and tears, I discovered that an eyrie is the high nest of an eagle—hidden in the heights where the young are kept safe. In that realization the image opened: the horizon was not only distance, but a place of keeping—where when Jacob faded from our sight he was not lost, but he was lifted and is held in Christ’s care.
Britany Downey
Teresa, Mary, Bernie
Fiber/Mixed Media, 24"x14" NFS
When my mother passed away this January, my first urge was to pull out the hand-stitched quilts made by my great-grandmother (my mother’s mother’s mother) from the closet and sleep under them. I was overwhelmed and in awe, thinking of her hands cutting the fabric from old clothes and slowly sewing them together, so that now they could keep me warm in the winter. Mothering is thousands of tiny stitches, over and over again, that eventually become warmth for the future. But sometimes, mothers leave unfinished, torn edges behind too.
Mandy Blankenship
I am Like a Drink Poured Out
Hand-dyed indigo cotton; recycled denim, linen, cotton; batting, and sashiko thread, 12”x14” $500
Motherhood is sacrifice. No matter how you come to it–biologically, adoptive, or otherwise–being a parent requires more than we can reasonably give. It means going without sleep, washing mud and vomit and excrement out of prized possessions, bandaging wounds, cheering for nascent talent, laughing at childish jokes, consoling broken hearts, and being interrupted endlessly. There are immeasurable joys and frustrations that pile up on any given day. Motherhood changes our brains and bodies. We become chemically and physiologically new creatures, made to house and create home for these people, who many times don’t make sense but are nevertheless awe-inspiring and full of wonder. Mothering is a crucible and a delight. We have nothing left to give, and yet we gain everything.
I quilt as a response to found materials and in an effort to tell stories through them. I Am Like a Drink Poured Out is made from recycled children’s and adult clothing, new hand-dyed indigo, cotton batting, and sashiko thread. The lines of the thread create the image of a waterfall, tumbling into swirls at the base, on a field of denim, indigo, and a vibrant rust color. Looking closely at the fabric, you’ll see lines worn into it over time–the zigzag from an elastic waistband, remnants of a stitched hem, an old pocket or the void of one. Textiles tell stories through how they are used, but even the words text and textile have the same Latin root: texere means to weave.
Donna Zarbin-Byrne
Höm & Gär’dń
etching with chine collage, 22”x31”, $2,100
Donna Zarbin-Byrne
Being Born
encaustic, plant detritus, collage elements, 11”x6”, $825
In graduate school, I received both implicit and explicit messaging that being a serious artist and motherhood were incompatible. Motherhood became an act of resistance as well as an inspiration, where my practice grew and flourished. I work with paper, fabric, prints, and dimensional objects inspired by my garden and the landscape beyond. I collage plants, photographs, poetry, handmade paper, and beeswax that archive memory and observation. The intricacy and mystery of human life has influenced my practice for over two decades and connected me to the place where the figure, plants, and matter meet. My tactile-based process follows ecosystems and patterns found in nature, where I layer images with materials that have become both substance and symbol. Drawings of my children, botanical imagery, and the landscape coalesce into lyrical abstractions. Traces of nature, time, and memory are translated into mixed media works on paper.
Donna Zarbin-Byrne
Portrait of Siona
mixed media drawing with silk, handmade paper, embroidery hoop NFS
In graduate school, I received both implicit and explicit messaging that being a serious artist and motherhood were incompatible. Motherhood became an act of resistance as well as an inspiration, where my practice grew and flourished. I work with paper, fabric, prints, and dimensional objects inspired by my garden and the landscape beyond. I collage plants, photographs, poetry, handmade paper, and beeswax that archive memory and observation. The intricacy and mystery of human life has influenced my practice for over two decades and connected me to the place where the figure, plants, and matter meet. My tactile-based process follows ecosystems and patterns found in nature, where I layer images with materials that have become both substance and symbol. Drawings of my children, botanical imagery, and the landscape coalesce into lyrical abstractions. Traces of nature, time, and memory are translated into mixed media works on paper.
Amy Miller
Formation
Mixed Media Collage, 16”x20”, $300
This piece reflects the season of longing, preparation, surrender, and being shaped for something sacred. It honors the emotional and spiritual anticipation of becoming a mother and the quiet work of being formed before new life is fully seen.
Amy Miller
Passage
Mixed Media Collage, 16”x20”, $300
This piece reflects the threshold where motherhood is entered through birth, labor, loss, adoption, or deep transformation. It speaks to the crossing between what was and what now is, holding both beauty and sacrafice.
Amy Miller
Devotion
Mixed Media Collage, 16”x20”, $300
A reflection on the enduring love of motherhood. It speaks to the sacred bond between mother and child and the quiet faithfulness of a love that gives, covers, and remains. Through the ordinary rhythms of motherhood, it points to the heart of God and the eternal nature of love.
SArah Mudder
Smoke on the Mountain
Acrylic and graphite on canvas, 24”x33”, NFS
As for so many mothers here in the foothills of the Appalachians, the last few years have been an exercise in holding unexpected tensions. The baby’s 5th birthday party and your neighbor’s home washed away in a mountain hurricane. Having to choose the pool for the day because the lake of your childhood is cut off by raging wildfires. Your children didn’t get to say goodbye to their great grandmother because they were no longer her precious little loved ones, they were now deemed vectors of disease. From where I stand, we’ve carried and navigated so much, therefore this is a little love note to us, the mothers of my generation. In the midst of it all, we were beautiful and we stewarded beauty. We are making it through.
SArah Mudder
To the Moon
Acrylic on canvas, 12”x6”, NFS
When I am old and gray I imagine my mind will drift to their magical, tiny days when they were the embodiment of belief, exploration, and innocence. Their childhood was and continues to be my dream come true.
Wendy Driscoll
