As a child, by mimicry, I projected myself into an adult life—a perfect mother standing in front of a beautiful house with a lush green lawn. Today, on the threshold of my thirties and without children, I question this “dream” a great deal: the preconceived notions of happiness, of the fulfilled woman, and of motherhood as the ultimate goal. As if ecstasy lay in giving birth (in holding the status of mother) without that experience leaving any mark on a body that is still expected to attract the gaze.

Does this definition of happiness as it relates to womanhood truly belong to me? Was the idea that success lies in motherhood instilled in me?

With Mothers and Monsters, I wanted to question—ironically—the model of the ideal mother in our consumerist, sensationalist society, and our obsession with a preconceived idea of success.

In an era where capitalism and the obsession with image reach their peak, where Instagram moms and their influencer babies flood social media, the film explores the ideal of the family as the ultimate goal to be achieved at all costs.

Drawing inspiration from both American housewives of the 1960s and those of today, I wanted to bear witness to the social pressure weighing on women—an imposed destiny shaped by society—by creating a world in which it would be possible to have children without effort.

In the upper social classes, women have long been able to hire employees to care for their children and now even have the privilege of choosing not to carry their babies themselves. But then: why do we have babies? “Where are all the nannies on Instagram” ?

Fascinated by surrealism and dreams, but also by social phenomena such as gender reveal parties, unboxing, and global systems of exploitation, I wanted to create an allegorical, timeless portrait of the perfect mother—one in which the artificial and the organic, beauty and ugliness, the bourgeoisie and the working class confront one another, and where the viewer is free to decipher the symbols and make them their own.