Baby Earth

They call the sticky, mostly clay mud under Houston “gumbo.” We’d dug a bunch of it up in a field and used it once in my sculpture class at the University of Houston–the day I made my first baby. After I finished it, I carried it over to the road and set it against the curb to dry and crumble apart, sort of as a joke. It wasn’t a baby to me; it was just clay. A couple of days later someone saw a road crew stop and reunite its head with its body and set it out of “harm’s way.” Those guys inspired me by making it clear that a baby is precious and should be protected even if it’s made of dirt . . . just like the earth!

And suddenly I had an Earth Day project. It wasn’t an assignment; I just wanted to do it. So a few weeks later, I filled up 5-gallon buckets of the heavy, wet, black-gray-green-brown gumbo I scooped out of the gashes made by crews fixing the sewers around campus. Once I had it all in the back of my station wagon, I brought it to the studio and made five more babies. I put them in plastic bags so they’d stay moist and so I could carry them and place them around the outdoor Miller Theater at Herman Park for the big Earth Day celebration. A few days in advance, I’d made five little baby bracelets out of the one-letter-at-a-time beads that usually spell out a baby’s name. My babies’ bracelets said, “BABY EARTH.” My thinking was that people would care more about the earth if it was a baby rather than if it stayed a mother. Although mothers are supposedly revered in patriarchy, they aren’t taken seriously. . . just like the earth! (See how that just keeps happening?!)

So . . . late at night on Earth Day Eve, I got a friend to help me bring the babies to the park. I was just going to set them on the bare ground, under bushes, next to trees, and one on a seat in the amphitheater. But at the last minute I thought, Ooo! They’re already in plastic garbage bags–and we’re trashing the earth–I’ll put them on the ground with the bags wrapped around them like blankets! And that’s how I left them.

I didn’t sleep too well, but woke up really excited. I felt like an undercover artist going to Herman Park, and imagined looking around and saying, “Babies? What are these babies? How interesting . . . what do you think?” But when I got there, I saw all five bags-o-babies nestled together next to the information tent. Oh, no! and Oh, shit! I’d have to reveal my identity to find out why my babies had been rounded up.

I walked up to the tent smiling. “Hi. I made these babies.” I tried to pull off the “nice lady” persona that’s worked for me for years. My Aunt Winnifred said, “You have such a lovely complexion, Heidi! You’d make a beautiful bride.” To which I cringed–I was only fifteen when she said it–Married! No way! Now I was 32 and as unmarried as I was back then. I never wanted kids, either, but here I was with my five youngest babies. That old first baby, well, it crumbled apart. These would, too. But I was their maker, the only mother they had, so that’s how I acted.

“Oh, did you?” The sun-worn older woman in the tent said.

“Yes, I’m an artist. I made them for Earth Day. Is there a reason someone gathered them up and brought them here?”

“Oh, we were afraid they had something to do with abortion.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Baby in a plastic bag–I guess you could interpret it that way. Except they’re made of mud. And it’s Earth Day. But I’m just the messenger. Art doesn’t always translate. That’s for sure.

The woman was very relieved when I explained what they meant, and especially when I took them away.

I put each baby where it had been before, but people saw me do it, which ruined the surprise. I left them so I could wander around, sometimes circling back and hovering around to see if anyone noticed them. If anyone did, I never saw them in the act. I’m pretty sure some dogs would’ve sniffed around them. And a real mom might’ve said to her human child, “Don’t touch that! It’s dirty!” Eventually, I claimed the babies as my own, talked to a few people about them, and stayed with each one till I found a little kid who wanted the bracelet.

I kept the last baby’s bracelet and walked away. It fell apart one day, the beads skipping all over, but I managed to salvage the E-A-R-T-H.