Inside Post-Birth: Yidi Wang Reimagines Motherhood Beyond Biology

I was inspired to submit Post-Birth because I wanted the work to reach a broader audience beyond galleries and academic spaces. The project is deeply personal, but it also explores broader questions about motherhood, the body, care, control, and the boundaries between human and nonhuman life. I felt this recognition would provide a meaningful opportunity to share this experimental, interdisciplinary work with an international creative community.

Winning the Silver Award means a great deal to me personally. Post-Birth emerged from a vulnerable place, shaped by my reflections on motherhood, my relationship with my own mother, and the social expectations placed on women's bodies. To have this work recognized reassures me that these intimate and difficult questions can resonate with others.

Professionally, this award encourages me to continue pushing the boundaries between art, technology, biology, and performance. As an interdisciplinary artist, this recognition affirms that my practice has value not only as a form of personal expression, but also as a critical framework for rethinking the relationships between humans, nonhumans, and systems of care.

The story behind my project began with my long-term research into posthumanism, motherhood, and the relationship between care and control. I was interested in what motherhood could mean beyond the traditional human family structure.

Rather than viewing motherhood solely as giving birth to a human child, I wanted to imagine a speculative form of motherhood between the human body and nonhuman life. In this performance and installation, I collected bacteria from my own hair, skin, and nails, and cultivated them inside an external "uterus" that I wore on my abdomen.

During the performance, I cared for the bacteria through daily rituals, almost like a prenatal routine. Later, the bacteria were transferred to an infant incubator, while the external uterus was preserved as a specimen. Through this process, I wanted to question where life begins, who deserves care, and how the idea of motherhood can be expanded, challenged, or even liberated.

The work was also inspired by my personal reflections on maternal relationships and the emotional structures surrounding care. I am interested in how care can be loving yet also controlling, and how motherhood can be deeply intimate while also shaped by social expectations and sacrifice. My project allowed me to transform these personal reflections into a broader conversation about bodies, kinship, and responsibility.

In today's creative industry, I believe this work reflects the importance of interdisciplinary practice. Art, technology, biology, performance, and design are no longer separate disciplines—they can come together to ask urgent questions about the future of humanity. For me, my project is not only about reproduction; it is a proposal for rethinking life, care, and connection in a posthuman world.

I believe what set my project apart was its combination of personal vulnerability, conceptual depth, and experimental use of materials. The work is not only a performance or an installation; it brings together bio-art, body-based practice, sculpture, video documentation, and speculative storytelling to create a cohesive emotional and conceptual experience.

One important element was the use of real biological materials. By cultivating bacteria collected from my own hair, skin, and nails, I created a direct relationship between my body and the nonhuman life forms I cared for. This made the project feel intimate, unsettling, and alive at the same time. The bacteria were not merely symbols—they were living extensions of my body.

Another defining element was the visual and performative structure. The external uterus, the daily care rituals, the infant incubator, and the preserved specimen all drew from the language of pregnancy, medical systems, and motherhood. Rather than repeating traditional ideas of birth, however, the work reinterpreted them through a speculative lens. This tension between the familiar and the unfamiliar invited deeper questions about care, control, life, and responsibility.

I also believe the project stood out because it did not use technology solely for visual effect. Instead, the technology, biological processes, and installation environment all served the central concept. Every material choice supported a single question: How can we rethink motherhood and kinship in a posthuman world? For me, that is where the strength of the work lies—it is visually compelling while remaining emotionally and intellectually grounded.

One of the biggest challenges in creating my project was balancing the biological process, the performative structure, and my own physical experience. Because the work involved cultivating bacteria from my own body, I had to carefully consider safety, containment, visibility, and care. The bacteria were living organisms, so the project could not be treated like a fixed sculpture. It required daily attention, monitoring, and responsibility.

Another major challenge was wearing the external uterus throughout the performance. It was physically uncomfortable and emotionally demanding. The weight, the smell, and the social discomfort of carrying a visible biological system on my abdomen made the performance challenging, but those difficulties also became part of the work. They helped me understand motherhood not as an abstract idea, but as a lived experience shaped by labor, restriction, care, and vulnerability.

I overcame these challenges by treating the process itself as part of the artwork. Rather than hiding the discomfort or uncertainty, I allowed them to remain visible. I documented the daily care rituals, carefully refined the installation, and developed a structure that could hold both the scientific and emotional dimensions of the project.

In the end, these challenges strengthened the work by revealing the tension between care and control, intimacy and responsibility.

Winning is incredibly meaningful to me because it gives my project visibility beyond my immediate artistic community. In the long term, I hope this achievement will help me connect with more curators, institutions, collaborators, and audiences interested in experimental art, bio-art, performance, and emerging technologies.

As an interdisciplinary artist, my practice exists across multiple disciplines. It is not only fine art, design, technology, or performance, but a combination of all four. Recognition on an international stage validates the hybrid nature of my work and encourages me to continue creating projects that cross boundaries and ask difficult questions about the body, care, reproduction, and posthuman futures.

Personally, this award gives me greater confidence to continue expanding my project into a larger body of work. It also supports my long-term goal of strengthening my professional presence as an artist, curator, and educator. I hope this recognition will create opportunities for exhibitions, residencies, grants, and meaningful conversations about the relationship between art, technology, biology, and society.

I have already noticed that this recognition has made it easier to speak about my project with greater confidence. It gives the work a stronger public context and reinforces the idea that experimental and deeply personal projects can also receive professional recognition. To me, that is especially meaningful because it demonstrates that intimate artistic experiences can carry broader cultural and creative significance.

The reaction to my project has been incredibly meaningful to me. Many audiences were initially drawn to its visual and material language—the external uterus, the incubator, the biological elements, and the clinical installation environment. After spending time with the work, however, many began reflecting on their own experiences of care, motherhood, the body, and emotional inheritance.

One memorable response was that viewers did not see the bacteria merely as scientific material. Instead, they came to recognize them as living beings with a relationship to my body. That was important to me because the work invites audiences to reconsider what forms of life deserve attention, protection, and care. Some viewers described the project as unsettling yet tender, which was exactly the tension I hoped to create.

I also received feedback from people who connected the project to their own family relationships, particularly the complexities between mothers and children. That was incredibly meaningful to me. Although my project uses speculative and posthuman ideas, it comes from a deeply human emotional place. When viewers recognized both the discomfort and the tenderness in the work, I felt it had created the kind of conversation I had hoped for.

Receiving this recognition also gave the project a stronger sense of public validation. It helped audiences and professional peers recognize that experimental, vulnerable, and interdisciplinary work has a meaningful place within the broader creative landscape. More importantly, it has encouraged deeper conversations about bio-art, performance, and the future of care.

My advice is to create from a place of honesty, even if it feels vulnerable or difficult. A strong project does not need to be visually impressive alone; it also needs to ask a clear question, express a distinct point of view, and have a meaningful reason for existing. For me, my project became powerful because it grew from both personal experience and long-term research. It was not created to follow a trend, but to explore questions I genuinely needed to ask.

I also believe artists and designers should not be afraid to work across disciplines. Some of the most meaningful creative work today happens at the intersection of different fields. In my own practice, performance, biology, sculpture, technology, and installation all inform one another. Rather than using technology as decoration, I make sure every material and process serves a conceptual purpose.

For award submissions, I believe storytelling is essential. An entry should explain not only what the project is, but also why it matters. What question does it explore? What makes the process unique? What conversations can it inspire? A compelling submission helps the jury understand the heart of the work.

Above all, stay committed to your own voice. Recognition is meaningful, but it should never be the only reason we create. If your work is honest, thoughtfully developed, and conceptually grounded, it will have a greater chance of connecting with others.

To fellow creatives, I would say: trust the questions that feel unfamiliar, document your process, refine your language, and allow your personal experiences to become part of a broader cultural conversation.

I see the changes in the creative industry as both challenging and exciting. Today, the boundaries between art, design, technology, science, and social practice are becoming increasingly fluid. Artists are no longer limited to a single medium or traditional role. We can work as researchers, storytellers, technologists, educators, and cultural thinkers all at once.

For me, this shift is especially meaningful because my practice has always existed across disciplines. I am interested in how advanced technologies, biological materials, performance, and installation can come together to ask deeper questions about the body, identity, care, and the future of life. I believe the future of creativity is not only about producing new images or objects, but also about creating new ways to think, feel, and relate to one another.

At the same time, I believe it is important to approach technology critically. New tools such as AI, VR, AR, and bio-based processes offer tremendous possibilities, but they also raise important ethical questions. As artists, we need to ask who these technologies serve, whose bodies they affect, and what kinds of futures they help us imagine.

Looking ahead, I hope to establish myself as an interdisciplinary artist working at the intersection of experimental art, posthuman research, education, and emerging technologies. I want to continue creating work that is emotionally intimate, conceptually rigorous, and socially relevant. My goal is not simply to follow the evolution of the creative industry, but to contribute to shaping more thoughtful, inclusive, and imaginative futures.

I would tell them that feeling hesitant is completely natural, especially when the work is personal or experimental. Sharing your work with a wider audience can feel vulnerable, but it is also an important step in developing a stronger professional voice as an artist or creative professional. You do not need to wait for perfect conditions before presenting carefully developed work. Confidence often grows through the discipline of presenting, articulating, and refining your practice.

For creatives preparing award submissions, I believe awards and competitions should not be viewed solely as opportunities to win. They are also valuable opportunities to learn how to present your work, communicate your ideas, document your process, and understand how your project resonates with people beyond your immediate circle. Even if you do not receive recognition, the process itself can help clarify your voice and strengthen your professional practice.

I also believe it is important to begin with the work that feels most authentic to you. Rather than trying to predict what a jury wants, focus on explaining why the project matters, the questions it explores, and what makes your process unique. A compelling submission is built on both confidence and honesty.

My advice is to start small, maintain thorough documentation, seek constructive feedback, and submit your work even when you feel nervous. Every submission is a statement that your work deserves to be seen. For me, participating in awards has helped me better understand my own practice while reminding me that deeply personal, vulnerable, and unconventional work can resonate with a broader audience.

My message would be to stay curious, stay generous, and stay connected to the human meaning behind your work. Whether we are artists, designers, marketers, or advertising professionals, we all help shape how people see, feel, remember, and understand the world. That is a powerful responsibility.

I believe creativity becomes stronger when it is shared. Community offers feedback, support, challenge, and inspiration. It reminds us that creative work is never made in isolation. Even the most personal project becomes part of a larger conversation with audiences, collaborators, histories, and future possibilities.

I would also encourage fellow creatives to make space for voices and stories that are often overlooked. The creative industry has the power to make people visible, challenge established systems, and imagine new ways of living together. To me, meaningful creativity is not only about beauty or innovation, but also about care, empathy, and transformation.

To marketers and advertising professionals, I would say that storytelling carries real cultural influence. The way we frame ideas shapes what people value and whose voices they choose to hear. I hope we continue using that influence with intention, honesty, and responsibility.

Most importantly, I hope we continue supporting one another. Awards and recognition are meaningful, but the lasting value of creative work lies in the community it builds and the conversations it inspires.

I would like to dedicate this achievement to everyone who has supported my artistic journey, especially my mentors, peers, friends, and the communities that have strengthened my practice as an interdisciplinary artist. Although my project is deeply personal, it has been shaped by countless conversations, moments of encouragement, and thoughtful feedback from those around me.

I also want to dedicate this recognition to my family, especially my mother. My understanding of motherhood, care, sacrifice, and emotional inheritance lies at the heart of this work. My project emerged from a complicated yet honest place, reflecting both love and tension, vulnerability and strength. In many ways, it is my attempt to understand care beyond traditional expectations and imagine a different relationship between mother, child, body, and life.

I am also grateful to the artists, educators, and communities who continue to create space for experimental and vulnerable work. This recognition is not only a personal milestone, but also a reminder that intimate stories, especially those rooted in the body, family, and identity, deserve to be seen, valued, and discussed.

Most importantly, I dedicate this achievement to anyone who has ever questioned where they belong, what they inherit, and how they can transform pain into care. My project is ultimately about life, responsibility, and connection, and I hope this recognition allows those questions to reach and resonate with even more people.

My project is a speculative performance and bio-art installation that reimagines motherhood as a relationship of care, control, vulnerability, and responsibility between the human body and nonhuman life.

I would describe it this way because the work is not only about birth in a biological sense. It brings together bacteria cultivated from my own body, an external uterus, daily care rituals, an infant incubator, and preservation methods to question what forms of life we recognize, protect, and emotionally connect with.

To me, this description captures the heart of the project: expanding the idea of motherhood beyond human reproduction and using art to imagine new forms of kinship in a posthuman world.

Moving forward, I hope to expand the questions explored in my project beyond womanhood and motherhood to a broader conversation about care, belonging, borders, and responsibility. Although the work began with my own body and my reflections on motherhood, I see these questions as universal. They extend across nations, races, species, and communities.

To me, the project asks: who is allowed to belong, and who is treated as foreign, dangerous, or unworthy of care? In today's world, shaped by war, displacement, migration, racial tension, and the climate crisis, that question feels especially urgent. The bacteria in the work are not only nonhuman organisms cultivated from my body, but also a metaphor for lives that are connected to us yet are often feared, rejected, or excluded.

Looking ahead, I want to continue creating work that connects intimate bodily experiences with broader global realities. My goal is to use posthuman thinking to imagine new forms of kinship across difference—between humans and nonhuman life, citizens and migrants, nations and strangers. To me, becoming posthuman is not about leaving humanity behind, but about expanding the circle of care.