Motherhood's echo: creativity found in exhaustion and repetition
The German artist Käthe Kollwitz, reflecting on her later years, famously described her creative process as “I work like a cow grazes.” It wasn't a statement of serene artistic freedom, but a stark admission of diminished urgency—a consequence of time stretching out after children leave home. The sentiment resonates deeply; the accumulated weariness of years spent nurturing life can feel like a creative vacuum.
The weight of motherhood in art history
The National Gallery of Victoria's exhibition, Mother, curated by Sophie Gerhard and Katharina Prugger, explores this complex relationship between motherhood and artistic expression. Both curators, currently navigating the demands of early parenthood (Prugger is expecting her second child), recognized a shared experience – a relentless cycle of care that both consumes and, surprisingly, informs their perspectives. The show doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable truth: motherhood is often presented as an idealized, flawless pursuit, particularly through the lens of Western Art’s veneration of the Virgin Mary. But the exhibition subtly probes what’s missing from that narrative—the messy realities, the quiet sacrifices, the sheer, exhausting labor.
What is often overlooked is the erasure of the lived experience of motherhood. Consider Queen Victoria’s sketch of her infant daughter; the nurse, who likely provided the bulk of the child's care, is relegated to a blurred background, a silent support. Nineteenth-century photographs showcase posed infants, their mothers mere shadows ensuring stillness for the lengthy exposures, their labor rendered invisible.
Repetition as a creative force
Far from stifling creativity, the exhibition argues that the repetitive tasks of mothering—the feeding, the soothing, the constant tending—can actually fuel artistic innovation. Kate Just’s An Armour of Hope, a knitted metal and silk sculpture created for her adopted son, exemplifies this. Each stitch, a repetition of the last, ultimately forms a powerful declaration of love and protection. Similarly, First Nations artist Kyra Mancktelow reclaims her maternal heritage by recreating her mother’s coerced dress in traditional textiles, and Guruwuy Murrinyina honors her mother's detailed artistic approach through thousands of precise gestures. The exhibition skillfully demonstrates that the small, seemingly insignificant acts of care accumulate to shape both individuals and artistic expression.
Mother isn't solely a celebration; it acknowledges loss—a dedicated room confronts the realities of miscarriage and infant death. Yet, amidst the sorrow, there’s surprising levity. Patricia Piccinini’s Nest, a gleaming golden sculpture blending cow, calf, and motorcycle, injects a playful absurdity. Tala Madani's depiction of a nursing mother playfully squirting breast milk—a darkly humorous commentary on societal expectations.
The final section, “Leaving,” addresses the bittersweet transition as children gain independence. My own daughter, now 18, still seeks the comfort of my bed when she's unwell, a familiar ritual that feels both poignant and slightly awkward. The relinquishment of constant care, while necessary, carries a quiet sadness. But it is in this very act of letting go—this cycle of depletion and renewal—that a new form of creativity can emerge.
Mother: Stories from the NGV Collection doesn’t offer easy answers, but it provides a powerful, nuanced portrait of a universal experience. It’s a testament to the fact that even in the midst of exhaustion, repetition, and loss, the human spirit—and the creative impulse—find ways to endure. The exhibition ends not with a question, but with a stark realization: the countless small stitches that form a garment, are, in essence, the same stitches that weave together the fabric of a human life.