Showing posts with label history of motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history of motherhood. Show all posts

Clio Talks Back: Happy Mothers, Grieving Mothers


by Mary Cassatt
Among women artists who have depicted scenes about motherhood, two particularly stand out in Clio’s mind: Mary Cassatt (1844-1926 ), an American from Philadelphia who resided for much of her life in Paris where she painted with the Impressionists, and Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945), who was born in Königsberg (then in East Prussia, now part of Russia) but lived primarily in Berlin where she was identified with the Naturalist school. Both are ranked among the greatest artists of their time.

By Mary Cassatt
Mary Cassatt, a woman of means, never married nor had children of her own (because she thought marriage and children would interfere with her career as a painter). Yet she seems to have thought a lot about motherhood; some of her finest paintings are tender, benign private scenes of well-dressed mothers, seemingly unmarked by unhappiness or political turmoil, gazing at, touching, and tending to their well-fed, healthy-looking, almost sensuously delicious babies. Her paintings are colorful and, at first glance, sweet. Yet, Cassatt’s early biographer Achille Ségard, insists that she was a “painter of children and of mothers,” rather than of the romanticized joys of motherhood.

Käthe Kollwitz, on the other hand, did marry. She bore two sons while continuing to pursue her artistic career. She worked in various media, including etchings and bronze statuary. Her works of art are somber, full of shadows and blackness.

by Käthe Kollwitz

Kollwitz’s depictions of motherhood are poignant; they bear the mark of an intense social consciousness of poverty, deprivation, and death. The loss of one son who was serving in the German army in World War I undoubtedly exacerbated this tendency. Her concern for the fate of the poor and unfortunate, particularly mothers attempting to protect children or mourning dead children, was magnified by the political, social, and economic turmoil that ensued in the wake of the lost war, compounded by the ominous, overhanging threat of yet another war. In 1922 she wrote: “There has been enough of dying! Let not another man fall!” . . . and she quoted from Germany’s great poet Goethe, “Seed for the planting must not be ground.”

by Käthe Kollwitz
Kollwitz’s impressive bronze, Tower of Mothers, a work completed in 1938 – just as the shadow of war once again hovered over Europe – has inspired a contemporary poet named Gail Peck to publish the following meditation:
Today their hearts are stone,
these mothers who’ve created
a fortress with their bodies,
their children peecking from the folds
of skirts. One mother has her bare feet planted,
another has her fist in the air.
No, they shout at marching boots,
planes overhead. Nothing can get
to the children now – what kind
of game is this they ask?
It has no name. 
Clio’s question: Throughout history, mothers have repeatedly nurtured and tried to protect their children, to keep them safe from the ravages of poverty and war. Why has it been so difficult for mothers and others to triumph over those dark forces of destruction? Why can’t all children have a beautiful future, like the children of the mothers in the works of Mary Cassatt? Why do some nations continue, even today, to “grind” their seed for planting rather than planting it?


Further reading: 

Griselda Pollock, “Mary Cassatt: The Touch and the Gaze, or Impressionism for Thinking People,” in Women Impressionists (Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 2008).

Martha Kearns, Käthe Kollwitz, Woman and Artist (Feminist Press, 1976).

Elizabeth Prelinger, et al., Käthe Kollwitz (National Gallery of Art, Washington, and Yale University Press, 1992).

Gail Peck, “Tower of Mothers,” Wild Goose Poetry Review, posted Nov. 10, 2011.

CLIO TALKS BACK: Can mothers be artistic geniuses?

While reading Paula Birnbaum’s fascinating new book on Women Artists in Interwar France, Clio came across a debate that took place in the mid-1930s between those who claimed that motherhood might be incompatible with artistic genius and women artists who defended women as artists and proclaimed that motherhood in no way inhibited their genius. Denial of women’s genius, artistic, literary, or scientific, was an old antifeminist trope in European circles, but even this more nuanced expression of such views by a well-meaning man, in an era in which well-known women artists abounded, triggered a sharp response.

In early 1934, a government official from Geneva named John Albaret opened an exhibit of Swiss women artists by asserting that to date there had been no great women artists. He indicated that wifehood and motherhood was women’s most important role – and that, given the obligations of these roles, wives and mothers could never become “artists of genius.” Albaret did acknowledge, however, that as more and more women did not marry, some were indeed showing promise in the arts. He hoped that some would soon display their creative genius. Implied in his introduction, was that no women had done so to date.

 Some women artists were highly offended by Albaret’s analysis. Marie-Anne Camax-Zoegger (1887-1952), the Parisian artist and founder of Femmes Artistes Modernes (a collective of women artists) and the mother of five, replied to the Swiss official as follows:
Maternity and art are two different things that in no way detract from one another. There are very great women artists who are not married, and there are others who are married and who have been admirable mothers. I believe that the more cultured a woman is, the more worthy she of raising her children. Maternity does not diminish her art, and Art does not erode her capacity to mother. 
To illustrate her point, Marie-Anne Camax-Zoegger invoked the examples of Mme Vigée Lebrun, the celebrated French court painter of the late 18th century, who “exalted maternal tenderness,” of Berthe Morisot, who had several children and painted with the Impressionists, and of Camax-Zoegger’s near-contemporary Suzanne Valadon, whose son Maurice Utrillo had also become a great French artist.

 “I know from experience,” Camax-Zoegger wrote, “that children do not detract from one’s art; they renew its vigor. For a woman they are the immortal fountain from which she is able to draw tenderness and life.”

What do Clio’s 21st century readers have to say about this debate? From the perspective of your own culture, what response would you make to the question of whether or not mothers can be artistic geniuses?


Source: “Attendons avec patience les artistes de génie, que les femmes nous donneront avec le temps,” Comoedia, 8 Nov. 1934; “Deux femmes artistes répondent au Conseiller de Genève qui plaça l’art féminin au-dessous de l’art masculin,” Comoedia, 24 Nov. 1934. See Paula J. Birnbaum, in Women Artists in Interwar France (Ashgate, 2011), p. 36. Translations from Camax-Zoegger lightly amended by Clio.

Maternal Self-Esteem

[Editor's Note: This is a guest post by Dr. Jessica Zucker,a licensed clinical psychologist in Los Angeles specializing in women's health with a focus on fertility, prenatal and postpartum adjustments, attachment, and transitions in motherhood. Learn more about Jessica at her website.


This story is part of a new, ongoing series of guest posts about motherhood. Visit IMOW's new online exhibition MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe at mama.imow.org ]

Flickr / Mario Izquierdo
Body change is shrouded in fear. Iconic female bodies are tiny, toned, tight, and most definitely without the permanence of stretch marks. Pregnancy creates a cultural conundrum. On the one hand, culture secretly (though not so quietly sometimes) mandates that women work their hardest to look as though their bodies are as slight as a whisper, taking up little to no space, while simultaneously exuding sexiness and a little bit of sass. The ever-changing prenatal body is creating, carrying, and nurturing new life and with that comes a robustness that potentially stirs unresolved issues, handed down from culture, family, and shaky self-esteem.

When self-esteem is predicated on the number that pops up on the scale each morning or hinges on whether or not you can fit into freshly dried jeans today that you wore comfortably yesterday, pregnancy may present a warranted wake-up call.

All too often I hear rumblings of regret, from day one of the positive pregnancy test up to at least one-year postpartum, about the maternal body’s metamorphosis. “Instead of relishing my ever-increasing curves, I find myself comparing my body to my pregnant co-worker, as if being smaller will render me the winner of an unspoken competition.“ “Someone asked me if I’m having twins, and I’m only 25 weeks pregnant with a singleton, what am I going to look like by 40 weeks? There is nothing beautiful about being this huge.” “I’m the size of a whale, a house, a continent!” and “I’m ready to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I want my body to be normal again. I’m sick of this bulging belly, drooping breasts, and not feeling like my old self.”

Rarely are women enjoying the idyllic “glow” rumored to accompany pregnancy. Instead, pregnant women often find it an arduous task to establish a sense of comfort in their newfound maternal skin. More often than not women report being mildly or severely tormented by the myriad body changes occurring throughout pregnancy and beyond. In fact, pre-pregnancy body image challenges that get reinvigorated during this transformative time may be a regrettable source of anxiety and/or depression. Studies have found that “anxiety disorders are more frequent than depression during pregnancy, and at least as common as depression during the postpartum period, if not more so. Depression and anxiety are kind of like thunder and lightning- they just go together” (Wiegartz & Gyoerkoe, 2009). Even seemingly sturdy pre-pregnancy self-esteem can be undermined by a tidal wave of disorienting anxiety.

Self-esteem is an aspect of personality that can be cultivated across the lifespan. Dedicated introspection and mindfully growing self-understanding allows for increased ease and fruitful connections. Pregnancy may awaken previously untouched, powerful feelings about self-worth, body image, and familial relationships. Some say that pregnancy is miraculous. Yet, undigested internal struggles will not miraculously disappear during pregnancy. Instead, a resurgence of unknown or pushed away fears may bubble to the surface during this nascent experience. Bolstering your sense of self-worth during pregnancy by thoughtfully examining unresolved issues may harness a greater sense of postpartum confidence and peace of mind as parenthood emerges.

Parents are created not born. The process of becoming a parent is marked by pregnancy and is a lifelong journey filled with opportunities for growth and development. Who we are at any given time invariably gets imbued into how we negotiate parenting. Pregnancy provides a ripe opportunity to deeply understand the parenting we received, the parenting we hope to provide, and perhaps most importantly, delving into places of internal unrest with the aim of resolving historical pain. When we parent from the inside out, we benefit enormously by establishing self-esteem that is tenacious and authentic.

Intergenerational transmission of self-esteem may be a worthwhile concept to ponder during this gestational period. Hardy parental self-esteem models enhanced flexibility of mind and a comfort in the world while self-worth riddled with insecurity and ambivalence may yield enduring anxiety across generations. “The development of the child’s whole personality is influenced by many things, including genetics, temperament, physical health, and experience. Parent-child relationships offer one very important part of the early experience that directly shapes a child’s emerging personality. Emotional intelligence, self-esteem, cognitive abilities, and social skills are built on this early attachment relationship. How parents have reflected on their lives directly shapes the nature of that relationship” (Siegel & Hartzell, 2003).

Arming ourselves with prenatal parenting skills and reflective emotional insight can help garner a graceful pregnancy and postpartum adjustment period. Self-esteem, along with hormonal shifts and social support, play a central role in post-pregnancy transitions. Postpartum blues, depression, and anxiety are too common to be ignored. Even the most ironclad sense of self-esteem can be readily dismantled by the impact of postpartum mood disorders. “The juxtaposition of one of life’s greatest gifts and one of life’s most unkind illnesses is what makes postpartum depression different from depression that is unrelated to childbirth” (Kleiman, 2009). Feeling unbearably hopeless, frighteningly disconnected or overtaken by crippling anxiety can leave someone who previously felt like Super Woman unrecognizably lifeless. This is all the more reason to take time out to do the reflective work necessary to feel grounded in who you are as a woman and a mother-to-be.

Parenthood is a perennial adventure. Babies do not arrive with universal instruction manuals spelling out the various ways we can help them thrive in the world. Creating secure, healthy self-esteem in our children comes from a much deeper place within, not necessarily from anything we read in a how-to book. Asking for help when we need it, identifying our strengths as a parent, and attempting to be consciously aware of stumbling blocks promise to engender a mindful childhood for your offspring. Research has shown that “parents who themselves did not have ‘good enough parents’ or who even had traumatic childhoods can make sense of their lives and have healthy relationships. More important for our children than merely what happened to us in the past is the way we have come to process and understand it. The opportunity to change and grow continues to be available throughout our lives” (Siegel & Hartzell, 2003).

Building self-esteem within our children begins before they are born. It begins within our selves.


This post was previously published on the Huffington Post and PBS.org.

CLIO TALKS BACK: Do Mothers Have a History?


The illustration above is possibly the first and oldest illustration of a birth by Caesarian section.   Not all mothers give birth the usual way.

Clio found this illustration in the first comprehensive history of motherhood, written by her colleagues Catherine Fouquet and Yvonne Knibiehler.  Their lavishly illustrated volume, which spans the centuries from the Middle Ages to the later twentieth century, is a book that women’s historians ever since have admired, envied, and tried to supplement.  It is a book from which we can all learn a great deal.

Here are the authors’ thoughts from the Introduction to their history of motherhood, as translated from the French by Clio. Their observations are still worth pondering as the International Museum of Women prepares to launch its online exhibition “Mama.”

Do Mothers - and Motherhood -  have a history?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Historians have hardly paid attention to mothers. If a Blanche of Castille, a Catherine de Medici have attracted their attention, it is especially because they were queens and their motherhood carried political weight. Traditional history hardly entered into private life: first defined as the expression of human collectivities, it cristallized around the State and the Nation. Why did Herodotus write his Histories? To tell how the Greek people, despite their small number, triumphed over a great king with innumerable troops: thanks to this triumph, the Greeks became conscious of their national identity and their freedom. It was there that history was born, as consciousness of liberty: born of the idea that the human being was achieved through a collective destiny. In order to enter the field of history, it must, one thought, shed its individual dimension, the intimate and personal part of its existence. In this perspective, there can be no history except political history, at the civic level. . .].

"Mothers, with very rare exceptions, belong to private life, and even to the most intimate aspects of private life. They do not have history: at least this is what one might think, given the silence of historians. But, in our time, private life falls with a great clamour into the public domain, and everything becomes political. Could one go so far as to say that the recent laws on abortion and contraception have granted mothers this liberty which is the first condition of history? This would be false: they have acquired there an entirely negative, entirely individual liberty, the liberty for each to not be a mother, but not that of existing as mothers, collectively and actively. In fact, it was the public powers which constituted mothers as a homogenous but passive group, when they began to get nervous about the drop in the birth rate. Then we witnessed [the advent of] Mother’s Day, Motherhood Medals, assistance to mothers, protection of mothers. At the end of the nineteenth century and especially in the interwar period [of the twentieth century], one could suddenly measure the political importance of anonymous mothers in the nation. It is from there that the historians have taken up the issue: by interrogating the origins of dénatalité, they began to be concerned with mothers, but only indirectly, without placing them at the center of their inquiry. These first investigations, however, sufficed to make it clear that maternity lay neither outside time nor outside history.

"Once admitted as a subject of history, one must define it and locate its limits. To begin with, where does maternity begin and where does it end? The young woman who has just conceived for the first time – is she already a mother? And the grandmother who knits for her children’s children, is she still one? Does a mother who loses her children cease to be a mother? Maternity has no end. She who abandons her little ones, she who slays them, becomes an “unnatural mother,” a “criminal mother” – she does not cease to be a mother in the eyes of society. Further, who is a mother? She who gives birth to the infant? She who raises it? She who cherishes it and will love it always whatever else happens? In other words, is motherhood a biological function, a social function, a psycho-affective function? In one period, in one collectivity, one of these functions has been accented without the others necessarily disappearing. And how can we account for the cruel stepmother [marâtre], the godmother, the mother-in-law, the big sister who takes care of the little ones? Finally, motherhood is not the result of parthogenesis. The material and moral situation of the mother, her relationship to the infant, depend to a very great extent on the father, for better or worse. Can one speak of mothers, even of unmarried mothers, without thinking of love, marriage, laws and norms, of mentalities and family customs?

"Thus it is a vast subject, of indecisive form, this history of mothers. It spills over into the history of medicine and health by the birth process and care to newborns, into the history of demography by rates of birth and death, into that of material life and techniques with housework, into that of mentalities with regard to the carving up of masculine and feminine roles and generational conflicts, that of education, that of feelings. The quest for sources, indispensable materials for the historian, is not so easy. The historian quickly discovers that the consultable documents fall into two categories: on the one hand those that contain concrete information on maternal behavior, and on the other those who talk about maternity or who depict it. The first group are particularly of the demographic or ethnographic sort. By looking at documents from the civil registry and parish registers, demographic historians have been able to establish, for example, the age of mothers when their first child is born, the spacing of births, the total number of children born and surviving, the number of illegitimate births, of foundlings, of babies put out to wetnurses. Other sources provide information on traditional means of preventing births, the rate of infanticides, the closing of ranks by families around children. The ethnologists, for their part, explore the concrete environment of maternity and traditional practices about giving birth, breastfeeding, and infant care. All these phenomena can vary considerably with respect to the time, place, and surroundings: economic, political, and cultural factors that underlie these differences begin to be discernable little by little, attesting to the fact that mothers certainly do have a history. As for the discourses and representations that motherhood has inspired, they are for the most part produced by men. Theologians and moralists who announce the divine will, physicians and anthropologists who reveal the order of nature, jurists and statesmen who formulate the needs of society, artists who translate a sensibility: all speak abundantly about what a mother is and what she should be.

"During this time, paradoxically, the women, the mothers keep still. They have written poems and novels about love: they have not written poems or novels about maternal love. Even their letters are often lacking on this subject, apart from those of Madame de Sévigné. Nor do they describe their specific experiences: neither giving birth nor nursing have been the objects of any sincere and profound accounts until very recently. At the dawn of the nineteenth century one can see, at the same time as a decisive progress in the reduction of the birthrate among those in the higher levels of society, the arrival of a number of texts by women about little children. This is no accident, insofar as it is true that the act of writing is above all else the expression of a freedom. As long as babies were simply something one submitted to, the sign of biologic destiny, they were not discussed. The silence of women is a fact of civilization which scarcely lends itself to simple interpretations: the history of mothers is mysterious and difficult.

"Then why try to write it?

"History is memory. Individuals who lose their memories lose their identities at the same time. The same thing goes for human groups: inasfar as a group has no history, it has no identity, it does not exist as a group, however numerous it might be. But if it gives itself a history, it begins to exist; at the same time as its past, it has the possibility of constructing its future. The authors of this book, mothers and women historians hope to aid women in constructing theirs."

Source: “Les Mères ont-elles une histoire?,” Introduction to Yvonne Knibiehler and Catherine Fouquet, L’Histoire des Mères du moyen-âge à nos jours (Paris: Editions Montalba, 1980), pp. 4-6. Transl. from the French by Karen Offen