The Art of Motherhood: Beyond the Madonna and the Mat
There’s something profoundly intimate about walking through an exhibition that dares to ask, What does it mean to be a mother? The National Gallery of Victoria’s (NGV) latest show, Mother, isn’t just a collection of artworks—it’s a conversation, a provocation, and a mirror held up to society’s often contradictory views on motherhood. Personally, I think this is one of those rare exhibitions that manages to be both deeply personal and fiercely political, all while challenging us to rethink the narratives we’ve inherited about mothers and mothering.
The Power of Contrast: Setting the Stage
One thing that immediately stands out is the exhibition’s opening juxtaposition: a 15th-century Madonna and Child by Giovanni Toscani sits beside a 1998 conical birth mat by Elizabeth Birritjama Ngalandjarri. It’s a brilliant curatorial choice, not just because it spans centuries and cultures, but because it forces us to confront the tension between idealized motherhood and its raw, unfiltered reality. What many people don’t realize is that the Madonna, with her serene purity, has historically set an unattainable standard for women, one that often erases the messiness and complexity of birthing and caring for a child. The birth mat, on the other hand, is a reminder of the primal, grounded nature of motherhood—a detail that I find especially interesting because it grounds the exhibition in the physicality of the experience.
Local Stories, Global Conversations
What makes this exhibition particularly fascinating is its distinctly local framing. Co-curator Katharina Prugger notes that the show was inspired by international exhibitions on motherhood but intentionally centers First Nations stories—a perspective often missing from global narratives. This isn’t just a nice-to-have; it’s essential. First Nations mothering traditions, like those highlighted in Kyra Mancktelow’s One Continuous String, offer a counterpoint to the dominant Western narrative. Mancktelow’s work, which replicates a dress her grandmother was forced to wear on a mission, is a powerful reminder of the resilience and continuity of Indigenous caregiving practices. It’s also a critique of colonialism’s erasure of these traditions—a point that, in my opinion, should be at the heart of any discussion about motherhood.
The Politics of Visibility
If you take a step back and think about it, motherhood has always been both hyper-visible and invisible. We see mothers everywhere—in art, in media, in our daily lives—yet the labor they perform is often undervalued or erased. The exhibition tackles this head-on, particularly through its inclusion of photography and video. These mediums, as one curator notes, make “invisible work visible,” capturing the warped sense of time that comes with caring for a family. But here’s where I think the show falls short: it doesn’t fully engage with modern motherhood’s complexities, like IVF or the intersection of career and caregiving. This raises a deeper question: Can any exhibition truly capture the immensity of motherhood, or is it inherently too vast, too personal, too contradictory?
Art as Armor: The Emotional Weight of Mothering
A detail that I find especially interesting is Kate Just’s An Armour of Hope, a knitted chain mail armor for her adopted child. Just’s piece captures the duality of motherhood—the fear and the hope, the vulnerability and the strength. What this really suggests is that motherhood isn’t just about nurturing; it’s about protection, about preparing your child to face a world that can be both beautiful and brutal. This piece, like much of the exhibition, feels deeply personal yet universally relatable. It’s a reminder that motherhood isn’t one-size-fits-all, and that’s precisely what makes it so compelling.
The Unanswered Questions
What this exhibition does best is ask questions it doesn’t fully answer. How can art reflect the enormity of mothering? Which maternal images empower, and which confine? These aren’t just academic queries; they’re deeply personal and political. As someone who’s grappled with these questions myself, I found the exhibition both comforting and unsettling. It’s comforting to see motherhood acknowledged in such a grand, public space, but unsettling to realize how much work still needs to be done to dismantle the myths and expectations that surround it.
Final Thoughts: A Thread That Connects Us All
In the end, Mother isn’t just about the past or the present—it’s about the future. It’s about how we choose to see and support mothers, how we redefine caregiving, and how we honor the diversity of maternal experiences. From my perspective, the exhibition’s greatest achievement is its ability to make us feel connected, to remind us that motherhood, in all its complexity, is a thread that weaves through human history. Whether you’re a mother, a child, or neither, this show invites you to reflect on the ways care shapes us all. And that, I think, is its most profound gift.
Mother is at the NGV until July 12. If you go, don’t just look at the art—listen to what it’s saying.
