Lament by Kathe Kollwitz

Kathe Kollwitz, Lament, c. 1938, Bronze Relief, Kathe Kollwitz Museum Koln, Cologne

In honor of Women’s History Month I am paying tribute to two very strong twentieth-century female artists, Kathe Kollwitz and Dorothea Lange. Both artists depicted poignantly the human suffering of the two most horrific periods in the twentieth century—the American Depression and World War II. Here’s an excerpt from my book on Kathe Kollwitz’ iconic bronze sculpture, Lament…

“It is my duty to voice the suffering of men, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain-high.” — Käthe Kollwitz

A single glance at this powerful sculpture is enough to immediately feel the grief and deep anguish captured in this poignant piece appropriately named Lament. Created by German artist Käthe Kollwitz, the bronze relief depicts the double nature of compassionate grief, presenting it as a strong emotional reaction that begins deep within the soul and emerges to the surface to ask, quite simply, why?

Grief triggered by compassion happens when we identify with human beings who are suffering. Some become thick-skinned and indifferent to avoid these tormenting feelings, but for those who refuse to for-get that so many people are going through deprivations, violent death, and daily suffering, lamenting this painful reality becomes the deep-seated reaction when the soul and mind come together to mourn. This is the moment that Kollwitz captures in Lament.

A self-portrait, this sculpture embodies the suffering the artist witnessed and felt personally, time and time again. She was no stranger to grief. She experienced loss early in life upon the death of siblings. As a growing artist she was witness to the struggle and despair felt by mistreated workers, including weavers and peasants, whose battles for basic rights seemed to always end in defeat. When her son died fighting in World War I, she experienced prolonged intense grief and severe depression. Many years later, she lost a grandson in World War II. No wonder death and grieving took such prominent places in her artwork.

In Lament, we see the artist immersed in an unfathomable degree of suffering. With eyes closed, lips pressed tightly, one hand covering half her face and the other appearing to suppress the cries that want to scream out, Kollwitz presents an internalization of the injustices she saw and experienced throughout her life. She seems to shut herself down into eternal lament, sealing in every mother’s pain at losing a child, every person’s grief at having to say goodbye too soon to a loved one, every human’s sense of being crushed by injustice. The pain is too much to bear.

A masterful painter, printmaker, and sculptor, Kollwitz created incomparably moving images of mothers grieving for their dead children. Deeply mournful, these heartbreaking pieces communicated the extraordi-nary compassion of her own response to the personal tragedies she experienced.

Lament is a tribute to her friend and fellow artist, Ernst Barlach, who was prohibited from working as a sculptor, and whose membership in the art academies was canceled due to the growing, unchecked power of the Nazi regime. Barlach died in grief and despair. In this bronze self-portrait Kollwitz purposely ex-aggerated the hands, making them large and heavy to express the sorrow she felt witnessing Germany fall into the hands of Hitler.

Unapologetically honest in its depiction of raw grief and a sense of defeat in the face of multiple tragedies, Lament speaks to the dark night of the soul we feel when loss becomes too heavy to bear. It is a powerful protest piece against injustice and a strong petition for humanity and peace.

The Captive Slave by John Simpson

John Simpson, The Captive Slave, oil on canvas, 1827, Chicago Institute

History has shown us time and again how cruel and heartless humans can sometimes be towards one an-other. The Captive Slave, by British portrait painter John Philip Simpson, serves as a reminder of a dark and disturbing period when more than fifteen million people were victimized by the transatlantic slave trade that went on for 400 years.

Painted in 1827, The Captive Slave is an abolitionist statement, an attempt to wake up the public and show, in no uncertain terms, how wrong slavery is.

Born in London in 1782, Simpson was in his forties when he created this work, arguably his most notable. With the model’s eyes raised upwards, the pose is reminiscent of how saints and martyrs were often depict-ed in Christian art.

The man in the painting was Ira Aldridge, a free-born actor who modeled for Simpson’s composition. Born in New York City in 1807, Aldridge – the son of a preacher – broke barriers by becoming a popular Shake-spearean actor on British stages. He also worked as a theater manager and playwright.

The collaboration between Aldridge and Simpson was a bold move. After his theatrical performances, Aldridge would often give impassioned talks against slavery. Could Simpson have been inspired by one of Aldridge’s speeches and sought him for this wake-up call?

The entire focus of Simpson’s painting is on the vibrant man restrained by chains. Clothed in bright red attire, the subject looks up with deep emotion on his well-lit face. His gaze tears me to my core, bringing to life what millions who found themselves shackled and robbed of their freedom might have felt.

What would you do if you found yourself in such a situation? Would you pray? Look for an answer or help from God? I hope you never have to find out. In portraying The Captive Slave, Aldridge struck a moving pose in Simpson’s painting that transcends time with a visceral appeal for an end to slavery, once and for all.

Growing up in Memphis, Tennessee during the 1960s, I knew all too well what prejudice and segregation were about. I remember the separate water fountains, take-out windows, seating on buses, the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the curfew that was mandatory around the city. None of it made sense.

I was fortunate to have parents who were open and respectful to all people, and who instilled this value in my brothers and me. I was fortunate to have Corinne in my life, the Black woman who raised me for thir-teen years as if I was her daughter. She was family, and she taught me about unconditional love.

The Captive Slave may well have opened minds and changed hearts to lead to Britain’s Slave Emancipation Act in 1833. The painting haunts me, as I cannot fathom a life enslaved, and I hope nobody ever has to experience this painful, deeply wrong reality again.