Käthe Kollwitz (German, 1867–1945), ‘Mother with Dead Child,’ 1903, printed 1918, etching, soft-ground etching and drypoint, 16 x 18-5/8 in. (image); 18-5/8 x 21-1/8 in. (sheet). Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Gift of Brenda Kolker, 1991.274.
Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields
A visitor to the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields could see Käthe Kollwitz’ Woman and Dead Child (1903) print and not think of the thousands of mothers in Gaza similarly cradling the lifeless bodies of their children. The pieces that remain following Israeli bombings of homes and hospitals.
Israel kills a child in Gaza every 45 minutes.
It has done so since October 7, 2023. That total adds up to nearly 15,000. And rising. Every day. Every hour of every day.
A visitor could similarly regard Kollwitz’ Death and Woman (1910), see the toddler crawling up her mother’s front, mom’s arms pinned behind her by death, and not think of the tens of thousands of orphans in Gaza.
Israel’s genocide in Gaza has produced roughly 40,000 orphans.
It would be possible to regard these images and not think of Gaza. Not easy, but possible.
It would be possible to see Woman at the Crib (1897) and not think about the Trump Administration’s efforts to gut federal programs helping poor people, often mothers and children, get enough to eat. Spending cuts so more money can be passed up to the wealthiest Americans by way of tax breaks. The hopeless woman grasps her head with one hand and checks her baby’s cheek with the other. It must be cold.
Death, Woman and Child (1910).
Brot! (Bread!) (1924); a woman passes a share of bread behind her back to one hungry, crying child, while another hungry, crying child, begs for more.
Germany in the 1920s.
America in 2026?
Kollwitz (German; 1867–1945) stands as art history’s greatest portrayer of mother and child. The primordial bond. The closeness. The connection. The reliance words can’t describe. The grief resulting from that worldly bond being severed.
The artist lost an 18-year-old son, Peter, to World War I, killed in action 10 days after going to the front in 1914. Kollwitz and her husband of 49 years were required to sign a permission slip allowing the youngster to enlist. She never forgave herself. She became an avowed pacifist. She’d lose a grandson, also named Peter–honoring the previously killed Peter–who was drafted into World War II.
Having endured World War I–the war that did not end all wars; dictators, capitalists and nations love war too much to let that tradition go extinct–Kollwitz did not survive its sequel. She died on April 22, 1945. The Nazis capitulated on May 8.
Kollwitz fought the Nazis. Fascism. An authoritarian and nationalistic right-wing system of government and social organization.
Prior to elections in 1932, Kollwitz, Albert Einstein (who she knew), and a group of German intellectuals and progressives appealed to the various leftist parties across the country to unify in fighting the Nazi party. Again in 1933 she implored the splintered parties of the political left to band together to fight the fascists. Neither effort was successful.
The Nazis silenced Kollwitz’ career, confiscating her artwork from museums and galleries; she was banned from exhibiting in Germany. Her art was included in Hitler’s notorious “The Degenerate Art” exhibition. A 70th birthday exhibition for her in Berlin in 1937 was cancelled.
It would be possible to think about Kollwitz’ activism on behalf of the poor, in opposition to the wealthy, on behalf of peace, in opposition to war and fascism, and how she was censored by the fascist government she lived under and not think about the artists and art institutions being similarly censored in America by the Trump Administration. It would be possible to think about Kollwitz and not recognize how dictator’s always attack artists and the arts.
Not easy, but possible.
“Käthe Kollwitz: Visions of Solidarity and Resilience” installation view at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields.
Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields
Kollwitz’ life also coincided with the final days of aristocratic feudalism and serfdom in Germany and the nation’s economic transition to Industrialism. One system designed to exploit the working poor replaced by another. Along with suffering mothers and children, Kollwitz’ prints are defined by her depictions of struggling peasants–farmers and laborers.
Oftentimes, the subjects intersect as in The Downtrodden (1900-1901). It would be possible to look at this image and not think about the inhumane wealth gap in America, widening every day. It would be possible to look at this image and not think about the number of Americans living paycheck to paycheck. The majority of Americans.
Not easy, but possible.
Nothing about Käthe Kollwitz’ artwork is easy. Easy wasn’t the point. She remains every bit as insightful and essential in America today as she was to turn of the century Germany. “Käthe Kollwitz: Visions of Solidarity and Resilience” at the Indianapolis Art Museum through August 3, 2025, proves how Kollwitz’ artistic commentary on mothers and children and suffering and poverty and poor people rings as true today as it did over a century ago.
And revolt.
Käthe Kollwitz (German, 1867–1945), ‘Losbruch (Outbreak),’ 1902, printed 1921, ink on paper, etching, soft-ground etching, drypoint, and aquatint, 30 x 40 in. Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Julius F. Pratt Fund, 38.93.
Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields
Germany’s Peasants’ War (1524-1525) and Weavers’ Revolt (1844) gave inspiration or title to a pair of Kollwitz’ most celebrated series, with examples on view in Indianapolis.
It would be possible to look at Uprising (1899) or Outbreak (1902) and not think about the millions of Americans who’ve taken to the streets across the country this spring in opposition to their government being destroyed, their social safety net dismantled, their freedom of speech suppressed, their college students disappeared, and their leadership given to oligarchs.
Not easy, but possible.
It would be possible to look at The Prisoners (1908) and not wonder if that’s where this movement is headed.
It would be possible to look at The Storm (1897) and not imagine Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos or Mark Zuckerberg on the other side of the gates.
Not easy, but possible.
It would be possible to visit the Indianapolis Art Museum for its Käthe Kollwitz exhibition and not think the German artist born 150-plus years ago was making art for America in 2025. Not easy, but possible.
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