Cornelia, mother of treasures
An ode to chosen motherhood
Cornelia, mère des Gracques, Angelica Kauffmann
31 July 2022
What could be more precious than the ability to choose to bring a child into the world?
Read in French.
WARSAW, Poland — Do you know Cornelia Africana? She's one of the most emblematic faces of glorified motherhood in Ancient Rome. She gave birth to two sons, the Gracchi brothers, who left a lasting mark on Rome in the 2nd century BC. Cornelia was celebrated as the epitome of virtue and maternal devotion. She has been immortalized in the work of Austrian artist Angelica Kauffmann in the painting Cornelia, Mother of the Gracchi, which I first encountered in Warsaw, Poland's sumptuous capital, during a trip with my sister in the summer of 2022.
"One day, she receives a visit from an acquaintance who comes to her home to show off her jewelry. In response, Cornelia presents her children as her most precious treasures - more precious than any material possession." - Inscription accompanying the painting, Royal Castle of Warsaw.
Upon reading the inscription, my sister whispered to me, "C’est beau”. Instinctively, I retorted with a doubtful expression, somewhat caught between a certain idea of feminism and a cynicism perhaps quite characteristic of our modern era. Yet, it was beautiful. The painting depicted a mother who found profound fulfillment in raising her children, seeing their growth as her greatest achievement, more valuable than any materialistic aspiration. A mother who finds her personal and spiritual accomplishment in the education and well-being of her children, who sees in their development the source of her purest joy. Her children are her most precious treasures, and she celebrates them as such.
However, it was by placing the painting in context — considering its somewhat strange presence in the midst of a room in the Royal Castle of Poland’s capital, the European country with the most restrictive reproductive rights — that I began to ask myself these questions. How can we exalt motherhood in a country whose laws undermine the very freedom to choose to become a mother?
In traveling to Poland, I knew what I was exposing myself to. I was aware that going to a country with such punitive restrictions would likely unsettle me, since sexual and reproductive rights are at the very heart of my work. As the days passed, as I walked through the streets, past storefront, billboards and public imagery that perpetuated reductive and codified representations of women, my discomfort only grew. But beyond my discomfort with these caricatured representations, what troubled me most was the dishonesty surrounding the portrayal of motherhood—glorified, celebrated, sanctified.
It seemed obvious to me that a woman whose autonomy over her pregnancy was denied could only partially experience the freedom of being a mother. How can we exalt motherhood while simultaneously reducing it to an obligation, rather than a choice? A choice that only the mother, who carries the unborn child and potentially bears the lifelong responsibility of raising a human being, can make in full awareness. A choice she makes based on her ability and desire to raise children in good health, who can thrive if provided with optimal conditions.
Seeing this painting, and Cornelia, I thought of my friend, who also considers her children to be her greatest accomplishment. Just days after the ruling that overturned the constitutional right to abortion in the United States, she called me in tears to tell me she was pregnant again. She was going to have an abortion.
"You are lucky to live in France right now," her doctor told her during her consultation.
My friend, who had been pregnant several times under difficult circumstances, knew better than anyone what it meant to be a mother. When she became pregnant the first times, she knew she would do everything in her power to ensure the well-being and health her children would need. She dedicated herself wholeheartedly to her children, showing the same maternal virtue and determination as Cornelia, who moved heaven and earth for her sons.
Being a Cornelia does not come without sacrifices. Having a child entails consequences for a woman’s life, both as an individual and as a human being. It is the price of the body — transformed by pregnancy, forcing the woman to make space. It is the price of selfhood — sometimes requiring the postponement of aspirations, desires, work, or financial security. It is the price of the worker, the artist, the creator, the craftswoman — who often has to pause her work to make space for another life, sometimes at the cost of a sense of social alienation.
Motherhood is both an individual and a collective choice. Choosing to bring a human being into the world while being aware of the social structures that will shape the child’s future requires reflection, one that cannot be dictated by a disembodied, political obligation that claims ownership over a woman’s body.
Many would argue that the mother is not alienated by society but rather exalted—pampered, elevated to the status of a “superior being.” To which I cannot help but point out the inherent contradictions and paradoxes in this notion: Women can be exalted for their reproductive function. Yet, they are subjected to patriarchal pressures to bear children, limiting their autonomy and independence. Mothers can be celebrated, even deified, mystified. But once the child is born, many women find themselves ostracized, sidelined, and confined to the home. The mother ensures the prosperity of the family, the nation and the species; yet the woman, still in many places, is unhesitatingly plunged into poverty - often due to her assignment to non-income-generating (yet value-generating) functions or to unpaid labor or underpaid care work. They are relegated to the margins of economic, cultural and financial power.
Being a Cornelia should not be an obligation — it should be a choice. Without a conscious and collective effort to make motherhood — and parenthood — one of the most enriching experiences of live, we cannot simply assume that pregnancy and child-rearing are automatic. Pregnancy is a choice for life, for one’s own life, for that of the child, and for our society as a whole. This is why it is precious, “more than any material possession,” and imperative, that motherhood becomes a choice everywhere, rather than a disembodied obligation.
