The Two Madonnas c. 1923

Curator: Ah, "The Two Madonnas," drawn around 1923 by Robert Austin. Look closely; you'll see it’s crafted with both pencil and pen, a delicate dance on toned paper. Editor: It's quiet, almost haunting. The way the light catches the figures makes them seem so weary, so earthbound, despite the title. It feels more like observation than reverence. Curator: That’s a sharp reading. Austin was deeply influenced by the Italian Renaissance, specifically masters like Mantegna and Piero della Francesca. He frequently used religious imagery but infused it with modern sentiment. The setting, a humble dwelling instead of a cathedral, emphasizes the everyday lives of the subjects. Editor: I love how the building, little more than a crude structure, forms a sort of halo. There's vulnerability in their slumped postures. The sketches around the core subject makes you feel like you're peering into a private, personal sketchbook entry rather than viewing something intended for public eyes. Curator: Absolutely. In this era, the traditional image of motherhood was often romanticized, but here, Austin presents it raw and unfiltered. The "madonnas" seem burdened, careworn—challenging viewers to reconsider the idealized version. It speaks volumes about societal expectations and the realities of the working class during that period. Editor: You know, it almost feels subversive. To present this intimate scene, these weary mothers, with a title invoking such strong religious overtones forces a re-evaluation. Were these sketches preparation for an image of Mary, reframed by social observations? I almost want to call them anti-Madonnas. Curator: Interesting! This work is a poignant reminder of art's capacity to both uphold and challenge convention. By rendering it with such unassuming methods, Austin has created space for quiet, individual experience. Editor: I like that perspective. Ultimately, "The Two Madonnas" is a sketch, yes, but also an invitation to look beyond iconography.