Let's start this entry with a disclaimer: I could be accused of being a philistine. I like museums and galleries well enough, as long as the exhibits are self-explanatory or self-guided - and then, I much prefer the ones that show me how something works, where something is, or otherwise uses things like scale models and maps. That means art galleries fall fairly low on the list: I don't know enough about it to appreciate it without a guide, but with the guide, I wander off because there is too much talking. I mean, I'm the girl who even skipped through sections of the audio guide in Beethovenhaus in October (but the part where they simulated the deterioration in his hearing? that part I played twice!).
Sculpture is much the same - I am not the sort who will stand in front of it and tilt her head to one side while holding a wineglass in the other and simply "appreciate" it - I don't get it enough, and I'm not patient enough to try. I do realize that I'm missing things: many years ago, I was at a vernissage, and the featured sculptor appeared to have a tiny bit of contempt for some members of his backwoods non-big-city-gallery-going audience, because he chose to explain the stuff to me in great detail in German - I imagine it was to make a point, to underscore the distinction: he came from somewhere else. Somewhere where, presumably, his great art was more appreciated. Or maybe there was another reason, all I remember is that lightbulbs went off in my sulky teenaged head and I got why it was so cool. Well, until the moment when some nice unilingual lady approached him and asked him to explain a particular piece. He may have been in a bad mood. He may have explained it once too often - but what I remember is him saying something along the lines of, talk to Johanna, I just gave her the entire story, and swanning off.
So. We now have an anecdote to set up the following premises: Johanna underappreciates fine art. Johanna realizes that she does not understand it. Johanna is too impatient to make the effort to understand it. Johanna is aware that she would appreciate it more if she made the effort. This should lead to a conclusion of, Johanna resolves to better herself. Instead, though, we have the less obvious but still logically sound alternate conclusion: this does not stop Johanna from wandering around a sculpture park and drawing her own conclusions.
Here we go: today, I decided that I needed to see Vigeland Park, which is this incredibly cool strip of culture in the otherwise active recreation-oriented Frognerparken in Oslo. And Vigeland Park is home to many of Gustav Viegeland's sculptures. And all I know of Vigeland I learned from the the museum's biography of him, and I don't need to regurgitate that. Besides, I only read it after I came back from this outing. So, instead, I give you the story that I made up.
It starts, as these stories often do, with a boy and a girl. Or rather, a man and a woman. And really, the story starts with man and woman meeting, and falling in love, and all that goes with it. In the children's rhyme, it's love, marriage, baby carriage - and so it is in this story too.
See how tenderly they love their first-born child, a son. 
And children are a treasure indeed. Daddy is proud of his little son, he carries him high on his shoulders, he swings him around in circles. Sometimes, junior frets a bit, but children do, don't they?
Really, it's quite natural, and still very adorable. And then, the fertile Norwegian woman, she bears them another child, this time, a little girl. Now there are two small children, and they can still be carried by the dad at one time, and as they grow bigger, he continues to play with them. A blessing the children.
The only thing is, really, she's very fertile, the bearer of all these blessings. And our hero, he has needs too. 
And he frequently has rocks for brains, so contraception is just not something that has occurred to him. So the blessings keep on coming. Look how rough he has it, with all those blessings. Of course, as you might expect, the mother's lot is not much better. I'd argue that it's considerably worse, at least in Vigeland's eyes...
And at some point, the whole thing gets out of control. When she's not being ridden ragged by her children, she receives the same treatment from her beloved husband. Look at her, look how she needs comfort from her mother after discovering that she will once again bring glad tidings to the marital home, which is already bursting at the seams. There is nothing else to be done: she lays down the law with her husband, they shall henceforth explore options which will not lead to further procreation. 
Our hero responds to this suggestions with a mix of confusion and anger. Their first attempt looks strenuous and not particularly arousing. So they tried it her way - back to back they faced each other, so to speak. She is an imaginative woman, if a desparate one, and she was quite pleased with the opportunities here. He however, felt ... well, he felt very little, which was the problem. But she was not budging. She was happy and, more importantly, not pregnant or suckling at this precise moement. At her stage, that alone would be a definition of happines.
So, our hero started exploring other options... But ultimately, he already knew what he liked (not that he thought there was anything wrong with any of the other options, but he wanted to be with his wife). 
After several months of persuasion, the poor woman relented, and calculated just how many more children she would have to bear before nature was finished taking its course with her and ceased her courses, so to speak. She turned out to be a fortunate woman who retained her reproductive abilities for many more years than she expected.
I suppose, really, that the whole story can be eloquently summed up in the largest piece of sculpture in the park, a phallic mass of humanity known as The Monolith. It makes the point that I assign it as eloquently as a commercial I once saw.
The notion that Vigeland was in favour of options for reproductive control is entirely my somewhat deliberate misinterpretation. And any commentary you may choose to read into this in light of policies and advice given by the South Dakota Senate and Pope Benedict XVI is entirely deliberate as well.