One of the most important contributing factors to the lack of lesbian pop artists is the lack of women in the movement as a whole. The artists who became successful and influential within the movement were entirely male while women remained strangely absent. An ideal example of the lack of female pop artists is found in the exhibition and its accompanying film, “Seductive Subversion: Women Pop Artists, 1958-1968”. This 2010 exhibition attempted to display the work of and interview women pop artists. However, many of the artists included created work that was distinctly not pop. For instance, Martha Rosler and Faith Ringgold were both featured within the film, yet did not actually work within the pop art movement; neither running within the same circles as other pop artists nor creating work that was stylistically pop. The fact that they were included in the show reveals the limited number of women pop artists available.

(L) Martha Rosler, Cleaning the Drapes, 1967-72. (R) Faith Ringgold, The Flag is Bleeding, 1967.

Although not all necessarily pop, the experiences these women shared would be relevant to the plight of all women artists of the time. Exclusionary practices towards women, queer artists, and artists of color were common; one of the most recurring troubles being finding gallery representation. For example, Rosalyn Drexler was exhibiting at Reuben Gallery along with emerging pop artists George Segal, Claes Oldenburg, and more when the gallery closed. While her male peers had no issue finding new representation, Drexler inexplicably struggled. While her work was at a level comparable to her peers, her gender was apparently not. She also recalls the societal expectations upon women artists who must work while caring for their husbands and children saying, “I couldn’t go to the factory and use drugs. I couldn’t go to Andy’s and hang out”. Drexler’s peer Idelle Weber reiterates this idea, saying, “We were the only ones with children so we had a hard time going out to play”, claiming further that if her contemporaries knew that she had children it would have ended—or at least greatly limited—her career. This idea of a boys club in which the women cannot play is a recurring theme for women artists of the 1960s. While their work may have been innovative and visually strong, it was difficult to advance while being excluded by peers.

(Top) Rosalyn Drexler, Home Movies, 1963. (Bottom) Idelle Weber, Munchkins I, II, & III, 1964.

The lack of innovative, successful, and influential women artists has been thoroughly explored in Linda Nochlin’s famous article, “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” in which she attributes the dearth of women in the field to a system structured to prevent just such a thing. The limited options of education for women artists, societal expectations discouraging women entering the arts, and a romanticized ideal of the male genius has historically led to the institutional exclusion of women from the ranks of the truly great. While this piece does not directly address the plight of lesbian artists, one can assume similar structural inequalities prevented lesbian women and straight women from achieving notoriety. In addition to gender discrimination, lesbian artists’ sexuality increased the difficulty of obtaining success in a field dominated by straight men.

So where were the women of the pop art movement? While the creators of pop art were largely male, the subject of the artwork was largely female. Most are aware of Warhol’s infamous factory filled with Warholian Superstars, a group primarily composed of women who acted as muses for Warhol while generating publicity, appearing in his films, and being captured in his prints. The subjects of Warhol’s silkscreens were primarily women; some were even pop artists themselves. For example, Rosalyn Drexler appeared in a series of silkscreen paintings in which she dressed as a wrestler. Another example is aspiring pop artist—in the field of film—Valerie Solanas, who attempted to have Warhol produce her play Up Your Ass. He rejected the play as too pornographic, but gave Solanas a role in his film I, A Man. Following a drawn out period of conflict between the two artists and Solanas’s mental struggles, Solanas shot Warhol.

It’s telling that the most notorious lesbian involved in the 1960s pop movement attempted to kill its most prominent artist. Solanas’s actions are undoubtedly a result of her preexisting mental issues, yet her other complaints may still hold true. Solanas was frustrated at her inability to break into the ranks of creators of pop art and in the patriarchal barriers she saw in her path. While her actions were inexcusable, Solanas was just one symptom of a larger problem.

The pop art movement was a notorious boy’s club. Built upon the groundwork laid by gay abstract expressionists such as Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, pop art proved to be friendly to gay artists; allowing men like Andy Warhol to lead the art scene. Lesbian artists had no foremothers to look to and would have had a difficult time breaking into the pop art scene being both queer and a woman. Interestingly enough, one of the powerful players in the 1950s art world was a lesbian, Betty Parsons of the Betty Parsons Gallery. Parsons has a claim towards launching abstract expressionism, starting the careers of Pollock, Rothko, Newman, and Rauschenberg among many others. It would be easy to assume that Parsons herself ignored other women and lesbian artists; however, Parsons did not just represent straight, white men. Unsurprisingly, though, they were the ones who attained “greatness”. Parsons did not play favorites, refusing to cave to the demands of the most successful artists at her gallery at the expense of the least successful (which in this situation means she did not cave to the privileged straight, white men at the expense of artists who were queer, female, or of color), and at the same time refusing to give unprivileged artists an extra push. This is the difference between straight, male artists and queer, female artists; the privileged group is able to confidently use their privilege in ways that help one another while the unprivileged group often cannot or will not. It is not the fault of Parsons that she did not give more of a helping hand to lesbians of the abstract expressionist movement or the pop art movement, but of those who would condemn her had she done so.

Betty Parsons

Women artists during the abstract expressionist and pop art period were often painted as something other, frequently being depicted as links between the work that was truly abstract expressionism or truly pop. For example, Grace Hartigan was originally categorized as an abstract expressionist. When her work began to be viewed as a threat to the “true” abstract expressionism, one free from any type of figural work, she was repositioned as part of the second generation of the movement, including other women artists such as Joan Mitchell and Helen Frankenthaler (as this was the second generation of a movement women were finally allowed to join, similar to how lesbians were largely excluded from the first waves of queer cinema). Following that she was depicted as a forerunner of new expressionism. Following this repositioning she was cast as a link between abstract expressionism and pop art. Depicting women artists as a link between different artistic movements is a powerful way to downplay their worth. They are shown as neither the true innovators of a new movement nor the true giants of the last, merely as something in between. This is a fate that befell many pop-related women artists including Hartigan, Yayoi Kusama, and many more.

Arising around the same period of time as pop art, the feminist art movement proved very attractive to lesbian artists. In fact, many of the supposed pop artists included in the Seductive Subversion show are more frequently categorized within the feminist art movement. This is not to say that the feminist art movement was never used as a way of ignoring and ghettoizing the accomplishments of women artists, this happened fairly frequently. But the lure of political art in which women artists were on equal ground was very strong. The woman-dominated field of feminist art was more attractive to lesbians who would not have to fight and claw their way to having the respect that straight, white men were simply given. Lesbian artists such as Tee Corinne created work that celebrated women’s bodies and sexuality in a way that sought to escape the male gaze. One could claim that this is what the feminist art movement was about, creating a space where men could not dominate the discourse and the voices of women were heard.

Lesbian artists generally had three main options in regards to how they presented—or hid—their sexuality. The first option was to keep their orientation private and compete with male artists using subject matter that did not relate to their sexuality. The next was to participate in the feminist art movement creating work with and for women. The last option was to make lesbianism the decisive subject of their work and demand that their sexuality be seen as a part of their work. Out of these three options working within the feminist art movement generally proved to be the path of least resistance. One could participate in a community of women artists and enjoy a level playing field.

Many lesbian artists were drawn towards figural work. This is likely for a number of reasons, for example, the fact that women’s bodies in mainstream artwork were presented by men for men and ignored women who loved women entirely. Figural work allowed lesbian artists to express their desire for the female form in a way that subverted the heterocentric depiction of women’s bodies, a message that would be difficult or impossible to express within the pop art movement. If work such as Corinne’s Yantras of Womanlove were presented within the culture of pop art it is likely that the subtle subversion of mainstream desire would be overlooked. Additionally, the largely non-figural pop art was a movement based upon commerciality. Privileged artists could view the commercial as nonpolitical, because for them it was. Unprivileged artists, in dealing with the commercial, were forced to make it political. Idelle Weber’s work, for example, frequently depicted cinematic images of men and women dancing. Coming from the perspective of an artist from a privileged group, such as Roy Lichtenstein, these images would have been fairly unemotional. Coming from the perspective of a woman artist who would likely have, say, a complicated history with the depiction of women in films the work is suddenly personal and political. Lesbian artists could not participate in pop art in a way that would be accepted as pop art. Their unprivileged perspective would create a sense of political motive, even if there were none.

Tee Corinne, from Yantras of Womanlove, 1982.

Another factor likely contributing to the lack of lesbian pop artists is the invisibility of lesbians of this time period. The pop art movement found its legs prior to the Stonewall riots in 1969 that most audiences agree upon as the beginning of an active gay rights movement. One of the side effects of the uprising was an increase in the production of artwork that was overtly LGBTQ related. However, artists before the gay rights movement generally kept things quiet. Rauschenberg and Johns may have experienced male privilege, and likely straight privilege as they generally attempted to pass, but they were not able to express their sexuality freely. Women artists were who were already at a disadvantage due to their gender would likely have no reason to want to disclose their sexuality.

Even within the LGBTQ community lesbians were largely invisible. Even in minority groups there are hierarchical levels of privilege, and lesbians were solidly lower on the ladder than gay men. Despite the fact that the queer community faced constant discrimination they were still a part of a kyriarchal society and many behaved in a way that discriminated against women, people of color, and transgender men and women. If lesbians were not treated as equals even within their own community could they truly expect mainstream society to treat them fairly?

While gay men acted as leaders of the pop art movement lesbian artists were barred entirely. Through exclusionary attitudes towards women, attractive alternative movements, and lesbian invisibility, the pop art movement proved to be both unappealing and unattainable for many lesbian artists.

…

This is a paper that I wrote for my Queer Looks class. Reading it over, it seems as though the question could just as easily be, “Where were the women pop artists?”. Just as a point of clarification, I was contrasting the complete lack of lesbian pop artists to the prominence of gay pop artists. While I think that gender played just a large a role as sexuality in the exclusion of lesbians, I think it’s interesting to consider the fact that while gay men were able to act as leaders in pop art, lesbian women were not.

I would recommend watching some of the Seductive Subversion interviews. Also, if you know of any lesbian pop artists (From the early movement, not lesbian artists working later on in a pop art style) let us know in the comments!

Many people are unaware that women are underrepresented and underpaid in the art world. The problem is not that women’s work is not as good, it’s not that women are not promoting themselves as well, and it’s certainly not that there are less of us. The problem is that so many of the people running our museums and galleries are biased against women, and push men’s work to the forefront while dismissing work by women.

It’s important that we know this. Because things will not change until we at least acknowledge the problem.

Here are a few museums and galleries that showcase women artists. Take a look if you can; they share the work of some incredible artists:

National Museum of Women in the Arts: The only major museum in the world dedicated to women’s artwork. This is one of my favorite museums. Definitely visit if you’re in the DC area!

Woman Made Gallery: A Chicago gallery with the mission of ensuring equal placement of women in the art world. It’s a beautiful space. They’re currently accepting submissions for their “Inspired By… Celebrating Illinois Women Artists and Artisans” exhibit.

Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art: An exhibition and education environment dedicated to feminist art. Their site has helped me with quite a few research papers!

Florida Museum for Women Artists: A museum dedicated to identifying and promoting women in the arts.

Rutgers Institute for Women and Art: Educating about women in the arts and exhibiting work by women artists, the IWA attempts to include women in the mainstream art world and historical record. Also check out their Feminist Art Project.

Feel free to comment if you know of any women-oriented art programs, galleries, or museums you feel should be included in this list!

This has remained fairly constant over time. There is work challenging this structure, but the majority still caters to men, largely limiting women to the role of muse. However, while the role of women in the arts has remained stagnant, the definition of “woman” has expanded. An increasing awareness of the false dichotomy of gender introduces a new question; how are transgender women depicted in artwork?

Take a look at images of transgender women in the photography of Charlie White:

Charlie White, Teen and Transgender Comparative Study #1 (2008)

Charlie White, Teen and Transgender Comparative Study #2 (2008)

Charlie White, Teen and Transgender Study #3 (2008)

Charlie White, Teen and Transgender Study #5 (2008)

White’s series, Teen and Transgender Comparative Study, was released in 2008; a series of images in which teenage girls were paired with transgender women. The series has been read by many as commentary on desire and how our culture finds both teen girls and transgender women attractive, but dangerously so. Were one to act on these desires it would be in the face of punishment, whether inflicted by the law or by one’s peers. Andrew Womack of The Morning News says of White’s photographs, “In the images in White’s series, both figures are blossoming into womanhood, though each along a different path. As observers, however, we have been taught to view the subjects in much the same way: with sheer terror”.This is a very popular reading of White’s work, in which teenage girls and transgender women are embarking on a similar path to womanhood, one that terrifies the viewer. Womack is correct to say that observers have been taught to view the subjects in a similar way. However, it is not a sense of terror that is shared, but an audience’s learned objectification of women as a subject.

While White’s series offers interesting commentary on society’s views of gender and sexuality, it also heavily objectifies the female form through a male lens. For example, White’s work conforms to a very narrow standard of feminine beauty; the teens are pale and thin with long, straight hair, matched by their equally attractive transgender counterparts. The trans women are, in White’s words, “very specifically very passable transgenders”. Already White is limiting his field to women who conform to the standards of beauty prescribed by the male gaze. By restricting depictions of transgender women to those who can pass, he is displaying his lack of interest in representing transgender women and revealing his desire to create work catering to straight men. This also negates potential commentary on the construction of femininity, as White has a heavy hand in the set up of these photographs. White selectively hired and styled the models in his series, and thus the photographs are constructions of whom he believes teenage girls and transgender women to be.

It is important to acknowledge the context in which this work is being created. Firstly, the series is part of a larger project focusing on teenage girls—a project that closely scrutinizes and values young women for their appearance. Secondly, White is a middle aged, straight, white man. As previously mentioned, there is a history of privileged, older men creating work about young women and girls. From Degas to Picasso, from Schiele to Kirchner, teenage girls are hardly a new subject in art. The correlation between teenage girls and transgender women, however, is a more recent development. White is aware of his position of privilege in creating these works, and has a complicated relationship with what he considers to be exploitation versus the instigation of discussion. When asked about criticism surrounding his focus on blonde, white women White addressed whether he thought it was acceptable for him to approach this subject, saying, “I don’t think it’s limited to the fact that I am an adult white male. I think it’s about the representation itself. They’re complicated images, they provoke complicated discussions”. Unfortunately, in observing White’s other work the line between exploitation and discussion is blurred further. In one project, White performed a casting call for LAX to find the “ideal California girl”. As in much of White’s other work, she was to be thirteen to sixteen years old, blonde, and white. By executing this scenario in public White claims to have explored themes of exploitation and judgment in regards to teenage girls. Conceptually, this idea makes sense. In practice, however, White was casting for a real campaign and created a real billboard. The process was less commentary on a common practice and more an example of that practice. White was not merely commenting on those who judge teenage girls, he himself was a judge.

Charlie White, Casting Call, final billboard (2010)

Knowledge of White’s larger project allows an audience to view his Teen and Transgender Study more objectively. What at first appears to be a discussion of gender and sexuality at second glance becomes an exploitative, narrow view of transgender women. The comparison of teenage girls with transgender women is problematic, in that it infantilizes these women and limits presentation of their gender identity as always being both a physical and emotional transformation. The audience does not know any information about these women. Has their gender expression always aligned with their gender identity? Is a physical transition something they experienced or will pursue? Do they feel that their transition is similar to puberty? We cannot find this information from these images, and at surface value, all we really see is some pretty, blonde women.

In addition to failing to fully address his background of privilege, White has been criticized for the stylistic choices he made in this project. The photographs are highly analytical, almost sterile, in that the figures are presented stiffly posed in front of a gridded background. The women in these photographs are not shown to be happy, but neither are they sad. The expressions are hard to read, with blank—at most slightly surprised—faces. The combination of a lack of emotion or personality and the sterile feeling of the images contributes to the objectification of these women. The audience receives a feeling of detachment, of these women merely being part of a study, a situation that is amplified by the series’ title.

By observing how White addresses the concept of privilege, his casting process, and how he depicts teenage girls and transgender women one is able to conclude that his series of photographs caters heavily to the male gaze. The fact that he only included trans women who could easily pass says a lot about his intended message and audience. Overall, the execution of this project was problematic, and can be considered indicative of a larger trend in the contemporary art scene, in which artists are feeling out how to treat transgender figures. While accepting trans women as women, many members of the artistic community have simply applied the old rules of gender to the new gender spectrum.

What do you think? Is White’s work objectifying women? Is visibility for trans women in the arts a good thing no matter how heavy handed the final product? Share your thoughts in the comments.

When we move away from the typical self portrait (Frontal/Three Quarters/Profile, shoulders up, fairly naturalistic, etc) things start to get really interesting. One of the subgenres I find the most fascinating is the Self Portrait with Model.

Paul Georges, Self Portrait with Model in Studio (1967-68)

Self portraits with models are a very gender specific format. With few exceptions (None of which are very well known as far I can tell) the artist is a man and the model is a woman. The artist is clothed and meets the viewer’s gaze, expressing a sense of power. Out of the numerous examples I have been able to find the artists are all white, male, and generally upwards of thirty years old. The models are young, white, conventionally attractive women who pose in various states of undress. They seldom meet our gaze. The tone I am picking up on is one of possessiveness. Artists gesture towards the models (as seen above), touch their bodies, or simply loom aggressively over the figures. There is a sense of bravado at the power they hold over these nude, young women that I’m sure fellow art students have witnesses amongst their peers (We get it art boys! You painted this from a live model! Naked women will pose for you! Congratulations!)

Were there merely a few paintings of this nature I would accept them as an artist displaying his work environment, his skill, or simply something he enjoys. But the fact that there are so many self portraits with models raises important questions.

First! More Self Portraits with Models:

Béla Iványi-Grünwald, Self-portrait with a Model

Anders Zorn, Self Portrait with Model (1896)

Ernst Kirchner, Self Portrait with Model (1905)

More after the jump!

Ernst Kirchner, Self-Portrait as a Soldier (1915)

Otto Dix, Self-Portrait with Nude Model (1923)

Otto Dix, Self-Portrait with Muse (1924). Dix's work actually pokes fun at self portraits with models.

Lovis Corinth, Self Portrait with Model (1903)

Csaba Vilmos Perlrott, Self-portrait with a Model (1922)

Helmut Newton, Self-portrait with model (1973)

Helmut Newton, Self-Portrait with Wife & Models (1981)

Self-Portrait with Model at Bergamo, Giacomo Manzù (2010). I saw this piece recently at the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden in DC, which prompted me to further research self portraits with models.

Pretty formulaic, really. Although the theme spreads across different artistic styles and mediums the basic gist remains the same; an artist (A man with clothing and a personality) with a model (A woman who acts in the role as beautiful, nude muse).

One of main problems with this format is why there are close to no Self Portraits with Models that feature female artists and male muses. In my search I was able to locate this painting:

Laura Knight, Self Portrait with Nude (1913)

Some online sources (Which may all stem from Wikipedia, so take this with a grain of salt) claim this to be the first painting by a woman artist depicting herself with a nude model. Note that the model is also a woman. This speaks volumes about the way the art world (during this era at least) privileges the nude female form over the nude male form as aesthetically pleasing. Knight’s painting displays how artwork is generally created for the male gaze and that women are often painted as objects to look at, even in paintings by other women.

Take a look at this image:

Robert G. Harris, A Kiss from Johnny (1952)

This illustration accompanied a magazine story entitled, A Kiss from Johnny. In this scenario the artist is a woman, the model is a man, and yet the power exchange is very different. The model has swept the artist backwards, encroaches upon her space. He can hardly be seen as powerless. Of course, this is not a self portrait, simply a depiction of the artist/model relationship that I felt to be applicable to the situation.

Arguably the most famous of these works is by Kirchner:

Ernst Kirchner, Self Portrait with Model (1910)

This piece typifies the Self Portrait with Model. Kirchner looms in the foreground, unconfined by the boundaries of the painting. He stands confidently with what could be read as a smirk upon his face. The colorful robe drapes over his body, but is obviously unbuttoned, emphasizing the nudity underneath. In contrast, the model in the background is small. She huddles inward with hunched shoulders and legs turned slightly away from the viewer. Her hand is held in her lap, drawing attention to her genitalia. The model’s expression is hard to read. She is clearly unhappy, but whether she is upset, angry, or fearful is uncertain. There is a tension in the air that could be read as an erotic charge, but with the unhappy model it implies something darker. I’ve heard arguments that Kirchner is implying that this model has been violated, but I could not say for sure. Whatever the sexual relationship between the two may be, there is an obvious power dynamic at play, with Kirchner having control over his model.

The narrative becomes more obvious when one realizes the longstanding history of artist/model relationships. Famous artists like Picasso, Modligiani, Renoir, Degas, Schiele, and so many more have a history of sleeping with their models. Some artists (Like Otto Dix, as seen above) call attention to this relationship in order to satirize it. Other artists (Like Kirchner) call attention to the relationship while reinforcing it.

This subgenre could be understandable were it not for the lack of gender dynamics other than masculine artist/feminine model. As women gain more prominence in the art world and queer artists fight for a larger platform it would seem reasonable to see more women depicting men, women depicting women, men depicting men, or any combination of gender identities rather than the limited one seen here.

Here is a Self Portrait with Model I found refreshing, in that while many factors of the artist/model relationship remain the same, the model is not what society considers conventionally attractive. This entirely transforms the tone and meaning behind the piece, with Hanson referencing the implied sexual relationship behind Self Portraits with Models. (Although the implied lack of sexual attraction specifically because of the woman’s appearance is a whole nother can of worms).

Duane Hanson, Self-Portrait with Model (1979)

So share your thoughts in the comments. And if you know of interesting Self Portraits with Models, please share!

But let’s go back in time. Back to the original virgin and the original whore.

Carlo da Camerino, The Madonna of Humility with the Temptation of Eve, circa 1400.

Eve and the Virgin Mary are often paired within Renaissance artwork. They represent Christian thoughts on the roles of women in the church; one serving as a warning and one as an ideal. A great example is Carlo da Camerino’s altarpiece, The Madonna of Humility with the Temptation of Eve, in which the Virgin Mary sits with the Christ child, beautiful, kind, and humble; a role model for all good women of the church. Below Mary, however, lies Eve with the serpent; largely nude and lascivious as the serpent (feminized!) emerges from between her legs. Fur is wrapped around her hips, a symbol of lust.

In the church Eve is seen as dangerous because she disobeyed the word of God and led her husband into sin. She is seen as disobedient, and therefore a danger to the church’s structure in which women are helpmeets to their husbands, mothers to sons, and little else. The Virgin Mary, however, is the church’s ideal woman. A virgin, yet miraculously a mother, Mary is the impossible embodiment of Christianity’s conflicting ideas of what a woman should be. She resides within the church’s preferred realm of a nonsexual woman who does the bidding of her God and of her husband; obedient and therefore safe. Works linking these two women are typological in nature, requiring the viewer to link Eve and Mary together as the vehicle for mankind’s fall and for mankind’s salvation. Camerino’s work, as an altarpiece, is meant to police the behavior of men and women of the church into turning away from the actions of Eve and towards those of Mary.

The focus upon Mary and Eve’s bodies emphasizes the different attitudes towards the two women. Eve’s body is beautiful and sensual and is displayed as an object of lust. She is the embodiment of the era’s physical ideal of beauty with high, firm breasts, small feet and hands, curly blond hair, and delicately colored white and pink skin. She represents temptation at its finest. Mary’s body is clothed and maternal. The little nudity there is in this Madonna lactans is almost absurd in how non-sexual it is, with one bared breast emerging demurely from her collarbone. There is only one, and it serves to feed the young Christ. Eve’s body is for men in that they see her as a sexual object while Mary’s body is for men as a mother.

Leonardo da Vinci, Madonna Litta, 1490-91

Guido Reni, Madonna and Child, 1628-30

Rogier van der Weyden, Madonna, 1430-32

Pedro Berruguete, Virgin and Child, c. 1500

While one would imagine that depictions of Eve would widely vary throughout Renaissance Christian denominations, particularly between Catholics and Protestants, they largely did not. Although the equation of nakedness with sin was more common amongst Protestants than Catholics, religion was not the main reason for this association. Rather, southern artists were working within a stronger classical tradition while northern artists were not. Therefore, northern artists were more likely to view nudity, specifically female nudity, as taboo, while southern artists viewed nudity as part of their great classical tradition. Following the reformation Europe had a north/south split between Protestants and Catholics, and artists of both denominations drew information from their surroundings. There are examples of artists crossing the line of nudity as a taboo and as a classical tradition, such as the Catholic artists Van Eyck and van der Goes, who both used the “Protestant” technique of emphasizing fleshly sins in their depictions of Eve.

More damning in their depiction of Eve were artists influenced by the cult of the Virgin Mary, venerating Mary while painting Eve as a temptress and sinner. An example would be Jan van Eyck’s Lucca Madonna, in which the Virgin Mary nurses Christ upon her lap—once again with an oddly placed, singular, non-sexual breast—with a humble, loving look upon her face. Although Mary is regally dressed and bejeweled upon a throne she is in a domestic setting, which highlights her humility and piety. Eve is not physically represented in this painting, but is clearly referenced by the small fruit Christ holds between his mother’s body and his own. The cult of the Virgin viewed Mary and Eve as opposites; one obedient and one not, one orderly and one disorderly, one a virgin and one a whore.

Jan van Eyck, Lucca Madonna, 1436. This piece references Eve through the small fruit Christ holds in his hand between his body and that of the Virgin Mary's.

It’s interesting to see how this dichotomy has unfortunately stood the test of time. Have you seen this gender construct in your own life? Feel free to share in the comments.

This post relates to an earlier piece on the sexualization and feminization of Eve and the serpent. Check it out here.

If you’d like to learn more about the dichotomy between the Virgin Mary and Eve (and Carlo da Camerino’s altarpiece in particular) I would recommend reading Anne Elizabeth Dunlop’s paper, “Gender and Genre in a Quattrocento Altarpiece”.

Detail, Hieronymus Bosch Garden of Earthly Delights, 1503-1504

Bosch’s hell forces its inhabitants to overindulge in their vices. For example, this woman has to stare into a mirror for eternity; a punishment for the sin of vanity. And her gaze falls upon an interestingly placed mirror, with her reflection eternally affixed to the ass of a demon.

Hieronymus Bosch Garden of Earthly Delights, 1503-1504

Bosch’s triptych is most commonly read as a warning about life’s temptations and depicts Adam and Eve in a paradise that has already been corrupted (monstrous hybrid animals wander the fields), men and women frolicking lasciviously through what is possible a pre-flood world, and sinners being tortured in hell.

Sins of the body are pretty heavily emphasized here, whether through a provocative glance shared between Adam and Eve or through a sow dressed as a nun beating a lustful man. It’s a surreal and interesting look at the Protestant Reformation’s view on sin.

Here’s a few more details I personally enjoyed:

Yes, this is a unicorn. Unicorns and virgins (virgin women, rather) were often paired together, indicating that Eden is not yet fully corrupted by the sins of the flesh.

A man being punished for his lustful life by a sow dressed as a nun.

The mouth of hell. Satan consumes and excretes sinners.

This nude couple resides within a cracked glass sphere, indicating the fragility of their passion.

For more information on symbolism in this piece (Ungodly amounts!) I would recommend checking out its Wikipedia page.  It’s actually pretty fleshed out!

Think of the biblical serpent from the fall of mankind. Visualize what you imagine it would look like.

Have an image in your head? Good. Now were you picturing anything like this?

Hugo van der Goes, The Fall and Expulsion from Paradise, 1479 CE.

Renaissance artists lived in a patriarchal culture very concerned with the relationship between man and God, fixating upon the idea of women’s sin, guilt and redemption. This patriarchal bent becomes very obvious within artwork created during the period in which both Eve and the serpent are sexualized and feminized. The question becomes, why? Biblical texts refer to the serpent using generic male pronouns, and in most cases in which gender is not specified in the bible, the figures are interpreted as male. So in this specific instance, why does the church do the opposite? The idea of the tree of knowledge introducing general sin into the world doesn’t fully answer this question. However, if the knowledge gained were sexual in nature, specifically the sexual awareness of a woman, the choice to depict a female serpent begins to make much more sense.

The female serpent is a metaphor for women’s sexuality. The serpent tempts Eve into gaining sexual knowledge, and Eve, in turn, acts as temptress to Adam. An ideal example of both a feminized serpent and a sexualized Eve is found in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling painting of The Fall.

Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Fall, detail of the ceiling of Sistine Chapel, 1508-1512.

Keep reading to learn more about the sexualization of Eve and see some pretty ridiculous lady serpents!

This fresco depicts the serpent as a hybrid of woman and beast. Her long, serpentine tail curls around the tree, eventually developing into the nude torso of a woman. We can be assured of her femininity by the prominently silhouetted breast (which is impossibly visible here, the angle of the torso should prevent us from seeing her chest). Breasts are a necessary feature for Michelangelo’s painted women, as their figures are otherwise highly masculine, and thus indiscernible from the men. When he included breasts in his work it was to loudly proclaim the figure to be a woman.

In addition to the feminized serpent we see a sexualized Eve. She is provocatively posed in front of Adam (note that the second she turns her head it’s not just the apple that will be in her mouth), whom is angrily gesturing towards the serpent as an indication of his unwilling participation in these events. Additionally, the middle finger of Eve’s right hand (a Renaissance symbol for a phallus) points towards her genitals. This gesture parallels her left hand’s hold upon the apple and implies that both the apple and Eve’s body act as temptations.

Here are a couple other Renaissance images of feminized serpents:

Anonymous, Universal Chronology, The Creation of Eve, The Original Sin, Adam and Eve Expelled from Paradise, 1480.

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Limbourg Brothers, Detail from Temptation, Fall, and Expulsion, 1411-16 CE.

Renaissance artists, by depicting the serpent as a woman, were both revealing their opinions of female sexuality and decisively blaming womankind for the fall.  Women were perceived by Renaissance audiences to be weak, gullible, and inherently flawed; an ideal scapegoat. The only issue with casting Eve as a temptress is that she was originally tempted by the serpent. If Adam—a man—was tempted by Eve—a woman—who herself was tempted by the serpent—a man—then the blame ultimately falls upon the male sex. However, if the serpent becomes a woman, then woman is ultimately to blame.

An interesting thing to note is that in many of the paintings in which the serpent is not a woman Eve becomes highly provocative. With the snake’s gender undefined Eve is transformed into a sexual, aggressive being using her body to coerce Adam into sin. For example, Lucas Cranach the Elder often allowed the serpent to remain free from feminization while Eve posed provocatively. As seen in one of his paintings, Adam and Eve, the serpent curls itself onto a branch over the original couple’s heads as Eve lasciviously leans back onto the tree of knowledge, one leg bent and an arm extended upward, clinging to a branch and conveniently making her body more receptive to Adam. She aggressively thrusts the apple towards Adam’s face, indicating that her sexual aggression is what corrupted Adam.

Lucas Cranach the Elder, Adam and Eve, 1538 CE

In later works the serpent is downplayed by being partially concealed within shadow or simply overwhelmed by the figures of Eve and Adam. These later paintings portray Eve much more sensually. An ideal example is Adam and Eve by Tintoretto, in which the artist emphasizes the soft curves of Eve’s body and depicts her meaningfully gazing into Adam’s face. Tintoretto’s painting further emphasizes Eve’s role in this event by having strong, white light fall directly upon her figure and by elevating Eve to a position in which she is above Adam, leaning inward and pushing the fruit towards him. These effects are used to emphasize the danger of Eve’s sexual power.

Jacopo Tintoretto, Adam and Eve, 1550.

Similar tools are used in Rubens’ and Brueghel the Eder’s piece, Adam and Eve in Worthy Paradise, including a minimized serpent, strong lighting, an elevated position, and a direct gaze. Compared with earlier work that more frequently used a feminine serpent, Eve’s role is much more strongly emphasized.

Peter Paul Rubens and Han Brueghel the Elder, Adam and Eve in Worthy Paradise, 1615.

In fact, there are very few works in which Adam alone holds the forbidden fruit. The apple signifying original sin is either held by the serpent, Eve alone, or by both Eve and Adam. Although Adam was a participant in these events his role has been downgraded—or upgraded depending on your perspective—to a passive bystander. He becomes a man who was tempted by woman into sin.

So what do you think? Were Renaissance artists really demonizing women’s burgeoning sexuality? Or was there another reason for the feminized serpent? How has our depiction of Eve and Adam (art, pop culture, whatever!) changed today?

This post was crafted from a paper I wrote on depictions of Eve in Renaissance artwork, so be sure to check back later for an additional post on the Madonna/Whore dichotomy constructed between the Virgin Mary and Eve.

One of my favorite experiences was visiting Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. The museum has impressive collections of work ranging from their large exhibitions of American and ancient art to their assortment of Asian and European works. I was particularly taken by their American art, which prominently featured portraiture by Copley, Sargent (who painted the murals covering the ceiling of the dome and the main hall), and more, as well as by their contemporary collection.

John Singleton Copley, A Boy With a Flying Squirrel, 1765. One of the museum's many Copley paintings.

If you get a chance to check it out I would recommend their current film exhibit, Dynamic Endurance which features a collection of three videos with feminist content. It includes “Standing on a Watermelon in the Dead Sea” by Sigalit Landau, “Blood from a Stone” by Kate Gilmore, and my favorite, “Sloss, Kerr, Rosenberg, and Moore” by Ann Carlson and Mary Ellen Strom.

Sigalit Landau, Standing on a Watermelon in the Dead Sea, 2005. Video still. Visit her website to see video clips and stills.

Kate Gilmore, Blood From a Stone, 2009. Video Still. Check out her website here where you can view stills and clips from her performances.

This last piece featured four lawyers (actual lawyers, not just actors) performing a choreographed routine composed by Carlson and Strom after observing the men in action. The dialogue is somewhat absurd, at one point a lawyer points directly towards the viewer and shouts, “You are the biggest baby in this room!” after which he beckons us to approach. The film speaks to masculine performance in the white-collar workplace, gently mocking the rituals of this male-dominated field. It’s hard to take the suit-clad lawyers seriously when they rhythmically clap in a way reminiscent of childhood games, or gently close their eyes and pretend to be planes.

The museum also gives visitors a glimpse into conservation, allowing us to watch restorers working on two Etruscan sarcophagi, as well as the restoration of a room-sized oil painting. Not something that you see very frequently! They also have an interactive display that allows museum-goers to learn more about conservation from the perspective of curators and conservators and explains the process used to restore many pieces.

Gerrit van Honthorst, Allegory of Justice, 17th cent. Read more about its conservation here.

If you’re in the area (or have a lot of time to spare!) I would recommend checking the MFA out. It’s easy to kill an afternoon there looking at some wonderful art.

We were also able to stop by Boston’s Institute of Contemporary Art which currently includes the exhibition, Figuring Color, featuring Sue Williams, Kathy Butterly, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, and Roy McMakin.

Sue Williams, American Enterprise, 2009

Kathy Butterly, Mesmerchandize, 2007

Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Untitled (Lover Boys), 1991. Ideal weight: 355 pounds.

Roy McMakin, A Chest of Drawers Based Upon a Chest of Drawers From My Side Porch, 2008

The show seemed a little disconnected, perhaps, but the work was individually great (Color isn’t really a focus for most of these artists, it’s something they work with, but not the point of their work). I’m particularly a fan of Sue William’s paintings, and I always love Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s commemorative candy piles. The main complaint I have is the size of the museum, there simply wasn’t enough to do. This was largely because the East Galleries are currently closed for exhibition, so if you want to check it out do so after March 21st!

Other than the art related activities, my friend and I went to the aquarium (he’d never been!), visited friends at colleges around the area, checked out Quincy Market, got lost multiple times a day, and drank ungodly amounts of coffee. Take a look if you get the chance!

"Medallion" (1937)

So far they have an artist spotlight on Gluck, a queer oil painter from the late 1800s/early 1900s, a gallery of work by one hundred queer artists, and a ton of other artist spotlights and show reviews. Keep an eye out over the following month for some interesting pieces on gender, sexuality, and art!

Browsing the work of Yayoi Kusama I’m unsurprised that her fame was once greater than Warhol’s. Both artists worked in NYC in the 60s, ran with a similar crowd, and enjoyed similar amounts of attention. Kusama has had a long, productive career in which she experimented with the use of pattern, repetition, and recurring themes of obsession. Her work could arguably be considered a forerunner of both pop art and minimalism, influencing artists from the likes of Oldenberg to–as mentioned before–Warhol himself.

So what happened to Kusama?

Yayoi Kusama

While Kusama is still well represented in galleries, museums, biennales and more, she’s hardly the household name that Warhol is. An extreme comparison, of course, as Warhol is one of the few artists most people outside of the art world know about. But even compared with her contemporaries of non-Warhol-ian fame, such as Eva Hesse and Donald Judd, Kusama seems to get the short end of the recognition stick. I personally had not heard of her until a brief mention in my Queer Looks class, in which she was referenced for her piece Homosexual Wedding.

Kusama had an impressive group of friends and supporters, with Georgia O’Keeffe acting as a mentor when Kusama first came to New York; connecting her with galleries and potential buyers, giving advice, and even offering a place to stay. Kusama made further connections with artists such as Hesse, Judd, Cornell and more, immersing herself within the art scene of the time.

Kusama has one of the most interesting backgrounds as an artist I’ve ever seen; a childhood spent living with an abusive mother and womanizing father, dealing with the hallucinations and neurosis connected to her mental illness, and eventually leaving her home behind to make it big in the art scene. I try not to romanticize mental illness, as it’s very common for art historians to depict very real problems as a quirk or affectation of the artist’s persona, but Kusama is the first to claim that her illness greatly affects her work. In fact, the colorful and repetitive polka dot patterns that are so common in her pieces are a result of her hallucinations in which patterns leave their objects to cover entire rooms.

Polka Dots Madness #6

Dots Obsession

Kusama says of her work, “I am an obsessional artist. People may call me otherwise, but I simply let them do as they please. I consider myself a heretic of the art world. I think only of myself when I make my artwork. Affected by the obsession that has been lodged in my body, I created pieces in quick succession for my new ‘-isms.’”.

Her career has had a definite theme throughout, however, her means of expressing this theme vary enough to remain fresh and interesting. For example, Kusama was a frequent organizer of happenings (performance art events) which were often political in nature and fairly controversial. Kusama painting polka dots onto the bodies of her nude performers was a common occurrence, sometimes in very public places such as the Brooklyn Bridge or Central Park. In one notable happening she composed an open letter offering sex to Richard Nixon in exchange for ending the Vietnam war.

One of the ways in which she greatly influenced the art world was through her soft-sculptures. Particularly through her Compulsion Furniture series in which furniture, clothing, and other ordinary objects are covered with phalluses.

Accumulation No. 1 (1962)

Compulsion Furniture (1964)

Infinity Mirror Room Phallis Field (1965)

Accumulation No. 2 (1966)

Kusama was confronting a sexual fear. She’s quoted as saying, “As an obsessional artist I fear everything I see. At one time, I dreaded everything I was making. The armchair thickly covered in phalluses was my psychosomatic work done when I had a fear of sexual vision”.

Kusama’s work was very aggressive, not just visually, but conceptually. It was striking in color, scale, and in the drama of it all. And it’s not that her work was unrecognized upon creation, rather, the Kusama excitement became rather hushed once she returned to Japan and checked herself into a mental hospital (where she lives present day). She began to explore other media, including the written word, film, and fashion design (to which her artwork seems particularly suited).

Take a look at some of her other work. Notice how Kusama adeptly works within many different mediums.

Self-Obliteration by Dots (1968) performance piece

Alice in Wonderland Happening (1968)

Infinity Dots (2001)

Ascension of Polka Dots on the Trees (2006)

It’s saddening to see so little of Kusama when other artists working in similar fields are somewhat overhyped. Of course, it’s unsurprising that Kusama hasn’t enjoyed the breakout fame of her male counterparts; pop art and the minimalist movement are known for being predominantly white men.

So what do you think? Has Kusama been underrepresented as a pop or minimalist artist? Share your thoughts in the comments!