By: Susana Gil del Real
Girl with a Pearl Earring by Johannes Vermeer, 1656. Mauritshuis, The Hague, Netherlands
It’s an iconic image: a young woman stands with her body turned away from the viewer, but her face peeks back at us over her shoulder. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide open, she looks at us with a sort of hesitation, an intimate timidity. Her face illuminates the dark room, and just below her jawline, hovering right above her shoulder, is a distinctive pearl earring.
Recreated in posters, in contemporary photographs, in books, in movies, Johannes Vermeer’s Girl With a Pearl Earring has to be one of the most famous paintings in the world. I myself have a postcard taped to the wall above my desk, and looking at it gives me a strange sense of peace, of calm. There’s something about the sweet way she looks at you, shy but direct, like she’s staring right into your very soul. And her expression is gentle, betraying nothing. I want to know what she is thinking, but the closer I look at her, the farther away I feel from her.
Vermeer’s portrait exudes femininity, or at least, femininity from an art historical perspective. It’s in the innocent gaze, the slight turning away of her body, the light shining on her face, the daintiness of her features. In fact, when I think about some of the most famous portraits of women in art—Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer (more familiarly, The Lady in Gold), or Alex Katz’s Black Hat #2—many of them embody these same characteristics: modesty, elegance, mystery, and a touch of regality. An enigmatic smile, a pretty bone structure.
It comes as no surprise that a lot of the most recognizable paintings of women in art history are painted by men.
Historically, women have had some trouble breaking into the art business because of, well, the patriarchy. Women were confined to their homes, and patrons, mostly men, weren’t going to spend their money getting a woman to paint for them when they could have a man do the work. Art was a man’s game. But a few female breakout artists did make the cut into the art scene, and they too took a stab at painting women, often themselves. Naturally, their images do not convey the same level of idealization than those of their male counterparts.
One such artist, Artemisia Gentileschi (Italian Baroque) rejected the delicate and coy female subjects of her time, and, in her famous portrayal of Judith Slaying Holofernes, depicted instead two strong, robust women muscling down a man between them with determined and rapt looks on their faces. The image seems to tell us: women can be strong, we can be vengeful, we can get our hands dirty.
Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi, c.1620. Photo from the website of the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy
Another well-known artist of around that time was Judith Leyster (Dutch Baroque). In her Self-Portrait, she sits on a chair in front of her easel with a palette of paints in her hand. She turns around in much the same way we see in Girl With a Pearl Earring (this painting was made about thirty years before Vermeer’s), glancing over her shoulder at the viewer, but her attitude is completely different. Leyster’s arms are spread out and she leans back in a comfortable, momentaneous pose, her lips are parted in a smirk, and she stares confidently, almost roguishly, back at us. She is lively, she is playful, she is assertive. And she wears pink!
Self-Portrait by Judith Leyster, c. 1630. Photo from the website of The National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC
Last but not least, we have Frida Kahlo, whose self-portraits are known throughout the world for their vulnerable and honest depictions of herself. Kahlo proudly and prominently shows off her perceived flaws and disabilities, and uses surrealism to show us her inner world and struggles. In The Broken Column, she stands alone in the middle of a barren land, her body held together by a back brace and opened up to show us her fractured spine. Nails pepper her skin and tears pour down her cheeks. She is battered and damaged, and she wants us to see it. And then look beyond.
The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo, 1944. Photo from the website of he Fundación Casa de México en España
When we compare female portraits from male perspectives to those from a female perspective, there is an obvious disconnect. Men portray women with a certain charm, romanticizing their femininity and enhancing the traits we have historically associated with womanhood: tenderness, innocence, grace, beauty. We are a pretty thing to look at and little more, a possession to be showed off but then stored away when it’s served its purpose. But what we see from women painters is that we can be so much more: powerful, talented, angry, complex. As women, we see in ourselves a strength and determination that men either don’t seem to want to recognize or don’t appreciate. Perhaps it’s a way of perpetuating the hierarchies that have kept women down for so long, a benevolent tribute to our submissive qualities, and a prompt dismissal of anything deeper than that.
Art is often a reflection of society’s perceptions and ideals, and famous artworks like those by Vermeer or Da Vinci, emblematic of their time, continue to garner attention and praise for their representations of women, while women renditions are mostly left on the back burner, forgotten to us then and now.
Even today, we still see depictions of women by men in art that highlight our goodness, our purity, our softness. It’s less common, I think, but we can especially find it in songs and music videos that pretend to celebrate women, while subtly putting us in our place--like What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction, Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars, or Perfect by Ed Sheeran. In these examples, women serve as foils for the man’s personal growth. They are pristine paragons of perfection that the man must work to deserve. The songs are disguised as praise for their women subjects, but are once again glorifying them for their modesty, their gentleness, their shyness.
Luckily, women and other minorities have a larger platform nowadays, so these kinds of works don’t make the kind of mark that they used to. They are effectively drowned out by more powerful, feminist anthems that better represent women’s worth and complexity. We are no longer defined by single images or portrayals in the media, but instead are bombarded by different works, interpretations, and opinions on all sides. Which, in a way, is better. We can choose what we listen to, what we read, and what we see.
Now I’ll admit, I do love those iconic paintings I mentioned before, especially The Girl With a Pearl Earring. They are aesthetically pleasing and nice to look at, for sure. But they draw on stereotypes of women that paint us out to be one-dimensional, highlighting features that can be harmful to propagate in today’s society. So, the next time I see one of these portraits made by a man, depicting a woman as an ideal, I will take a moment to appreciate the beauty in it, but take it with a grain of salt. I’ll remind myself that it does not fully represent me, nor all women.
Like Artemisia, like Judith, like Frida, and like countless other unnamed women artists over the years, I refuse to ascribe to this brand of femininity that presents women as perfect, sweet, quiet, and pure creatures to be looked on and admired by men. I will be loud, and opinionated, and silly, and brave, and messy. I will not allow others to define womanhood or femininity for me, and will figure out my own interpretation for myself.
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