Tag Archives: Female Figure

Malibu Betty (Pinboard #7)

Ali Kheradyar, “Malibu Betty,” 2011, c-print, 48 x 36 inches, edition of 5

Ali Kheradyar is a Los Angeles based artist of Iranian heritage although she was born and raised in the United States.  Her training is in music and dance.  Much of her work focuses on the female body and, in many instances, her own body.  These works use the body as a jumping off point to explore themes such as beauty, sculpture, commercialization, sexuality and gender.

This work entitled, “Malibu Betty” from 2011 is part of Kheradyar’s Dye series.  In Dye, Kheradyar photographs portraits of her pubic hair covered in Betty Hair Dye.  The dye specifically designed for use on one’s pubic hair and is for women who want their pubic hair to match the hair on their head whether it is blonde, brunette, pink, purple, or, as is the case in this work, Malibu Blue.  The minimalistic image features a cropped close-up of Kheradyar’s lower torso, legs and pubic region.  Her pubic hair is matted with a thick layer of the Malibu Blue dye which contrasts starkly to the pale tone of her skin and brings an element of playfulness to an otherwise muted work.

For the artist, the dye raised a number of questions, as she writes, “What was this practice about?  The commercialization of the female?  Consumerism?  Color?  Challenging the male gaze, or partaking in female objectification?  How are these products appealing?  Is this sexy?  What do these products say about sex culture and beauty now?”  Many of these questions remain unresolved in Kheradyar’s work.  Without knowing the artist’s background or the context of the work, the image could easily be an advertisement for the product.  At the same time, Kheradyar’s use of her own body and its simultaneous simple presentation coupled with assertive presentation of the self, echo Ana Mendieta.  However, such contradictions and layered meanings are an essential part of the questioning process Kheradyar is driving at.  Her work highlights the ways in which sexuality can at times be ridiculous, absurd and even funny doing so an practical and straightforward manner.  Rather than poking fun at a product that turns your pubic hairs blue, to form this observation, however, she simply uses it as it was intended to be used.  In this regard, her work turns the questions she seeks to address to the viewer.  You can almost feel her asking the viewer, in genuine curiosity, “is this sexy?”  In turning this question around rather than explicitly asking it by presenting herself in a provocative or sarcastic mode, she is able to effectively disrupt a simple reading of her work.

Sources:

http://www.alikheradyar.com/

http://sweet-station.com/blog/2012/04/dye-by-ali-kheradyar/

http://www.western-project.com/artists/ali-kheradyar/#6

 

Pinboard #5: Mel Ramos

Left: Mel Ramos, “Life Saver”, 1965. Right: Mel Ramos, “Lifesaver Lil”, 2009

Mel Ramos has drawn ire from feminists and the art-world alike throughout the course of his career.  Ramos was born in California and began studying art under Wayne Thiebaud in 1954.  His career began in the early 1960s with paintings of images from comic books.  In 1963, Ramos participated in a group show at LACMA in which his paintings along with similar works by iconic Pop artists such as Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein.  However, Ramos is most known for his depiction of female nudes posed as pin-ups who interact in some sexual manner with commercial objects (e.g. Chiquita bananas, Hunt’s ketchup, Payday candy bars, etc.).

The two works featured here are in keeping with Ramos’ general oeuvre.  The image on the left, entitled “Life Saver,” is a 1965 oil on canvas.  The work on the right is entitled “Lifesaver Lil” and is a 2009 drawing.  Although these two works were not directly intended to be exhibited next to each other, contrasting them side by side, begs the question, “what’s changed?”  Both works feature a nude woman who stares seductively out at the viewer.  The sexuality of both women is enhanced not only by their nudity but also by the manner in which they are posed.  In the 1965 version, the woman balances on her tiptoes, grasping the top of life-sized roll of lifesavers around which she wraps her bent right leg.  In “Lifesaver Lil” the woman thrusts her breasts forward between her arms while pushing down on the top of a roll of Lifesavers that obscures her genitals yet abuts her body in a phallic manner.

Although Ramos describes these works as “not too erotic” with a “trace of humor” and in “good taste”, their explicitly erotic nature produces images of undeniably sexualized women.  The question, for me however, is not so much the ways in which these images may or may not continue to perpetuate sexist notions of gender, rather is if and how reception to these images may have changed.  In 2009, New York Times critic Ken Johnson described a friends experience on seeing Ramos’s work now as opposed to in the 1970s.  Whereas in the 70s the works had infuriated her, now they were “benignly amusing.”[1]  Such a shift is reflective of generalized contemporary approach to a myriad of once controversial topics and images.  Notions of sexuality and gender that once seemed to define what it meant to be a woman or a man or  a sexual person now seem quaint and out of touch.  Many would likely see the aforementioned reception to Ramos’s work as a sign of progress.  In a post-post everything world, accepting and ironically appropriating formerly oppressive visualities is a means of demonstrating a contemporary empowerment.  I am skeptical however, as to the degree to which such appropriation is truly empowering, especially in the context of Ramos’s images.  Ramos, as these two works show, continues to work within the same milieu, the same nexus of cultural and personal referents and to the same end.  If all it takes is time for us to interpret his work differently is that really moving forward?  Of course, time and cultural shifts, undoubtedly make things that were once offensive or troublesome much more accepted.  While interpreting the same image differently over the course of time is an integral part of art history, in the context of the nude female figure in art, it is not enough to simply say that times have changed.  Although not all of Ramos’s work is inherently sexist, nor do I think it should be read as such, an inquiry into the female nude must go beyond the mere revision that Mr. Ramos’s work lends itself to; if the answer to “what’s changed?” is nothing, then an interpretation cannot reveal changes that have not occurred.  In short, Ramos’s images are, to me, more problematic in a contemporary setting than they were in the 1970s.

Additional Sources:

http://www.srcart.com/art_ramos_bio.html

http://palmspringsfineartfair.com/mel-ramos-wins-lifetime-achievement-award/

http://www.melramos.com/


[1] http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/arts/design/25john.html

Chapter Entry: The Misrecognition of Migrant Mother

Dorothea Lange
Migrant Mother
1936
source: Library of Congress

In “Passing Likeness: Dorothea Lange’s ‘Migrant Mother’ and the Paradox of Iconicity,” Sally Stein sifts through the legacy of a familiar image with a history of misrecognition. Migrant Mother, which Stein asserts is the “most widely reproduced photograph in the entire history of photographic image-making” is a portrait of Florence Thompson that Lange took at a labor camp in Nipomo, California in 1936 [1]. Since its conception, the photograph has been criticized from various points of view, and Stein spends the beginning of her essay recording these reactions, from the outrage of Lange’s boss at the Farm Security Administration (FSA), Roy Stryker, when he learned that Lange had retouched the “documentary” image, to cultural historian Wendy Kozol’s critique of the image as “a quintessential example of the FSA traffic in conservative stereotypes” [2].  Stein’s real interest lay in how Thompson gained iconic status as a white “New Deal Madonna” despite her Cherokee heritage and unmarried status, information that began to circulate as part of the photograph’s history only half a century after it was taken. The paradox of iconicity thus seems to be that Thompson was not the iconic white matriarch that she was initially taken to be; she is instead an icon of the Euro-American tendency to misrecognize Native Americans as both heirs and foils to their own racial identity.

Early in her essay, Stein demonstrates how the image was misrecognized as a symbol of conservative family values. The photograph shows Thompson flanked by two young children as she cradles a sleeping infant. The older children turn away from the camera, using Thompson’s body as a shield, while the baby dozes near her breast. Thompson’s body is thus a source of protection and sustenance, even as her worried eyes betray concern. Stein paraphrases Kozol’s argument that such images of mothers and children “chiefly served to reassure the public in the Great Depression that the most fundamental social unit—the nuclear family—was beleaguered but still strong” [3]. In reality, however, Thompson’s social unit was fractured: Thompson’s first husband died of tuberculosis in 1931, and the infant in the picture is the son of Jim Hill, from whom she would separate in the 1940s.

The perception that Lange’s subject was married and that all of her children had the same father is an example of how photographs invite assumptions that may belie the actual circumstances of the people they depict—a disconnect that is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to photography’s false transparency. For spectators bring a wealth of culturally embedded assumptions to bear on the photographs they view, imbuing them with meaning that is external to the image. For instance, in this photograph, there is no patriarch, so why would a spectator assume that Thompson is supported by a stable marriage? That assumption comes not only from what a spectator may want to believe—she might feel better looking at this worried woman and her soiled children if she believes there is a man off screen who is supporting them—it also comes from the context of the photograph, which was indeed a government-endorsed image. Migrant Mother is part of a body of images taken by photographers who were dispatched by the FSA to “make a dent in the world” [4]. Their portraits of struggling Americans elicited a wide range of emotions—empathy, admiration and pride among them. FSA photographs may have been relevatory of American poverty and struggle, but they were also a screen on which spectators could project their own desires, namely about the perseverance of fellow Americans in the wake of catastrophe.

FSA photographs like Migrant Mother invited spectators to see what they both wanted and expected to see. This is not only how a widow with children out of wedlock became a “New Deal Madonna,” it is also how her Native American ancestry was mistaken for European ancestry. Stein shows how the FSA did not favor ethnic diversity by including a passage in which Roy Stryker, the aforementioned head of the FSA, explicitly discourages photographer Arthur Rothstein from photographing Native Americans: He writes,“You know I just don’t get too excited about Indians. I know it is their country and we took it away from them—to hell with it!”  [5].  For me, this is the most interesting part of the story, because it reveals how certain populations were denied visibility in the portrait of Americanness that was articulated through the visual culture of this period. Scholars like Erika Doss have pointed out how the Index of American Design, a visual encyclopedia of American folk and decorative arts that was another federally-funded Depression era initiative, largely depicted the work of Anglo Americans, including only token pieces done by Native Americans, African Americans, Southern European Americans and others who didn’t pass a certain benchmark of whiteness [6].

In her recent book, The History of White People, Nell Painter demonstrates how the category of whiteness has been in flux throughout United States history, expanding and contracting at various historical moments to include peoples of different ethnic backgrounds [7]. The Depression era was a moment when the Anglo Saxon paradigm of whiteness was reasserted in a variety of ways, especially through the veneration of folk art in English (Shaker) and German (Pennsylvania Dutch) traditions. Stein uses the words of Edmund Wilson, a literary critic and social journalist, as a testament to the privileging of Anglo heritage, despite its dilution through racial mixing, in this period: “the pure type of that English race which, assimilated on the frontier to the Indians’ hatchet profile and high cheekbones, inbred in Boston and Virginia, still haunts our American imagination as the norm from which our people have departed, the ideal towards which it ought to tend” [8].

Wilson’s words, particularly his phrasing “haunts our American imagination” reveal how Anglo Americanness has always been more of a fantasy than a reality, and that is certainly the case with Migrant Mother. After the photojournalist Bill Ganzel tracked Thompson down in 1979, the truth about Thompson’s Cherokee heritage was finally acknowledged. Whether Lange failed to be vigilant in recording the personal details of her subject or whether she willfully elided them due to her boss’s open disdain for photographs of Native Americans, the end result is the same: For decades, Thompson has been misrecognized as an ideal Euro American woman, attaining an iconicity that cannot be undone easily. Stein points out, for instance, that a recent book on race in 20th-century America continued the misrecognition of Thompson, reprinting Migrant Mother with a caption that identifies her as a “Nordic” woman and claims, “Her suffering could be thought to represent the nation in ways the distress of a black, Hispanic, Italian, or Jewish woman never could” [9]. The enduring perception that Thompson was a white woman is an example of the persistence of myth. According to Roland Barthes, “It does not matter if one is later allowed to see through the myth, its action is assumed to be stronger than the rational explanations which may later belie it” [10].

Perhaps the widespread misrecognition of Thompson is too entrenched to be undone, but Stein’s essay demonstrates how this image is wrapped up in another kind of iconicity—as a representation of  how Euro-Americans have a history of appropriating Native Americans likenesses when imaging their own identities. Artists like Edward S. Curtis pictured Native Americans as a “vanishing race,” an approach that was not only primitivizing but also added gravitas to the definition of Americanness, in the sense that it created an evolutionary depth to the American people, despite the coevalness of native and non-Native Americans. Migrant Mother was taken about a century after President Jackson used the rhetoric of the progression of civilization in a speech to Congress in which he justified the violent means of Indian Removal as  “the extinction of one generation to make room for another” [11].

If the FSA photographs are read as a kind of yearbook of Depression-era Americans, then on the surface Native Americans appear to be as extinct as Jackson intended they would be. The irony is that Migrant Mother, the photograph which has earned the superlative of “Most American Woman” by virtue of its unrivaled circulation, actually pictures a Native American woman passing as a Euro-American woman. The inclusion of Migrant Mother in Only Skin Deep is crucial, because this image and its history of misrecognition demonstrate how racial categories are constructed through subjective perception and projection. Thompson’s skin color was light enough and her motherly obligations were prevalent enough for generations of spectators to project a fantasy of white motherhood onto her, but in reality, her misrecognition and mythologization as a white Madonna reflects more truths about what those spectators wanted to see than truths about what was actually there.

Endnotes:

1. pg. 345, Stein, Sally. “Passing Likeness: Dorothea Lange’s ‘Migrant Mother’ and the Paradox of Iconicity.” In Only Skin Deep: Changing Visions of the American Self, edited by Coco Fusco and Brian Wallis. New York, N.Y.: Harry N. Abrams, 2003.

2. & 3. pg. 346, Stein.

4. See Mora, Gilles, and Beverly W. Brannan, eds. FSA: The American Vision. New York, N.Y.: Harry N. Abrams, 2006.

5. pg. 352 Stein

6. See Doss, Erika. “American Folk Art’s ‘Distinctive Character:’ The Index of American Design and New Deal Notions of Cultural Nationalism.” In Drawing on America’s Past: Folk Art, Modernism, and the Index of American Design, edited by Virginia Tuttle Clayton. Chapel Hill, N.C.: The University of North Carolina Press, 2003.

7. See Painter, Nell Irvin. The History of White People. New York, N.Y.: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010.

8. & 9. pg. 354, Stein

10. pg. 130, Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. New York, N.Y.: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1972.

11. pg. 79, Truettner, William H. The Natural Man Observed: A Study of Catlin’s Indian Gallery. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1979.

Quoted in William H. Truettner, The Natural Man Observed: A Study of Catlin’s Indian Gallery (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1979), p. 79.

Image Blog Entry #2: Photography as Double Agent

Thomas Eakins African-American Girl Nude Reclining on a Couch ca. 1880

In this gelatin silver print taken in 1880 by Thomas Eakins (1844-1916), a young African American girl poses nude on a divan. She props her head up on her elbow, a pose that both enables her to gaze directly at the viewer and exposes her tiny, prepubescent body, which occupies so little space on the couch. Her pose also creates a curve that complements the shape of the couch—where it dips, her buttocks pops. Her stare is direct but also glazed, as if indicating that holding this pose, which puts her folded right arm at a very odd angle and foreshortens her neck, is producing strain and discomfort. The contrast of her unblemished skin and the busy pattern of the couch upholstery heightens the intensity of her nakedness.

Even to my modern eyes, which are less sensitive to nudity than a 19th-century spectators would have been, this photograph is disturbing. It is, for instance, not the kind of image I want to have open on my computer when other people can see my screen. Even in the privacy of my own office, I feel discomfited when looking at the image, as though I am doing something illicit—specifically, looking at child pornography. Upon reflection, I think I feel this way for many reasons: because the girl is so young; because she looks so vulnerable; because she is black; because I am white; because I know that Thomas Eakins, the artist who staged and took the photograph, was much older, male and white.

We know Eakins to have been an iconoclast with positions on sexuality that got him into hot water. Eakins had an illustrious academic pedigree, training in Paris under Jean-Léon Gérôme and serving of the director of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts when he returned to the States, but he was fired in 1886 after he allowed coed attendance to nude modeling classes. Regardless of Eakins’s own sexual orientation, which has been put under the magnifying glass by biographers like William S. McFeeley, his many paintings and photographs of naked young men in the studio or loitering on rocks and leaping into swimming holes have been read in the context of homosexuality in recent shows like the controversial Hide/Seek. Despite, or perhaps because of his unorthodox deviations from the norms of American academic painting, Eakins was really the first 19th century American painter to get hagiographic treatment in the 20th-century, with Whitney curator Lloyd Goodrich publishing a two-volume work on Eakins in 1933 (a project that was initially bankrolled by Goodrich’s friend and Eakins enthusiast Reginald Marsh).

Eakins was also one of the first American artists to integrate photography into his repertoire. By the 1880s, Eakins had begun working with a wooden view camera using  the platinum print process to create photographs like African-American Girl Nude Reclining on a Couch. Using his students at the Pennsylvania Academy as models, Eakins composed a compendium of figure studies, taken of subjects both in costume and in the nude.  Just as Louis Agassiz commissioned his slave daguerreotypes in the service of science, Eakins photographed nude youths in his academy studio in the name of art.

Nude African-American Girl on a Couch was thus part of a larger project to capture and study the human body, but as we have discussed in relation to Aleta Ringlero’s study of  photographs of Native American women, scientifically motivated  19th-century photographs had crossover potential as pornographic pleasure objects. Ringlero argues that in the photographs of Will Soule and others, naked Native American subjects exhibit a vocabulary of poses that are inspired by the tradition of the nude in Western art, which were presumably designed and imposed by the photographer. The manner in which the nude African American girl in Eakin’s photograph is splayed before the viewer is likewise reminiscent of the classic Odalisque, only unlike Titian’s Venus  or Manet’s Olympia Eakins’s girl is exposed to the maximum degree. The official objective of Eakin’s nude figure studies may have been to see the human body in action in a wide vocabulary of poses, but his choices of which bodies and which poses is significant. Could he have been unaware of the sexualizing operation he was performing on his young African American subject by having her act out the pose associated with the goddess of love? The effect (intended or not) of choosing this pose is a photograph whose illicit erotic potential is thinly veiled by its academic objectives, making it another exhibit in 19th century photography’s character as a double agent serving both science and lust.

Pinboard Entry #3: In the Flesh

In his 1995 painting, Benefits Supervisor Sleeping, Lucian Freud (1922-2011) captures “Big Sue Tilley” in voluptuous repose on a couch in his studio. Light and shadow play on her ample mounds of white flesh, creating a liquid pool of pink, white and orange tones that flow across her body. Her eyes are closed as she cups her breast with her right hand and clutches the couch’s back with her left arm. Freud painted Tilley from a perspective that puts the viewer slightly above her, so that we are peering down onto Tilley while she is napping, unawares.

Lucian Freud
Benefits Supervisor Sleeping (Big Sue Tilley)
1995

“Big Sue Tilley,” an employee of England’s Department for Work and Pensions who met Freud through a mutual friend, recalls that she often dozed off while posing during the nine months that she modeled for the artist in the mid-1990s. Freud, an artist who is associated with a postwar group of British painters that also included Francis Bacon and Frank Auerbach, often called the School of London, found inspiration for his psychological, hyper-detailed portraiture in earlier 20th-century movements like the New Objectivity. In addition to contemporary influences, the 19th-century French painter Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres fascinated Freud, who often described his painting and their fleshy exuberance “Ingresesque.” This painting sold for $33.6 million in May 2008, establishing a world record for the highest price paid for a work by a living artist.

Freud took realism to the nth degree, focusing on every wrinkle, follicle and roll of fat that his sitters brought into his studio. He once said, “I want my painting to be as flesh. For me, the painting is the person and I want its effect on me to be the same as the effect of flesh.” The pictorial effect of Freud’s eagle eye, painterly realism is that everything becomes sensuous, from Big Sue’s girth to the fine wood grain of the floor to what is left on the disused upholstery on his studio couch. Freud’s sitter (sleeper) and her inanimate surroundings become a harmonious aggregate of surface and implied texture: a visual cornucopia of skins.

Gallery

Images for Prairie Pinups

This gallery contains 6 photos.

 

Visual Shorthand: The Female Nude

“Luxe, Calme et Volupté” 1904-1905 is a fauvist work by Henri Matisse. During the period in which it was painted, Matisse belonged to a group of young artists whose bold and unconventional works alarmed critics to the extent that they referred to them as“wild beasts” (les fauves).  Matisse’s work, in particular, embodied this new spirit utilizing color and brush strokes to convey feelings and sensations in a fashion that broke dramatically with the canon.

To See This Image Please Visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Matisse-Luxe.jpg
Henri Matisse “Luxe, Calme et Volupté”, 1904

The work is a leisure scene that shows six nude women each from a different vantage point as they bathe and picnic on a beach in St. Tropez.  Moving from left to right the viewer sees one woman from the back and another reclining with her nudity on full display.  Behind her a smaller figure is seen wrapped in a blanket. At the foot of the reclining nude another woman is crouched combing through her hair.  The penultimate figure is in a semi-reclined pose with her back to the viewer while the last is slightly turned such that her body is fully visible but her face is shown in profile.  Matisse has placed these women in an idyllic even pastoral setting showing them on the shores of a lake.  The only clues that this is a modern scene are the boat in the background and the picnic utensils placed in the left corner of the work.

In many ways this work is highly traditional.  The subject matter of nude female bodies as created by a male artist and in particular bathers in a pastoral landscape “can be traced back to the work of Poussin” an artist that epitomized the values of Academic painters.[1] Further, the title of the work comes from the chorus of a poem entitled L’invitation au voyage “which describes an escape to an Arcadian land of sensuality and calm.”[2] Such references to poetry are in keeping with nineteenth-century Academic traditions.

The poem referenced, however is by symbolist poet Charles Baudelaire and indicative of Matisse’s modernist tendencies. Similarly, Matisse’s technique can only be described as modern.  Matisse’s use of lozenge-like shapes reveals the artist’s every brushstroke.  The bodies are portrayed crudely, some are little more than the outline of a shape.  In addition, the use of the word “luxe” in this context conveys more than just “luxury” rather it suggests “voluptuousness, self-indulgence and sensuality” a well as a connection to the contemporary cult of “joie de vivre.”[3]

Gill Perry suggests that it is precisely the tensions in the work between technique and subject matter that serves to disrupt the notion that these women are merely objects of the “male gaze.” Rather the Matisse has portrayed the women in an unreal manner manipulating and distorting their figures such that their physical oddness “undermines any easy perception of these women merely as objects of male sexual desire.”[4] The question Perry poses in connection to this work is whether artistic processes can mediate social and sexual politics.  For me, however, this work raises another interesting question: how is gender being used as visual shorthand?

I fully agree with Perry that Matisse is able to use technique to disrupt reading this work as purely one of sexual objectification or male eroticism. However, this reading cannot be disrupted without existing as an initial assumption provided by the presence of female nudes.  The female nude provides a ready-made discourse that tends to imply the same categories of interrogation.  Thus this “female shorthand” freezes the notion of the female body in a specific set of meanings and discourse continuing to convey the same readings and associations in a manner that inhibits new interpretations.

For example, in discussing this work Perry speaks first of the male gaze and then of the sexual nature of the poses.[5]  Although Perry is by no means characterizing the work solely in terms of these elements or even suggesting that they are the primary themes of the works, the need to address such elements time and again seemingly conflicts with her notion that abstraction disrupts such discourse.

To me, the abstraction in this context suggests the assertion of the male artist as he can now control the body of the female.  Thus, the use of the female body as a form of visual short hand permits the artist to present the same ideologies and associations and emphasize the modernity of the technique rather than the subject matter.  In other words, the use of the female nude acts as Matisse’s acknowledgement of his familiarity with the traditional art historical canon while his technique demonstrates his innovations as an artist.  In this manner, this work becomes more about the emancipation of the male artist than it does of the female figures suggesting that abstraction does not truly disrupt traditional discourse.

 


[1] Gill Perry, ed., Gender and Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 202.

[2] Ibid.

[3] “Primitivism and the Modern” by Gill Perry from: Primitivism, Cubism and Abstraction: The Early Twentieth Century. The Open University, 1993, p 54.

[4] Gill Perry, ed., Gender and Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 205.

[5] Gill Perry, ed., Gender and Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 205.

Image source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luxe,_Calme_et_Volupt%C3%A9:

The Nude Self (Pinboard #2)

Paula-Modersohn-Becker, a German artist born on February 6, 1876 joined the Worpswede community of artists in 1899[1].  The Worpswede community consisted mainly of former German art students who had become frustrated with their respective art Academies.[2] In such an environment, Modersohn-Becker worked alongside male artists and as a woman artist enjoyed much more artistic agency than she could have elsewhere.  Despite such relative freedom her work was not always well-received and as a woman artist she struggled to be taken

Paula Modersohn-Becker "Self Portrait with Amber Necklace", 1906

seriously.  Modersohn-Becker completed a number of self-portraits that addressed the difficulties she faced as a female artist and her 1906 “Self-Portrait with Amber Necklace” demonstrates how such tensions manifested themselves in her work.

In this self-portrait, the artist has chosen to depict herself nude from the waist up in a full frontal position, filling the frame in an almost confrontational manner.  Her skin takes on a pinkish hue that is echoed in the pink flowers she wears in her hair and holds in her hands.  In addition, these mimic the shape of her nipples which are in turn emphasized by the use of a deeper pink.  The warm hues of her torso are complemented by the lush forest-green flora in the background. Her connection to this natural setting is further strengthened by the thick amber necklace that adorns her chest.  Attention is drawn to her head which is deliberately contrasted to the rest of body through the use of deep reds and oranges that feature bluish undertones as well as through an enlarging of her features and her eyes in particular. Although the nudeness of her body conveys sexuality, its sheer monumentality asserts itself within the frame.  The emphasis on her head reinforces her consciousness as subject and not object demonstrating awareness of own existence as well as that of the viewer.

By painting herself in the nude, Modersohn-Becker co-opted the subject matter of many of her male contemporaries- the female nude – in a manner that relied on the typical associations made with such works while at the same time undermining them.  Painting the female nude was a staple of male artists who used the female figure to demonstrate their own skill and creative energy.  Similarly, self-portraits served as the primary means of identifying oneself as an artist worth admiring. By combining these two subjects into one work Modersohn-Becker regains ownership of the female body while asserting herself as a both a woman and an artist.


[2] “Primitivism and the Modern” by Gill Perry from : Primitivism, Cubism and Abstraction: The Early Twentieth Century. The Open University, 1993. P. 43.

Image Source: http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/eascfa/dinner_party/heritage_floor/paula_modersohn_becker.php