The Harm of Male-Dominated Contemporary Art
The price of a ticket to the Art Institute of Chicago is twenty-five dollars. The cost covers all of the museum for the day. I was prepared for the cost; I was not prepared for having the wind knocked out of me as I entered the contemporary art exhibit — which is what I faced when entering the contemporary art exhibit.
As women, we are pre-equipped with the knowledge that we may be faced with offensive art upon entering art museums of any kind. This is to be expected when looking at art from the past, but we hope for more respect when looking at contemporary art. As more women become artists, our representation is changed. We know the history of what we are entering into, but we also know that we have the power to create our own art that could one day replace the sexist images created by some male artists.
This is not to say that the simple creation of art by women will change the natural order. Women must create art for the purpose of change. When I began creating art focusing on topics of feminism and rape culture, I was told by many people: “Everyone is already doing that.” I heard these words in various iterations, time and time again. What I absorbed was that my art had to be better than that of these other artists. That’s what I planned on doing, working to stand out in a crowded field of feminist artists. But then I stepped into the New Contemporary exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago. I felt as though I had been slapped, and that I had been lied to.
Where was all this feminist art everyone was telling me about? Why wasn’t I supposed to create feminist art? Why were people telling me there was already enough feminist art, when there was none to seen in this bastion of both historical and contemporary ideas?
The Art Institute of Chicago was filled with one thing that really impacted my reaction — children. Parents took their young ones to look at the history of art, perhaps to educate them or maybe to spark some interest in the subject. I can look past offensive art — it’s what I was raised to do. What I struggle with is knowing that this is the art these children are seeing for the first time.
Images of all of the art described in this piece are included at bottom. Content warning: sexual objectification. The first offensive piece I spotted was by Andy Warhol. Andy Warhol is often featured in contemporary sections of bigger museums, so when I saw his piece, Pat Hearn (Figure 1.), I wasn’t surprised. This painting portrays a woman completely nude and clean shaven, the ideal look for a modern woman. The piece made me cringe a little, but I thought it was as bad as it was going to get.
The next room over featured larger-than-life-sized chromogenic prints by Richard Prince, of bare chested women posing against motorcycles. The piece looked like a blow-up photo taken from a classic pornographic magazine, not a fine piece of art. And while this is the grounds of Prince’s work, that doesn’t mean it should be deemed as fine art. Untitled (Girlfriend) (Figure 2.) was at the center of the room, drawing stares from many children. I saw little children studying what they believed to be fine art, and not what it was, which was an advertisement for rape culture.
Why I consider that piece to be an advertisement for rape culture brings us to the final piece I saw before I made my way to the museum bar. Jeff Koons’ Woman in Tub sat in the middle of the last room I entered (Figure 3.). Pieces like this don’t belong in museums, unless the museum’s purpose is to educate on rape culture through the years. Some might see this piece as just a figure study like it says on the Institute’s website. However, I’m not as naive as society tried to make me. The woman depicted at least deserves a head, but to Koons she is only a mouth and a pair of breasts.
I stood there across from this piece as a little ten year old boy reached his hand out and groped the breast of the sculpture. He giggled a little, because he got a way with it, and believed that no one saw him. Why would a ten-year-old feel that he had the right to grab the breast of a sculpture? I have a hard time believing that he would have done the same to a marble carving of a greek goddess. Those sculptures portray women as goddesses and warriors, not as some kind of sexual joke. Yet, to him, the woman was naked and silly, so why shouldn’t he touch it. In his mind, she’s already naked, and after all, she is just an object…right?
When the most prominent portrayals of women in the contemporary exhibit are all created by white men, and the women are nude for the purpose of titillation, it is clear there is a pattern, and not a good one. If these pieces were displayed in a way that acknowledged the rape culture seeded behind it, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. But this exhibit doesn’t do that. The problem with museums like the Art Institute of Chicago is that they exhibit these works proudly, showing the world that this is what good contemporary pieces should look like.
According The National Museum of Women in Arts, only 3–5% of permanent collections in the U.S. and Europe are created by women. So the reason there aren’t more feminist pieces in museums is simply that there aren’t enough women in museums, period. Maybe this is an issue with sexist alpha males who believe they are creating God’s work with these rape inspiring pieces, or maybe this is just a problem with the museums itself. Because, truth be told, why wouldn’t Jeff Koons make this piece, knowing that most museums will proudly display anything with his name on it.
Now I am not to judge if work is considered fit for museums, because that would be crossing into a border of “what is art.” But that doesn’t mean I won’t ask for change. I want these museums to understand the damage that seeing these pieces can do to a person, especially a survivor of assault, like myself. When I see these pieces I am filled with pain. In these portrayals women are not allowed to be fully human. They aren’t even subjects; they are simply objects —there for the viewer’s pleasure. I see myself in these portraits, and not in a way women want to see themselves in “great” works of art. I see my victimization. I don’t walk around museums and look at the beautiful portrait work by Joshua Reynolds and think, “That beautiful woman could be me.” No. I look at the pieces by Jeff Koons and Richard Prince and say “That one…that one, is me.” I see my past self, enveloped in trauma, standing before me, reminding me that woman are always victims, even if everyone else around can’t see it. It doesn’t matter what everyone sees and thinks. Because I saw it and I know it.
This piece is part of a series written by college undergraduates enrolled in off-campus study programs through the Higher Education Consortium for Urban Affairs (HECUA). HECUA programs offer students a chance to think deeply about the issues that matter most, and we’d like to share a piece of that experience with you. Every student post on the HECUA Medium page considers a theory or reading that intersects with that student’s lived experience. For more information about HECUA programs, click here.
