Growing Pains

As an artist, I was also raised to love and revere painting, and I carry a passion for it. However, as I have grown and read, and gained a stronger appreciation for feminist and outsider art, craft has become a second passion that informs my practice. There is a thematic conflict here that reflects on a more ephemeral struggle; an interior life versus an exterior life, one tradition versus another, an old way of thinking versus the new. Like so many others, I am fundamentally torn between my own desires and the desires of my culture and community, oftentimes struggling even to be able to differentiate between the two. In this paper, I will be discussing, theorizing, and providing context around how juxtaposing craft and textiles against traditional painting within the same works functions as a visual metaphor for this conflict; and how it can speak to a larger discussion on the relationship between these seemingly disparate fields.

Table of Contents 1) Introduction 2) Historical analysis and overview a) Paint b) Craft 3) Medium, Material and Visual Metaphor a) Feminist critical theory b) Interior/Exterior: The Home as Self c) Exploring Precedent: Where I Sit 4) Exploring the Thesis Show a) Description/Analysis b) Artist Statements c) Installation Photos and Details 5) Image List 6) Works Cited 1. Introduction “I shall speak the truth: I don’t much like my daughter sewing…. Bel-Gazou is silent when she sews, silent for hours on end, with her mouth firmly closed, … She is silent, and she – why not write down the word that frightens me – she is thinking.” 1 In the limited sphere of those whom society considers “famous” female painters, 17th century Italian Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi has experienced a recent flush of public interest. Known primarily for her striking interpretation of Judith and Holofernes, Gentileschi’s exquisite technical ability combined with a compelling personal backstory has transformed her into a historical feminist icon. Despite years of misattribution and fluctuating interest, Judith Slaying Holofernes exists in the public eye as a lonely glimpse into female rage (figure 1). Within this narrative, Gentileschi seems to be an anomaly. However, Judith and Holofernes’ tale was actually a fairly common and popular theme for female artists of the time period; most of these artists were simply using a different medium. Sampler embroidery, lace-making, and stumpwork were all common arts practiced amongst upper-class women (the same social class which most classical painters arose from), and some of the most frequently used patterns featured Biblical women in triumph over men.2 Estimated to have been completed shortly after Gentileschi finished her Judith painting, an unnamed English artist produced her own “Judith and Holofernes” (figure 2). This lacework panel is constructed from needle lace, linen, silk, and human hair. The scene depicts a freshly beheaded Holofernes, faded red silk pouring from his neck stump. Next to Holofernes’ body, Judith grasps the general’s head in one hand and a raised sword in the other. On the panel’s right, Judith’s maid holds an open bag ready to receive the head.3 The needlework is fine, precise, and ornate. Sections that appear to be solid cloth, once examined, are revealed to be 1 Parker, Rozsika. The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine. Women's Press, 1984, pg. 9-10. 2 Ibid., 96. 3 Judith and Holofernes. 1630, Museum of Applied Arts & Sciences, ma.as/183127. 1 intricately woven lacework. It is a beautiful piece that would have absorbed countless hours of delicate work over a lifetime of diligent study and practice. Of course, one of these works is considered a crucial piece of the classical Western art canon, and the other is merely a salvaged square of historical curiosity. For much of Western art history, painting held a far greater social currency than any form of craft or handiwork. It was a sign of wealth, class, favor, or piece of capital relevant to the wealthy and the aristocratic. It also belonged almost exclusively to men and would remain so up into the 20th century. At last, instead of one or two privileged female artists emerging every 200 years, there was a flood of women entering the contemporary art scene, and they were not unaware of the historical conversation into which they had entered. For many, the patriarchal associations of painting pushed them to abandon the discipline entirely, instead choosing to study and elevate the craftforms which had been historically delegated to women. In 1972, Harmony Hammond began work on her series of Floorpieces. In 1979, Judy Chicago made The Dinner Party, which featured a variety of craft and needlework techniques. In 1980, Faith Ringgold finished her first art quilt, titled Echoes of Harlem. Craft had begun to rebrand, and that new brand was Feminism.4 With this context in mind, is the unnamed English woman’s lace rendition of “Judith and Holofernes” more feminist than Artemisia Gentileschi’s famous oil painting? Would Gentileschi have chosen to use a different medium, were she to create work now? Artemisia was raised in a time period during which religious and genre paintings were the highest forms of art; genius was not achieved through needlework. Her art had to be completed within a sphere which was created, regulated, and judged by men in order to be respected, in order to survive long enough in order for audiences in 2021 to be able to view it. If I were to speculate however, I would also guess that Gentileschi loved painting. She dedicated her life to learning and perfecting this craft, and that passion is evident in her remaining work. 4 Parker, “Subversive Stitch, 189-215. 2 As an artist, I was also raised to love and revere painting, and I carry a passion for it. However, as I have grown and read, and gained a stronger appreciation for feminist and outsider art, craft has become a second passion that informs my practice. There is a thematic conflict here that reflects on a more ephemeral struggle; an interior life versus an exterior life, one tradition versus another, an old way of thinking versus the new. Like so many others, I am fundamentally torn between my own desires and the desires of my culture and community, oftentimes struggling even to be able to differentiate between the two. In this paper, I will be discussing, theorizing, and providing context around how juxtaposing craft and textiles against traditional painting within the same works functions as a visual metaphor for this conflict; and how it can speak to a larger discussion on the relationship between these seemingly disparate fields. 2. Historical Analysis and Overview A Brief Background in Classical Painting Classical Western art has historically been defined by a relatively narrow catalogue of appropriate artistic mediums. Painting, whether genre, portraiture, or historical, is most widely accepted, followed by sculpture, typically in marble or bronze. Etchings or engravings could occasionally breach the barrier between commercial craftsmanship and fine art, such as with Albrecht Durer, however, it rarely garnered the same level of respect afforded to the high arts of painting and sculpture. In Western canon, representational art (influenced heavily by Greek and Roman tradition) was valued enough to socially elevate painters and sculptors, sometimes into the realm of mythology. In “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?”, Linda Nochlin’s seminal article, she critiques “genius” as an almost mystical ability that has been ascribed to many male artists throughout the centuries.5 Artists such as Michelangelo, Pablo Picasso, Leonardo da Vinci, and Vincent van Gogh, are excellent examples of this trope. However, 5 Nochlin, Linda. “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” ArtNews, Jan. 1971, doi:https://www.artnews.com/art-news/retrospective/why-have-there-been-no-great-women-artists-4201 3 as Nochlin continues, this narrative obscures an overarching sociological connection between art, class, race, and gender. Painting, like all disciplines, requires practice, tutelage, and time to perfect. For most of the 17th and 18th centuries, Italy was considered the European center of art education. Aspiring artists regularly made the pilgrimage to Rome with the intention of studying from Greek and Roman statuary, as well as their contemporary masters. The impact of Italy’s dominance was felt across Europe, eventually leading to the formation of the Royal Academies of Art in London and France. 6 Individuals fortunate enough to make these trips and attend these institutions tended to come from families with enough money to provide funds for education, sponsorships, and materials, without having to bear the responsibilities of aristocracy. In fact, many well-known art painters came from already established artistic families who were able to run their own studios. Artemisia Gentileschi herself was the daughter of a prominent painter, Orazio Gentileschi, who allowed her to join her brothers in his studio. Without her father’s approval and position, Artemisia would not have had the opportunity to pursue painting seriously, and she would not have had access to important patrons who later sponsored her career.7 This context allows historians to understand how anomalies like Artemisia can exist without disproving the relationship between gender and class privilege and artistic success. Male dominance of this field is evident in demographics and in their treatment of subject matter. As coined by Laura Mulvey, the term “male gaze” has become common vocabulary when discussing how bodies and/or scenarios are approached throughout art and entertainment. To quote the author, “In a world ordered by sexual imbalance, pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female. The determining male gaze projects its phantasy on to the female figure which is styled accordingly.”8 6 Hoock, Holger. The King's Artists: the Royal Academy of Arts and the Politics of British Culture 1760-1840, Clarendon Press, 2009, pp. 1–7. 7 Broude, Norma, and Mary D. Garrard. Feminism and Art History: Questioning the Litany. Routledge, 2018. 8 Mulvey, Laura, and Rachel Rose. Laura Mulvey, "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" 1975. Afterall Books, 2016. 4 Here Mulvey identifies a pervasive theme within visual media: the female body being cast as object, visual metaphor, or commodity. Although Mulvey specifically crafted this argument in relation to film and cinema, European classical visual art conventions were the founders and refiners of the male gaze, which film merely inherited and built upon. In BBC Two’s 1972 series, “Ways of Seeing”, with art historian and critic John Berger, the host presents an analysis of female nudes within the European art tradition. Berger approaches this argument from two ends, the first, that of how the male gaze impacts women, and the second concerning the privileging of male status and desire within these paintings. An important distinction is made here between the ontology of “nude” and “naked”, Berger explains ‘To be naked is to be oneself. To be nude is to be seen naked by others and yet not recognized for oneself. A naked body has to be seen as an object in order to become a nude.’9 This idea of the female nude as object echoes Laura Mulvey’s theory, and is further supported as Berger continues. Citing the example of King Charles the Second’s commissioned portrait of his mistress Nell Gwynne, Berger points out that Gwynne’s passivity within the painting signifies her submission to Charles the Second, rather than her own sexual agency. This is emblematic of a larger utility of the female nude; that of dominance, pride and male virility. The female nude is purposefully presented passively as an object, existing only to serve the station of a wealthy patron. If we return to our example of Artemisia Gentileschi, the question must then be asked: do the works of a female painter also reflect the male gaze? To argue from one position, because the hand and the mind of the painter are socialized female, there are undeniable differences. Many have drawn comparisons between Gentileschi’s depictions of biblical heroines and male depictions of the same, most notably the aforementioned Judith Slaying Holofernes as well as Gentileschi’s rendition of Susanna and the Elders (figure 3). In both paintings, there is a notably stronger presence of female agency and viewpoint than in, for example, Guido Reni’s portrayal. 10 These differences are not insignificant and 9 10 Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. BBC and Penguin, 1972. Garrad, “Feminism and Art History,” 147-173. 5 arguably do succeed in averting the male gaze to some extent. However, it is also worth noting that Artemisia received her early painterly education from her father, later studied at the all-male Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, and primarily received patronage from men. In Berger’s words, “Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.”11 Even if the reflection is altered, Gentileschi’s paintings still reflect the male gaze because the male gaze was an embedded aspect of her socialization. And ultimately, her paintings cannot escape the most literal interpretation of the male gaze, which involves a male audience gazing upon her work. Gentileschi’s Susanna and the Elders is, on a thematic level, centered around the condemnation of the voyeuristic Elders and the heroism of Susanna’s sexual purity and integrity. 12 However, a male audience may still disregard these themes and observe Susanna’s nudity for their own pleasure. This is the ultimate failure of arguments which place female painters as exempt from issues of the gaze. My own painting practice contended with this dilemma early in the graduate degree process. Having been trained as a traditional figurative painter, my work initially reflected little interrogation of the problems around the male gaze and gender issues. I was operating on a common misconception: that my identity as a woman was sufficient to shield my work from criticisms surrounding the gaze. Most of my work during this period utilized models pulled from my friends and family members, borrowing their likenesses as symbols within my work. This was a second pitfall to which I became aware. Utilizing the aesthetics of a feminine body as symbolism is deeply rooted in classical Western painting, and is another method through which women are objectified in art. Literally, they are stripped of their personhood and used as placeholders to someone else's agenda. In the below piece (pg. 7), titled Emma, I was beginning to develop an awareness of how a female subject can interact with an audience while also confronting the voyeurism of viewership; however, I still used my sister’s face as a device with which to communicate 11 12 Berger, “Ways of Seeing” Garrad, “Feminism and Art History,” 147-173. 6 my theme. As my work progressed, I transitioned to mainly utilizing self-portraiture, rather than hiding behind the facade of a different woman’s body. 7 Emma, oil on panel. 2019. In Emma, the subject turns towards the viewer and gazes through her fingers with an air of accusation. She appears to straddle the emotional fence between hiding and spying, her actions ambiguous but still beautiful. There is a reluctance to abandon beauty in many of my works, but this one in particular refuses to grant the subject the protection that ugliness might offer. Additionally, Emma is indicative of a certain anxiety around relinquishing the technical painting skills which afforded me a small measure of respect amongst my peers. Much like Artemisia in her father’s studio, my painterly education valued a narrow and classically specific aesthetic. However, the limitations of this approach quickly became evident, forcing me to begin exploring other mediums, and with those mediums, other histories. A Brief Overview on Western Textile Craft Craft methodologies and utility differ widely across historical periods as well as geographical and ethnic regions. Therefore, it is important to narrow the scope of this paper’s purview to Western European and American craft, specifically from the period of 1600 A.D to the present day. This aligns with the previous historical overview of problems surrounding classical painting and gender dynamics. Additionally, for this paper, “craft” will be used to refer to domestic handiworks commonly considered to be women’s work, such as embroidery, lace-making, quilting, knitting or crocheting, and other related fiber and textile works. Because these works are completed in the home, class plays a large role in what sort of craft is being produced, an element far less present in the historical overview of classical oil-painting. This departure will be relevant as we begin to analyze the relationship of craftworks to feminist and outsider contemporary art. In the introduction of Rozsika Parker’s 1984 publication “The Subversive Stitch”, Parker writes, “When women paint, their work is categorised as homogeneously feminine-- but it is acknowledged to be art. When women embroider, it is seen not as art, but entirely as the expression of femininity.”13 In fact, as 13 Parker, “Subversive Stitch,” 4-5. 8 Parker goes on to argue, not only is needlework perceived to be feminine, but itself produces femininity. Meaning, the practice of teaching needlework throughout a girl’s life has been utilized as a process by which a specific cultural definition of womanhood is inculcated. A young woman’s development can be tracked by historians through the study of her needlework, often providing intimate glimpses into her day-to-day occurrences. Lessons in needlework were accomplished by creating “samplers”, pieces of embroidery or cross-stitching which show-cased a variety of skills. These samplers became popular as a way of differentiating a female education from a male education in the 16th century, and were widespread through the 17th century and beyond. This practice was brought to the North American continent by Puritans, where it held a similar significance in domestic education. Girls would begin practicing with samplers at a young age and continue evolving and extending their skill into adulthood. Many samplers included messages, poems, the calendar date and the name and age of the artist. Because samplers were combined with a girl’s education, these textiles often feature a carefully stitched English alphabet along with biblical or otherwise religious aphorisms meant to subsidize a child’s civic awareness. If the young woman was of a wealthier class, she might attend a school outside the home, which was often focused on embroidery and needlework.14 Once past childhood, a woman had typically gained enough skill to produce more elaborate pieces. These works were less about demonstrating specific skills, and more about narrative and aesthetic merit. Much like art painters during this period, there were a specific set of Biblical themes which dominated pictorial embroidery. Popular stories included David and Bathsheba, Esther and Ahesueras, Abraham and Hagar, Ruth and Naomi, Judith and Holofernes, among several others.15 A number of factors contributed to the popularity of these particular figures, including the production and availability of certain patterns. Women did not receive the same art education as men, and so therefore the drafting of specific motifs such as these biblical figures was often done by professional studios, and then mass 14 Parker, “Subversive Stitch,” 83. 15 Ibid., 96. 9 produced and sold to embroiderers. The embroiderers would then take the patterns and use them to help construct their own compositions. This has been a major issue for those who argue that pictorial embroidery is not “art”, as they were produced with patterns. However, within the art field as we understand it today, appropriation of imagery is not disqualifying. These embroiderers were not mechanically reproducing identical narratives, they were merely efficiently utilizing the available tools at hand Early in the 17th century most embroidery and needlework were done as decoration for hangings, cushions, and other furnishings, after 1630, pictorial embroidery began to gain popularity in its own right. “Stumpwork” was also common during this period, a method of embroidery that took on a 3-dimensional quality due to the use of alternative materials such as lace, beads, metal threads, and tiny pieces of mica (figure 4)16. Parker cautions that these textile pieces should be appreciated within the history of embroidery rather than the history of painting, especially considering the artist’s approach to scale and proportions.17 Elements which could be portrayed accurately at tiny scales in oil painting would not be feasible in the medium of needlework, and therefore stumpwork often features flowers and animals appearing at similar scales to the human figures. This is not due to inadequacy on the embroiderer’s part, but instead should be considered a feature and delight of the medium. Arguably, it is further evidence of the patriarchal influence on the Western art canon that demands all visual media be held against classical oil painting to determine its cultural significance. The aesthetics of sampler embroidery began to influence my work during my second semester. I was creating work centered around deconstructing the impact of my religious upbringing, and the mark-making qualities of textile and fiber were intriguing. The piece below (pg. 11), entitled For the Strength of Youth, utilizes specific words selected from a book of the same name. This book is distributed 16 King Ahasuerus and Queen Esther. 1660, Saint Louis Art Museum, Saint Louis, Missouri, www.slam.org/collection/objects/5843/. 17 Parker, “Subversive Stitch,” 93-94. 10 to all young members beginning at the age of 12, and is intended to serve as a set of rules and guidelines for righteous living. For the Strength of Youth functions as both a formal appropriation of sampler imagery through the use of embroidered lettering, as well as an ideological mirror. Just as samplers were intended to imprint the young women of a community with certain values and knowledge, so does the original “For the Strength of Youth” instill a set of religious standards. By integrating the material characteristics of samplers into the canvased self-portraiture, this piece communicates with pointed literalism how irrevocably “sewn” into my own self-perception these values and expectations were. 11 For The Strength of Youth, oil on canvas, embroidery thread, cheesecloth. 2020. As textile and craft became increasingly visually integrated into my art practice, I expanded my research into the histories and methodologies of craft practices. While materiality was my entrance point into this discussion, further exploration required me to unearth deeper definitions of craft practices. Specifically, I began to understand the dichotomy of utility versus decoration as a trademark of craftforms. Classical art forms such as painting or sculpture serve the dual purpose of ornamentation and status symbol, and are considered untouchable. This cultural attitude produces an aura of reverence 12 around such objects, a reverence which is not afforded to craft objects, which are usually made with the intent of frequent handling. “Utility” in particular is often used as a defining characteristic of craft, meaning that an object has a practical function outside of its aesthetic value. A useful object such as a rug or a chair can be aesthetically pleasing, and can denote a certain level of wealth or prestige, but they are nevertheless not held to the same cultural reverence as a fine art object. Quilts are an interesting example of this attribute, as they typically serve equally as a household necessity and art object. Prior to the Industrial Revolution and The United States’ dominance as a cotton producer, quilts were a status symbol amongst wealthy families. The materials were expensive to import and time consuming to complete, as sewing machines were not invented until the 1850s. Quilts tended to be used to decorate homes and bedrooms during events and for the benefit of guests, with the intent to impress elite visitors. Because they were so elaborate and expensive, they were not used as practical blankets and provided little warmth. However, two notable trends arose during this period that would influence later quilt-making practices. The first was that of the Baltimore album quilt, a quilting technique so complex and sophisticated that it was typically completed by a group of coordinated quilters, rather than a single seamstress (figure 5). These quilts were usually made as gifts for weddings, clergy or otherwise respected community members, or coming-of-age occasions. The second trend was known as “crazy quilts”, which combined randomly sized pieces of expensive dress silks, velvet embroidery, and applique to replicate the appearance of popular pottery glazes during the Victorian period (figure 6). These “crazy quilts” provided influence on the later genre of art quilts due to their unpredictable and abstract appearance. 18 As cotton fabric became more cheaply available in the United States, quilting became available to the middle and lower classes, and transformed more closely to what we now recognize as quilts. These quilts included lining and batting and were therefore actually used in bedding for warmth, and were 18 Shaw, Robert. “A Brief History of the Art Quilt.” SAQA, Studio Art Quilt Associates, 2014, www.saqa.com/resources/brief-history-art-quilt-robert-shaw. 13 frequently composed out of pieces of fabric repurposed from clothing or household fabrics. Despite the difference in utility and status, these quilts were carefully designed and constructed, with aesthetic value still being an integral part of the process. By 1915, traditional quilting had reached new levels of interest across mainstream America, and by the 1940s, patchwork quilting had been cemented as an icon of Americana.19 In the 1960s, the waves of cultural upheaval which touched upon every other aspect of American culture found their way to quilt-making. Academically trained and contemporary artists began to experiment with quilt-making, first building on existing quilt patterns before completely upending convention. There are a number of notable artists who participated in this trend, such as Jody Klein, Radka Donnell and perhaps most famously, Faith Ringgold. Ringgold’s quilt-making approach stemmed from African-American quilting aesthetics, which itself has a long and rich history.20 Enslaved Black women were often tasked with textile labor in addition to their plantation work, however quilting also functioned as a community-building exercise within their own social circles, separate from oppressive environment of Slavery-era America. These quilts were constructed from recycled cloth pieces, but were nevertheless sewn with delicate precision and artistry. Particularly adept quilt-makers, such as one woman named Lizzie Hobbs Keckley, were even able to sell the products of their labor and purchase their freedom.21 The importance of collaboration and community bonding within African-American domestic crafts was influential in Ringgold’s decision to create her series of art quilts. Ringgold’s quilts communicate a variety of sociopolitical narratives, centering both Black and female experiences while consciously confronting the white, Western expectations enforced by 19 20 Ibid., Shaw. Farrington, Lisa E., and Faith Ringgold. Faith Ringgold. Pomegranate, 2004. 21 Cash, Floris Barnett. “Kinship and Quilting: An Examination of an African-American Tradition.” The Journal of Negro History, vol. 80, no. 1, 1995, pp. 30–41. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2717705. Accessed 12 Mar. 2021. 14 classical art (figure 7). In describing her approach to figurative representations, Ringgold expressed that “instead of looking to Greece, I looked to Africa.” 22 Similarly to Ringgold, my decision to begin an art quilt was influenced by my relationships with maternal figures and female centric social groups. Indeed, a large component of this piece was collaboration, both as a practical necessity as well as a thematic element. I enlisted the help of my friend Jaclyn Hunt, and her mother, Connie Hunt, both experienced in quilting, who helped me select and execute the patterns while navigating the complex logistics of maintaining a coherent painting within the structure of a quilt process. This required a combination of traditional techniques and innovation, a reflection of the materials themselves, which mix traditional cotton quilting fabrics and painted canvas strips. Featured below (pg. 15), this piece is titled ….so what’s it going to be, and is intended to visualize the multifaceted and often conflicting nature of personal identity. During the construction of a typical quilt, strips of fabric are cut and then rotated, sewn, and trimmed continually throughout construction. The original location or orientation of an individual cotton triangle cannot be discerned once the quilt has been assembled. However, in this art quilt, traditional methods of quilting have been altered through the central sections so that the overall integrity of the painting can be maintained. There is a tension between these two methods which suggests incompatibility, yet they nevertheless function together to create a cohesive whole. Integrating craft methodologies into my art practice allows for the inclusion of a separate history, one molded and finessed by women. In my next section, I will further discuss how feminist theory and 22 Debra Hanson, review of Faith Ringgold: Paintings and Story Quilts, 1964–2017, Poppy Houldsworth Gallery, Panorama: Journal of the Association of Historians of American Art 4, no. 2 (Fall 2018), https://doi.org/10.24926/24716839.1678. 15 craft practices intersect, and how these theories apply to my own work. ...so what’s it going to be, oil on canvas, cotton blend fabric, ribbon. 2020. 16 3. Medium, Material and Visual Metaphor Feminist Critical Theory Having introduced an overview of the historical conversation surrounding our contrasting mediums, it now becomes relevant to discuss contemporary theory and practice regarding the themes of feminism, figurative painting, and craft practices. Hélène Cixous’ arguments in her essay “The Laugh of the Medusa'' push the idea that language, as it exists currently, is rooted in white heteropatriarchy to the extent that its conventional use perpetuates oppressive structure. Instead, she exhorts her female readers to develop a new writing technique, an écriture féminine, which would theoretically subvert the influence of patriarchal omnipresence.23 To extend this argument to the contemporary art world, it can be contended that due to the long history of racist and misogynist imagery within figurative oil painting, the medium itself is unfit for feminist purposes. At this point, it becomes necessary to explore alternative methods and/or materials to more appropriately communicate feminist themes. Some contemporary artists have chosen to alter their approach to figurative representation, while others have abandoned painting entirely. The problem of the gaze has become a lively discussion point within Contemporary art, leading to the decline of unironic representational portraiture. More frequently, depictions of the body come with an awareness of the sociocultural issues surrounding representation, and have led to intriguing aesthetic solutions. Jenny Saville is a prominent figure within this discussion, as her work almost exclusively deals with the naked female body and the subversion of the gaze. She is famed for enormous canvases that feature intertwined or awkwardly positioned obese female bodies, bodies so large and loosely painted that up close they appear almost abstracted. Her 1999 work Fulcrum is perhaps the most well known example of this technique, a monstrous 8.5 feet tall and 16 feet wide canvas which involves three nude female bodies arranged so that they appear to melt into each other. The colors alternate from flushed reds, the 23 Cixous, Hélène, et al. “The Laugh of the Medusa.” Signs, vol. 1, no. 4, 1976, pp. 875–893. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3173239. Accessed 13 Mar. 2021. 17 color of dried blood, to almost corpse-like blues, yellows and greens (figure 8). Saville describes her goal as creating disgust within the viewer, her rejection of classical beauty in these paintings is deliberate and targeted.24 She is consciously weaponizing Julia Kristeva’s theory of abjection. As Kristeva defines it, abjection is not merely a synonym for disgust or repulsion, but a complex reaction to imagery that forces the viewer to accept “otherness” as a part of themselves. This breakdown of the barrier between self and other is the essence of abjection.25 Because the male gaze operates on objectifying, or “othering”, the female body, theoretically abjection functions as an effective tool for subverting the gaze. Nevertheless, Saville’s work is still inherently linked to a cultural understanding concerning how we define certain bodies as desirable or undesirable. Her work subverts with one hand while upholding with another. Similarly to Jenny Saville, the majority of my work centers around a figurative depiction of female bodies and therefore struggles with the same problems around the male gaze. I needed to create a barrier, much like Saville’s use of abjection, in order to prevent fetishization. Dissecting or deconstructing completed paintings became a prevalent solution, one which functioned simultaneously as a protection against the male gaze, and also an apt metaphor for the internal process I was undergoing. Dismantling these carefully painted figures literalized my painful evolution both as an artist, and as a person. In the below piece (pg. 18), titled Turning, Turning, a masonite panel has been painted on both sides with my own, posed figure. The painting was then cut into equal sections using a table saw, and suspended within a frame, forming an almost complete double-helix. The piece is intended to communicate cyclical indecision and uncertainty, doing so with a combination of figurative theatre and formal structure. It is a painfully delicate piece, and the process used to create it was violent and frequently slap-dash. It does not bear either the careful hallmarks of craft, nor does it respect the painterly skill with which it was created. The sense of conflict I was attempting to convey lacked a flesh-out 24 Meagher, Michelle. “Jenny Saville and a Feminist Aesthetics of Disgust.” Hypatia, vol. 18, no. 4, Nov. 2003, pp. 23–41., doi:https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1527-2001.2003.tb01411.x. 25 Kristeva, Julia. Powers of Horror: an Essay on Abjection. Columbia University Press, 1982. 18 opposing coalition; I understood that I was pushing against painting, with the idea that it was thematically representative of a patriarchal structure, but I had not yet discovered what I was pushing against it with. Turning, Turning, oil on panel, found wood frame, embroidery thread. 2020. 19 A breakthrough came during my second semester, when I completed a painting on a set of vinyl blinds. Initially intended to be an elaborate front attachment to a separate painting, Safe quickly became a stand-alone work. This was my first attempt at appropriating household or domestic items as part of my art practice, which later became a running theme. Where Turning, Turning lacked material clarity, Safe succeeded almost entirely because it understood the materials it engaged with. And, if we return for a moment to my initial portrait, Emma, this piece also engages with similar ideas but is ultimately more successful through the integration of conscious materiality. 20 Safe, oil on vinyl blinds. 2020. Both Emma and Safe have a similar reluctance from the subject to be seen, while also hinting at the subject’s own hidden gaze. However, Safe functionally pushes back against the voyeur through the use of the vinyl blinds. A figure has still been painted, but her form is safeguarded against any desiring eye. A running theme during this exploration period was a subversion of the ego and mystique surrounding painting. Returning to Linda Nochlin’s criticism of the male genius, much of the reverence associated with figure painting is based on a patriarchal understanding of classical art. By treating a painting like any other raw material which can be deconstructed or manipulated in creation of an eventual whole, these works reject the male ego. This was a critical aspect of my attempts to developing a feminist language for my art practice, the écriture féminine, as Hélène Cixous termed it. In uncovering that elusive écriture féminine, craft explorations have become an intriguing alternative to literal representation. In an essay about artist Harmony Hammond’s career, art historian and critic Julia Bryan-Wilson writes, “Craft objects, like queer desires, are multiple, crossing beyond the high/low divide: they are props, they are surrogates, they are frivolous, and they are usable. Mostly, they refuse to be any one thing.”26 Harmony Hammond’s breakthrough 1975 series, Floorpieces I-V, comprised a set of 5 circular rugs which were handmade and painted by the artist (figure 9). The rugs are woven in the convention of “Braid-It-Yourself” rug kits, which were popular in the 1950s, and subsequently been applied with acrylic paint over their surface. The acrylic paint mimicked the color and pattern already present in the rugs, and were displayed on gallery floors, rather than pinned or framed on walls. The creation of these rugs coincided with Hammond’s own coming out as a “lesbian artist”, the conflation of the two identities being important to her as a statement in its own right. In Hammond’s words, “I like to think of lesbian art as a braid with three strands, gender, sexuality, and art, though from 26 Bryan-Wilson, Julia. “Queerly Made: Harmony Hammond's Floorpieces.” The Journal of Modern Craft, vol. 2, no. 1, 2009, pp. 59–79. Taylor and Francis Online, doi:10.2752/174967809x416279. 21 time to time other strands, such as history or identity, are woven in and out.” As the three strands become one braid, the braid in its wholeness represents a queer “third space”.27 The Floorpieces are complex and conceptually rich objects, whose significance has been interpreted in a number of ways. However, to this argument, Hammond’s work produces an example of how craftforms can function as “body”, without engaging in representation or the gaze. The formal quality of the rugs implies a number of queer and feminine motifs, without directly referencing any of them. Several examples concern slang meanings of the word “rug”, from female pubic hair to menstruation to oral sex. Additionally, the process of building these rugs required intimate handiwork, the spiraling braids wrapped tightly against each other. These are sly, queer hints which allows the work to become available to those “in the know”, while resisting fetishization by outsiders.28 At the beginning of my second year as an MFA candidate, I started working on my own floorpiece. My body was always meant for someone else is constructed from a large unstretched section of canvas, painted with two iterations of my own body embracing itself from behind. The surface of the canvas is covered with embroidered writing and a thick covering of pulled yarn. The text is taken from a piece of writing I completed after a discussion with a therapist, and focuses on how my religious upbringing taught me to perceive my body. This piece is typically intended to be displayed on the floor, in the manner of a real household rug. Again, the painting element of this piece is utilized as raw material rather than being explicitly prioritized above the craft elements. I have also brought in domestic and craft elements, to present a conflict between the incongruous worlds of classical figurative painting and craft-forms. Finally, in a nod to Harmony Hammond’s work, the placement of this rug on the ground reiterates the implication of a woman's worth and value being at once overlooked and stepped on. By being a utility good, I am literalizing the “object”-ness of my body, while allowing the embroidered text to speak directly to my 27 28 Ibid., 65. Bryan-Wilson, “Queerly Made”, 65-69. 22 audience. The text functions as the protective barrier which I discussed in relation to Jenny Saville’s work, an intervention between the body and the male gaze. l "'l":\,,.J :fj,' ~__ ~ ~---~~. ;-/(/)~jj-· :(,~ . a-~. • ' . -,xr . --. • ,-.::"'--v,... . ', ·'-t'. "· •J~J.,1 w,"fd/p; '•''.\;'. ; " "'.. ;'N'"~J~ -,_,_. -~ '/: ,::;-;_• ;;;;. "-- ·---,r ),.. . .-.. . .) ',.:1. . /~k\l(\J' ~' :' . • ;/ /y I .• J ~ '<... .'.. ' . ~>I;. ~'-: ' .:' •, ' ' ...,- ,, <~Yj;_. ·, ' .• - i- • ,· ' 1(-1·· . ' ~.. .--. . .- . .- ... ·• > • .. _,. . ,~: .·; -r:a... • :::c; it My body was always meant for someone else, oil on canvas, yarn, embroidery thread. 2020. Interior/Exterior: The Home as Self A less discussed question concerning the role of craft versus classical painting is the subject of display. Contemporary art galleries, while certainly more flexible and eclectic than display spaces of previous eras, still frequently default to what is colloquially termed the “white box”. It presents a clean slate from which to view the object. This lack of context can provide a more open-ended experience for a viewer, however, it also often results in an overly homogenized aesthetic landscape. Nevertheless, white box galleries have become so prevalent within Contemporary art culture that the act of using them to display 23 unexpected items is itself a statement. As established previously, Harmony Hammond has consistently displayed her work in this manner and thus directly confronts the high art vs. low art dichotomy. However, this approach is not always successful. In 1971, collectors Jonathan Holstein and Gail van der Hoof produced an exhibition of salvaged American quilts, titled Abstract Design in American Quilts, and displayed at the Whitney Museum of American Art. 29 Holstein and van der Hoof began collecting these quilts in the 1960s, many of which were in poor condition. The couple had seen something else in the quilts besides their craftsmanship, and what they noticed harkened back to the New York art scene. These quilts were not the complex or carefully designed applique quilts that were popular during this period but instead featured color patterns and silhouettes reminiscent of abstract expressionism. Holstein said the quilts, “looked increasingly to us like modern painting, not necessarily American, more European, or international styles. A few, however, mimicked in startling ways some of the current art styles in New York, Pop, Op, the serial images of Andy Warhol.” 30 To Holstein and van der Hoof, the most compelling qualities of these quilts were not any hallmark motifs of craft-work, but instead the similarities they held to influential American paintings. Using their substantial connections within New York’s art community, Holstein and van der Hoof convinced The Whitney to host their exhibition (figure 10). During installation, it was particularly important to the curators that these quilts were treated like paintings, both because they believed it would aid in allowing the quilts to be taken seriously by audiences and because they felt that wall hanging would achieve greater visual impact. Additionally, the quilts were arranged solely according to their aesthetic compatibility, with no acknowledgement of region or historical placement. 31 29 Peterson, Karin E. “How the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary: The Modern Eye and the Quilt as Art Form.” Extra/Ordinary: Craft and Contemporary Art, edited by Maria Elena Buszek, Duke University Press, 2011, pp. 99–114. 30 Peterson, “Modern Eye”, 103. 31 Peterson, “Modern Eye”, 105. 24 Audience reception to Abstract Design in American Quilts was mixed. Some critics understood and appreciated Holstein’s vision, seeing the quilts as an extension of abstract aesthetics rather than individual craft objects. However, actual quilting enthusiasts were largely disappointed. They arrived at the exhibition expecting to see a display of technical prowess and diversity and instead found dirty, poorly-made, and oddly designed quilts. Quilts made by actual professional or talented amateur quilters were absent from the exhibition. This was a conscious decision on Holstein’s behalf; applique or decorative quilts were considered kitsch and did not imitate abstract paintings in any capacity. For some, this appeared to be a dismissal of quilters as artists and an erasure of the conventional meaning or beauty of quilting as defined by the communities who already treasured them. Abstract Design in American Quilts aspired to elevate quilting as high art, but only within existing aesthetic requirements. The quilts could not be admired on their own terms; their value was through incidental similarities to painting. Holstein and van der Woof’s efforts demonstrate the importance of considering context and methodology around the display of artwork. Quilts are not intended to be pinned starkly against a white wall, they are made to operate as part of the atmosphere of a home environment. This home environment has become increasingly prevalent in contemporary art from the 1970s on, pioneered by artists such as Rachel Whiteread, Tracey Emin, Miriam Schapiro, amongst others. One of the earliest examples was Judy Chicago and Miriam Schapiro’s Womanhouse, an abandoned building turned immersive art installation. During this project, each room became an exhibition space themed around the room’s functionality. Included were Chicago’s Menstruation Bathroom, Sandy Orgel’s Linen Closet, and Faith Wilding’s Crocheted Environment, sometimes referred to as Womb Room. These installations featured an array of domestic craftworks and visual motifs, which Chicago and Schapiro later began to refer to as “femmage”. 32 32 Perry, Gillian. Playing at Home: the House in Contemporary Art. Reaktion Books, 2013, pp.15-19. 25 The focus on domestic space within early feminist art stems from writers Griselda Pollock and Luce Irigaray, respectively. Pollock wrote extensively on the subject of domestic and interior space during her essay “Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity”. In this essay, Pollock analyzes Impressionist era paintings produced by Mary Cassatt and Berthe Morisot, noting that Cassatt and Morisot’s use and choice of space represented within their works speaks to a theory of feminine spatial arrangement. There is both a notable dominance of interior space, and a specific attitude towards the place of female figures within public areas, shared by the two artists. Pollock explains, “The spaces of femininity are those from which femininity is lived as a positionality in discourse and social practice. They are the product of a lived sense of social locatedness, mobility, and visibility, in the social relations of seeing and being seen.” 33 Continuing this theory, it becomes important to critically consider the environment in which a craft-based exhibition is displayed. Certainly, the “white box” is capable of elevating craftworks according to a narrowly prescribed definition of “high-art”, but crucially, it also deprives these pieces of important socio-historical context. I would even argue that without context, craftworks do not exist as intended. Additionally, as demonstrated by the reaction to Abstract Design in American Quilts, denying the domesticity of these objects can be demeaning to the individuals who pioneered these techniques. Of course, the aesthetic approach to how one manipulates gallery space is also a crucial factor with installations. For example, during the Spring Interim Show, I completed an installation space intended to mimic an interior setting. Titled A Waiting Room, the exhibition consisted of a chair art piece, a lamp art piece, and a matching end table, surrounded by patterned wall paint. Waiting rooms are an example of “liminal space”; places which exist only as a space to pass through. They are temporary or transitional, and are often known for carrying a strange or unsettling energy. In this scenario, I was attempting to evoke a room, without implying any comfort or direct domesticity. 33 “Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity.” Vision and Difference: Feminism, Femininity and the Histories of Art, by Griselda Pollock, Routledge, 1988, pp. 129. 26 This was accomplished through a few methods. Most importantly, the wall paint was carefully selected to involve loud patterns and uncomfortable colors. Modern American homes overwhelmingly use solid, neutral colors for interior walls. This approach allowed me to create the optical illusion of ghostly figures in chairs, while also clearly communicating that this space was not domestic. The cobbled brick floors of the gallery remain uncovered, a texture and material that would seldom be found inside a family’s household. Additionally, the featured pieces were placed in confrontation to each other, rather than companionably side-by-side. Thematically, each piece in the installation addressed a different stage or aspect of this metaphorical liminal space. The chair speaks to the experience of being held back from a moment of knowledge, of being forced to remain outside of the next stage of your life. The seated figures within the walls are others who may or may not be in the same room as you, but whom you cannot truly see or touch. Lastly, the lamp represents the moments of growth and transformation which allow you to exit the Waiting Room. Notice in the installation image, that the lamp is not plugged in. One must rise from the chair, and plug the lamp in themselves. 27 A Waiting Room, 2021. However, as we will discuss shortly, my Thesis exhibition is intended to present not a commercial space, but instead a lived-in environment. Therefore, unlike in A Waiting Room, it instead becomes important to make choices which communicate comfort and hominess. Elements such as wall color and pattern, arrangement of furniture, and the texture and material of the floor are all crucial to the overall illusion. This is set dressing, but it is important set-dressing. Covering harsh gallery flooring with carpet not only reminds the visitor of their own homes, it also reduces the trademark hollow echo of whitebox spaces. Displaying a quilt on a bed adds furnishing and intimacy to the installation. It is important to add that this exhibition is not designed to be a full and complete illusion; these details should instead serve as visual clues to the viewer about how they should engage with the work and present themes. 28 Exploring Precedent: Where I Sit Exiting the purely theoretical conversation, we turn to a practical analysis of how juxtaposing mediums and subject material can present a viable visual metaphor narrative. As foreshadowed by the information already presented in this paper, my selection of relevant mediums is not incidental. By combining representational figurative painting with craft-based media, I have placed my work at an intersection of two conversations; and thus invoke conflict both with the formal structure of the individual pieces and the sociohistorical implications. This progression has led me to conclude that the purpose of my work is not to create an overarching visual écriture féminine, but instead to explore how the strengths or failures of these methods speak to the muddied complexity of my own relationship to exterior societal pressures. To place my work in context, growing up both in a conservative religion and regional culture resulted in my early exposure to gender roles being extremely dogmatic, bordering on the fundamentalist. The beliefs of my religious institution were rooted firmly in heteronormativity not simply as a political ideology, but as a cornerstone of our entire theology. Earthly existence centered around finding and propagating marriage relationships within the bounds of this religion, relationships that would continue on in the afterlife, ultimately shaping our eternal destinies. In these relationships, men held specific powers and authority positions, and women were encouraged to dedicate themselves to tending to their family units. For most of my friends and acquaintances, these beliefs were met uncontested. Our religion strongly discouraged marrying individuals belonging to other sects, and it was extremely unusual to have a non-member parent. However, it was not impossible. While my father is a devout believer, my mother was raised outside of the religion and has never converted. She presented me with an alternative perspective, encouraging me to explore viewpoints outside the insular worldview promoted by my church. I grew up fundamentally torn between each parent’s conflicting ideologies, never able to fully commit to either party for fear of losing the other. 29 As with issues of Feminism and medium, there is no singular solution to my identity. Through identifying and analyzing disparate elements of both, it is possible to produce a fruitful conversation. While many artists have added meaningful dialogue through searching for alternative media and thus rejecting the use of “the masters’ tools”, as Audre Lorde termed them, my approach involves engaging with the unique failures these approaches produce. The pitfalls of painting are interesting and deeply relevant to my situation, just as the merits of craft excite me, while simultaneously failing to capture the breadth of my internal conflict. In placing my work within the context of a domestic space, I am both literalizing the tension between my internal and external pressures, while also embracing domestic space as an aesthetic feminist tool. Returning to Griselda Pollock’s “spaces of femininity”, domestic installations can be read as dually embodying the inculcated social role of an individual, as well as their specific interior process. As one journeys through the rooms of the house, the viewer is able to gain a complex understanding surrounding the variety of influences that construct a personality. In essence, I am providing the ontological opposite of a “white box”, rather than withholding context from an object and its audience, I am choosing to utilize spatial context as a conscious element of the installation. 4. Exploring the Thesis Show Description/Analysis Growing Pains is an immersive installation experience which includes multiple art pieces intended to sit in conversation with each other. The individual objects span a variety of domestic purposes, from quilts to rugs and chairs. Each piece is an amalgamation of classical figurative painting and feminine craft practices, and each speaks to a different aspect of the internal conflict foundational to my consciousness. Just as these art objects reject a definitive genre, there is also 30 no singular solution to my identity. As one journeys through the rooms of the house, the viewer is able to gain a complex understanding surrounding the variety of influences that construct a personality. Floating silently across the painted walls of the interior space, ghostly figures haunt this home, signifying the lives, worries and selves which follow me from moment to moment. Their presence is concealed by a cheesecloth veil, representing the thin separation between these influences and my own interior process. Growing Pains is an opportunity for the visitor to explore the objects and the metaphors which visualize my interiority, and perhaps find echoes of their own experiences within these walls. Artist Statements so, what’s it going to be Oil on canvas, cotton blend fabric, decorative ribbon. 2020. In my work, all destruction is in service of creation. In fact, it can be argued that all craft to some extent involves deconstruction. Nowhere is this principle more obvious than in the quilt building process, where hours and even days can become devoted to accumulating piles of carefully diced fabrics. Eventually, each orphaned segment is rotated, flipped and joined until the final product is completed. At this point, there is no single cotton corner which can be understood without the context of the quilt as a whole. Similarly, when we think about our own identities, there are no details, no decisions, no quirks or traits which retain coherent meaning outside of the context of our lived entirety. As I cut, bent and sewed the canvas of my self-portrait, was I destroying a perspective of my identity? Would I be better, stronger, If I could take away the fundamentalist influences that shaped my ideas of womanhood? Does the appearance of my quilt mimic an act of destruction, or does it provide a pathway to creating a more complex understanding of my own identity? My body was always meant for someone else Oil on canvas, yarn, embroidery thread. 2020. Ownership is a battle. Of your body, of your soul, of your future; everything is conflict. And so when I write, “my body was always meant for someone else”, that statement does not stand uncontested. It is instead a belief with which I constantly find myself arguing. You can see this argument inscribed frenetically across the surface of my canvas, as though my internal warfare has come to life and stitched itself into my very being. There is no peace in this battle, no final judgement in this conflict. Only contested fragments remain in competition for dominance. We witness paint overrun by text, overrun by 31 yarn, yarn which is held at bay with thin lines of embroidery. For any of the elements of this work to stand by themselves, there would have to be a resolution. But there is nowhere to rest in this piece. how my house got built I, II, III Hand-dyed cotton fabric, embroidery thread, yarn, oil on canvas. 2021. Consisting of three large fabric sections, or “walls”, how my house got built reflects on my relationship with Utah and its lasting psychological impact on my self-perception. This work plays upon ideas of interior and exterior through the use of “windows”, larger painted canvas pieces sewn into the walls, and topographical embroidery across the body of the textile piece. Essentially, the outside, Utah landscape, is placed on the inside, while the windows provide a glimpse at an illusionistic curated exterior image. Collaged textile and fiber elements hint at the presence of curtains, dripping thickly down the surface of the walls. Green embroidery threads spill in carefully ascending loops across blue fabric, detailing the winding narrative topography of my life. These threads speak about my attachment to this land, a culture and environment which indelibly shaped my young existence. It is a story about love, and loss and conflict, indecision and compromise. Through this piece, I provide a window into that experience, while also placing it specifically within the Utah region. There is no aspect of myself or my personality which can be divorced from my Utah upbringing, or its strange and sordid chapter within the American West. too many thoughts in my head to sleep Oil on canvas, upholstery fabric, hand-sculpted and painted clay figures. 2020. Some nights, just the concept of a pillow is a cruel joke. Some nights, there is no amount of soft downy stuffing or silken pillow cases which can distract from the discomfort of a hundred nagging voices dancing across your mind. In this work, those pesky thoughts swarm over the surface of the pillow. If you lay your head against them, the little red beads will grasp and pull at your hair. There is no comfort and no rest here. Each bead is individual and hand-crafted, and lost amid the crowding chaos of the others. At their thickest, it’s impossible to discern what beleaguered self-portraiture lies below. It feels like I’ve been waiting forever Oil on canvas, found object (chair). 2021. In the moments before Eve took a bite from that forbidden fruit, did her mouth run dry? Was that her hundredth time standing before the tree, wondering if today she would be brave enough to try it? And how long did she stare into the shiny apple skin before finally raising it to her lips? Sometimes before a life-changing moment, there are familiar arms that hold us back, preventing us from grasping at radical knowledge. They grasp us tight, sometimes a safety-belt, sometimes a chokehold. But eventually, it becomes necessary to face the unknown consequences that the future holds, and act. This piece is all about the seemingly endless wait before we gain enough courage to push aside our doubts, and take a bite. And if you are also caught waiting and feel your legs beginning to tire, you can take a seat and wait with me. 32 Story Lamp High flow acrylic on glass, with found object lamp. 2021. A companion piece to It feels like I’ve been waiting forever, this lamp presents a metaphorical visual journey through the events following the biting of the apple. Within the forbidden fruit, there exists a new and fragile version of yourself, one which has the ability to invoke profound change if nurtured. Installation Images . . growing· pa1 ns Outside entrance to installation 33 View through Opening section 34 Exhibition Statement Gruwing Pai11sis an immersivc installation experience which includes multiple art pieces intended to sit in conversation with each other. The individual objects span a variety of domestic purposes, from quilts to rug and chairs. Each piece is an amalgamation of classical figurative painting and feminine craft practices, and each speaks to a different aspect of the internal conflict foundational 10 my consciousness. Ju t as these a11object reject a definitive genre, there is also no singular solution to my identity. As one journeys through the rooms of the house, the viewer is able 10 gain a complex understanding surrounding the variety of influences that construct a personality. Floating silently across the painted walls of the interior space, ghostly figures haun1 this home, signifying the lives, worries and selves which follow me from moment to momen1. Growing Pains is an opportunity for the visitor to explore the objects and the metaphors which visualize my in1eriority,and perhaps find echoes of their own experiences within these walls. Exhibition Statement 35 Interior View featuring how my house got built III and II 36 Interior view featuring so what’s it going to be and too many thoughts in my head to sleep 37 Installation shot of how my house got built I 38 Detail shot of how my house got built III 39 Installation view of My body was always meant for someone else 40 Interior View 41 Detail shot of how my house got built I 42 Detail shot of Story Lamp 43 44 Installation shot of It feels like I’ve been waiting for forever Interior view of installation 45 Image List Figure 1. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, 1612-1613. Figure 2. Unknown artist, Judith and Holofernes, mid 1600s. Lace panel, silk, human hair. 46 Figure 3. Artemisia Gentileschi, Susanna and the Elders, 1610. Figure 4. Unknown artist, King Ahasueras and Queen Esther, 1660. Silk, yarn, isinglass. 47 Figure 5. Unknown artist, The Elizabeth MacCullough Hervey Album Quilt, 1848-1852. 48 Figure 6. Rebecca Palmer. Crazy Quilt, 1884. Silk, velvet. Brooklyn Museum Figure 7. Faith Ringgold. Street Story Quilt, 1985. Figure 8. Jenny Saville, Fulcrum, 1992-1993. 49 Figure 9. Harmony Hammond. Floorpiece V, 1973. Acrylic on Fabric. Figure 10. Various Artists, “Abstract Design in American Quilts”, 1971. The Whitney Museum. Works Cited Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. BBC and Penguin, 1972. Bryan-Wilson, Julia. “Queerly Made: Harmony Hammond's Floorpieces.” The Journal of Modern Craft, vol. 2, no. 1, 2009, pp. 59–79. Taylor and Francis Online, doi:10.2752/174967809x416279. Cash, Floris Barnett. “Kinship and Quilting: An Examination of an African-American Tradition.” The Journal of Negro History, vol. 80, no. 1, 1995, pp. 30–41. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2717705. Accessed 12 Mar. 2021. Cixous, Hélène, et al. “The Laugh of the Medusa.” Signs, vol. 1, no. 4, 1976, pp. 875–893. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3173239. Accessed 13 Mar. 2021. 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Meagher, Michelle. “Jenny Saville and a Feminist Aesthetics of Disgust.” Hypatia, vol. 18, no. 4, Nov. 2003, pp. 23–41., doi:https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1527-2001.2003.tb01411.x. “Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity.” Vision and Difference: Feminism, Femininity and the Histories of Art, by Griselda Pollock, Routledge, 1988, pp. 50–209. Mulvey, Laura, and Rachel Rose. Laura Mulvey, "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" 1975. Afterall Books, 2016. Nochlin, Linda. “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” ArtNews, Jan. 1971, doi:https://www.artnews.com/art-news/retrospective/why-have-there-been-no-great-women-artist s-4201/. Palmer, Rebecca. Crazy Quilt, 1884. Silk, velvet, 77 15/16 x 77 3/16 in. (198 x 196.1 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peter Taylor Sharp, 45.82.1 Parker, Rozsika. The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine. Women's Press, 1984. Perry, Gillian. Playing at Home: the House in Contemporary Art. Reaktion Books, 2013. Peterson, Karin E. “How the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary: The Modern Eye and the Quilt as Art Form.” Extra/Ordinary: Craft and Contemporary Art, edited by Maria Elena Buszek, Duke University Press, 2011, pp. 99–114. Ponterotto, Diane. “Feminist Responses to the ‘Normatization’ of the Female Body in Western Culture.” Journal of International Women's Studies, vol. 17, no. 1, 2016, pp. 133–151., vc.bridgew.edu/jiws/vol17/iss1/10/. Shaw, Robert. “A Brief History of the Art Quilt.” SAQA, Studio Art Quilt Associates, 2014, www.saqa.com/resources/brief-history-art-quilt-robert-shaw. Skelly, Julia. Radical Decadence: Excess in Contemporary Feminist Textiles and Craft. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019. 51