There’s something very poetic about feminist reclamation: the idea that women can retrospectively take back aspects of our past to support contemporary feminism. How do we as women engage with all facets of our history as we construct such movements of resistance, not just the heroic episodes which burn brightest in our minds, but “average” ones as well?
“Women Take the Floor,” an ongoing exhibit at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (BMFA), is unafraid to tackle such complex questions. Conceived as both an internal reckoning with the BMFA’s historic shortcomings in gender diversity and inclusion and as a call for future equity-based progress, the exhibit was curated in honor of the 100-year anniversary of the historic 19th Amendment. Central to its ethos is a commitment to platforming diverse, femme narratives in art, including newer, emerging voices and those which have been overshadowed in the past. The experience is wonderfully comprehensive, featuring intriguing installations on furniture, prints, jewelry, action paintings, and more, and feels like a genuine celebration of the many permutations of femme identity.
Feminism is, at its core, a very simple directive: bell hooks once defined it as “the movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression.” And yet, the intricacies of it can often feel nebulous and wildly intangible as we go about our daily lives. To me, “Women Take the Floor” candidly illustrates the blurred line between issues of feminist idealism, feminist pragmatism, and a restlessness to finally transcend the weight of the struggle. It doesn’t offer any easy answers, but rather illuminates a constant tension between various realities, possibilities and fantasies.
Of the many visions it seeks to show, the exhibit is particularly fascinated by the idea of repossessing traditional constraints of femininity as tools of progress. Its first installation, “Subversive Threads,” is a thoughtful exercise in reclaiming textile work, once pejoratively considered a domestic and “effeminate” activity, as a canvas for critical commentary. One piece, at the onset of the installation, overlays various Angela Davis and Letty Pogrebin quotes on poncho-style cloths. These “Magma Ponchos” draw on artist Carla Fernandez’s Mexican heritage and were conceptualized as protest wear for the 2017 Women’s March, transforming the casual fashions of a “feminine” craft into a bold sort of political armor. Another piece, “Nike of Samothrace with Golden Wing,” reimagines the Greek goddess Nike and other Greco-Roman muses as beautiful, powerful women blazing with individuality. Every piece in the installation takes the traditional, even quotidian, practice of weaving and uses it to forge new stories, thereby retelling an old one.
But for all the revitalized tales “Women Take the Floor” crafts, it perhaps perpetuates an antiquated idea: the notion that adequate representation can be a self-sufficient goal rather than a necessary stepping stone to something larger. There’s a point in which the sheer volume of gender representation in the exhibit feels overwhelming. And while it’s definitely beautiful and important, I wonder if it suggests that the work is done once representation is achieved. Presently, when gender equity remains unrealized in many regions of the world and areas of our society, I do think that sufficient representation must be the first step in any conversation. But still, it does feel trite sometimes to simply acknowledge that a voice exists, especially as relegating marginalized gender groups to conversations only about gender further skews power away from them. Ideally, instead, marginalized gender groups should have unfettered opportunities to express themselves on any subject.
Thankfully, the exhibit does suggest that representation and free argumentation are not exclusive processes. The featured “Broken Treaty” series by Gina Adams, for example, is a group of quilts lettered with language from treaties between the U.S. government and Native American Nations, treaties which were ultimately broken by the U.S.. The piece draws on Adams’s identity as a woman in order to ground further political critique on indigenous peoples’ disenfranchisement. It’s a beautiful overlap between recognizing the artist’s identity but also going a step further. In a similar spirit, “Apsáalooke Feminist #1” by Wendy Red Star is an assertively normal self-portrait photograph of the artist and her daughter. The photograph weaves in themes of Native American femininity, while also challenging typical ethnographic portrayals of Native American women and eloquently reclaiming their public image.
It’s tricky and occasionally frustrating for one’s thoughts to be prefaced by “As a fill-in-the-blank-identity,” but the agency of artists—like Adams and Red Star— who have reclaimed their everyday womanhood to transverse social and political realms has been heartening, reminding me that maybe such limitations are a mild temporary discomfort in service of worthwhile reparations. Still, while identity can be a source of nuance and immense empowerment, there are moments when you want to absolve yourself of all labels and tethers. The simple exercise of categorizing oneself can be exhausting when done continuously and makes you yearn for something beyond rigid identity restrictions and the conventional conceptions of femininity.
To that end, the most striking installation in the exhibit was one that captured this fluidity and multidimensionality of womanhood perfectly: “No-man’s land.” The space links together a series of deep landscape paintings with no people in sight, from striking landscapes by Georgia O’Keeffe to paintings that unite nature and the body by Luchita Hurtado. It made me wonder about a place beyond identity characterizations — who are we when we’re alone, when there are no expectations to satisfy? How much more of ourselves can we reclaim absent society’s instrumentalization of identity?
I don’t walk around feeling like a South Asian woman all the time — it’s taxing to go through the motions of celebrating, understanding, and advocating for myself based precisely on my membership to a larger group, and while I definitely love it all, it’s a lot sometimes. “No-man’s land” breathes truth into the idea of forgetting, if only for an instant, who we are in terms of commas and hyphens. It’s a captivating thought, a true respite.
Inevitably, one must pass through the installation to a different one bustling with thoughts on reclamation, representation, and everything in between, but “No-man’s land” position in the middle of the exhibit offered a glimpse into something peaceful amidst the vibrance of everything else. Its key theme— that women are entitled to their own free experience within feminism— is one that subtly flows through the rest of the exhibit, even as its contents grow less overtly resistant.
Walking through subsequent installations on kitchenware and furniture design, which may seem like pretty mundane objects at first glance, I thought about the many manifestations of that free feminine experience, of women who may not fit into our current ideas of feminism, independence, or rebellion. How do we think about “normal” women, who wove or created the domestic wares featured earlier in the exhibit for a living, women who may be more “ordinary” than the dazzling heroines we remember? There are plenty of women whom I love who seem to fit a traditional, antiquated mold of femininity. Should it be uncomfortable to think about them through the lens of modern feminism?
I’m not sure. I don’t think anybody is perfectly subversive or submissive, old-fashioned or modern — I think most women are just doing their best with dignity, and it’s important to view them with kind eyes. When reclaiming the past, we must look lucidly at all angles of women’s history, so we can understand exactly how to move forward, rather than selectively filtering people and moments to fit a certain narrative of strength. Feminism is principled for good reason, but there is also space within it for freedom, peace, and a compassionate acknowledgment, daresay, reclamation, of the past — of all the moments, ordinary or remarkable, resistant, or demure, from which women have risen to “take the floor.”
This column will continue to explore various dimensions of the art world through the author’s personal lens with the goal of illustrating the importance of a deep, thoughtful engagement with art. Future installments will feature immersive art reviews, conversations with artists, and reflections on art as an institution.
Image by Sraavya Sambara
