Hello uncultured swine,
Uh-oh. You might be wondering who left me on read to garner such a welcome back email heading but no! I’m not jilted. Quite the opposite; I’m falling in love. Where last year’s art and culture celebrated girlish playfulness, it seems 2024 has found inspiration anew: feminine seething. And it complements me.
The artist we’re diving into today is so ripe with justifiable frustration, she’s bound to inspire some loathing to kickstart your 2024:
Not so Gentile - schi
At some point last year, you may’ve come across Auguste Toulmouche’s, The Reluctant Bride (above). The painting of a bride looking certifiably pissed about her nuptials went viral (?) on TikTok (?) with related videos gaining 6ish million views. Her expression of disappointment clearly transcends time; regardless of when the heroine actually lived, I think we all know her or <cough> are her.
There are a myriad of artists, both historical and contemporary, who appeal to similar disdain, but if you have an interest in women of art, all roads lead to Artemisia Gentileschi. Gentileschi was pissed off in seventeenth century Italy, where having been taught by father and artist, Orazio, she became an artistic enigma - able to paint even when the blood meant for her brain pooled in her uterus!
She was the first female artist to be accepted into the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno in Florence, and gained patronage internationally as well as from art demi-gods, the Medici family (Google it). These are staggering credentials for a female artist of the time, though I admit, even typing them I glazed slightly. Her credentials speak to her professional success - which is subversive and fab! - but wasn’t necessarily what made her exceptional.
Gentileschi’s paintings were stories. New stories or old stories shown in a new way, she was able to distil an entire narrative into a single image. I doubt you needed me to explain Susanna and the Elders (above) before you loosely gauged its intention. A young, bathing woman sits in a very ‘fuck off’ position, leaning from two leering men above, one whispering, one brandishing the library lady shoosh. Even lacking context, Gentileschi clearly paints a story of unwanted attention.
The scene references a biblical narrative of young woman, Susannah, dodging the sexual advances of two men who, when refused, spread rumours of her ‘adultery’. A God-loving man, lets call him? Daniel, sussed the situation and declares Susannah wrongly framed - cheers God for the happy ending! That I’m about to rob you of. I’m afraid I now have to give a trigger warning for themes of sexual violence below.
At the age of 18, Gentileschi was raped by her father’s colleague in front of two on-lookers. Though dad, aka Orazio, pressured Gentileschi and her rapist to wed (restoring virtue of course), her rapist soon ended their engagement making her virtually unmarriable. Orazio then tried to get this c*nt exiled for his crimes resulting in the torture of Gentileschi during her testimony and no enforced ramifications for her rapist.
So yes. Gentileschi was traumatised. And probably pissed, understandably. It would be a disservice to revisit Susannah and The Elders and chalk its success up to personal experience, but her paintings are undeniably visceral. Perhaps the difference between telling a story and knowing one. Regardless, her unique perspective distinguished her from her male contemporaries and how the fuck can I tell, you ask? By compare and contrast of-course! SO LETS!
Above we have Judith Beheading Holofernes by formative Baroque painter, Caravaggio. Referencing yet another biblical story, Caravaggio paints the moment bible bad-boy, Holofernes, is being seduced, and subsequently beheaded, by Judith in the name of Christ amen (I will say this once: literally slay queen).
There’s no doubting the skill and influence of Caravaggio, proven by expertly rendered gore and drama in Holofernes’s pained expression. Judith however, looks like she’s trapping a teeny spider before removing it from her boudoir. And the older maid is contemplating which suds will lift the blood stains best. So unsure and passive are these women, seemingly unlike the intentional murderesses from the story.
Now these women seem pretty fucking sure. Gentileschi’s Judith Slaying Holofernes (above) was painted in homage to Caravaggio’s, with a revenge fantasy twist. The subtle differences are important here: both women powerfully looming over Holofernes, sleeves rolled up because of aforementioned suds issue, Holofernes’s face in darkness so we look at him last. But it’s Judith’s expression, full of cool focus, that is *Chefs Kiss*.
Seething does this. It’s chillingly calm and intentional. I’ve seen it in friends who, upon discovering infidelity, put pictures of their partners wrong-doing around the house before silently slipping out. Or in the girlies who’ve made albums and then millions of dollars off of quiet rumination. It’s Judith’s face, it’s the Peltz-Beckham wedding planners.
As Gentileschi justifiably seethed, she also quietly made a dent on what we understood about history, especially women in history, by painting stories as she knew them. Just as we know The Reluctant Bride.
Dedicated to pissed off women everywhere! Reply to my email with cranky thoughts! Or Follow me on instagram and get frustrated there! It’s @maggijeann
Thank you to Grace for not being a pissed off editor! Thank you thank you for reading! I will
C U Next Tuesday
Maggie Jean xxxx