In March 2015, a group of about 15 people enters the Dia Beacon Museum in Beacon in the New York state. The featured exhibition is an extensive retrospective of Carl Andre, an American minimalist artist. The group behaves differently from other viewers; their members scatter around the exhibition space, looking at the displayed installations and almost taking their positions in the room. A guard quickly notices something odd is happening – each group member starts crying. Some only let the tears fall down their cheeks; others start sobbing louder and louder. Indeed, it is a performance, though not initiated by the gallery itself.
The action organised by the artist and poet Jennifer Tamayo alongside the No Wave Performance Task Force paid homage to the prematurely deceased wife of the artist – Ana Mendieta. A tragic event, which transpired three decades ago, continues to ignite discussion on the patriarchal nature of the art world and the impact of this phenomenon on women’s artistic practice. Incapacitation, a nonchalant approach towards female artists, and absence in the art market and museum collections are only a few of the many evident manifestations of paltry esteem for women and their art.
The story of Ana Mendieta is only the tip of the iceberg. Underneath, one can discover multiple life stories of female artists regarded merely as “artists’ wives”, sexual objects, or unpredictable hysterical women. It is worth examining closer the mental condition and artistic freedom of women stifled by society and the structures of the Western art world dominated by white artists.
We wish Ana Mendieta was still alive
Ana Mendieta married Carl Andre in 1985. Similarly to her husband, she had her own place in the New York art scene. Born in Cuba, the artist explored the subject of the body and woman’s position in American society, calling into question the nature of the body and its cult status through the mediums of performance, photography, and ephemeral interventions in nature. As part of the series Body on Glass (1972), she brutally pressed her naked body against panes of glass, mutilating it symbolically, just like the culture and society did. In another piece titled Siluetas, she left silhouettes of her body out in place, like the forest or the desert, to draw attention to the deep connection we share with nature.
By 1985, she was already an established artist, whereas Andre was considered one of the leading sculptors representing American minimalism. Their marriage lasted only eight months and ended when Mendieta died after falling from the 34th-floor window of their flat. There were no eyewitnesses, so we might never know what really happened that night. Some heard screams and a row.
According to Andre’s account, Mendieta went to the bedroom and “walked through the window”. He was arrested immediately and accused of murder. The line of defence was based on the implication of the artist’s suicide (the term “forced suicide” was yet to be widely recognised by the law in the context of spouse abuse). Supported by seminal and influential figures of the art world, Andre was ultimately exonerated and acquitted.
However, several people disagree with the verdict and perceive Mendieta’s death as a symbol of the stifled potential of women for the sake of male creativity. The fact that the artist came from a foreign country adds another layer to this incident. Some people maintain that Carl Andre was jealous of his wife’s success and didn’t want her to make art.
The story of Mendieta keeps resonating while her death became part of her artistic legacy. The performance organised in Dia in 2015 was preceded by a number of other events paying homage to Mendieta and women like her – whose achievements were downplayed. Eventually, the group was asked politely by the guard to leave and finalised their performance in front of the entrance by recreating one of the famous Siluetas of Mendieta, laying out pieces of paper with the slogan “We Wish Ana Mendieta Was Still Alive”.
Life governed
Unfortunately, this is not an isolated case of a woman who sacrificed her mental and physical health for her creativity and independence. Almost a century earlier, the art scene in Paris was gearing up for an emerging brand-new era and modernist revolution in art, while Camille Claudel slipped into oblivion. At 25 years old, this brilliant sculptor was already appreciated by the French art academy and studied under one of the best in the field of that time – Auguste Rodin. She worked side by side with him and inspired many of his important pieces, such as Les Bourgeois de Calais and The Gates of Hell, which were never finished.
Soon, she became Rodin’s mistress. The artist never left his wife for Claudel while also maintaining a years-long extramarital affair with another model. Claudel was successful and independent despite the discontent and disapproval of her mother. After she ended her long and passionate relationship with Rodin, Claudel succumbed to depression and mental issues. She lived alone in her studio, neglected her health and hygiene, and didn’t eat enough. She was fixated on the belief that Rodin wanted to destroy her career to the point of paranoia.
In 1913, her mother decided to commit her to a psychiatric hospital. Claudel never regained her freedom and independence. She died 30 years later, most likely from malnourishment in a French psychiatric clinic, as death from starvation in psychiatric institutions was fairly common around that time. Claudel tried to leave the hospital on many occasions, as stated in the letters she wrote to her friends, lawyers, and doctors. The family strongly refused to take her in and claimed that her behaviour (including her independence and poor conduct!) posed a danger to themselves and their loved ones. At the beginning of her isolation, Rodin urged her family to reconsider, but to no avail.
To a large extent, Camille Claudel’s life was governed by the conventions of that period. Freedom of choice had a price, which was usually paid only by women.
Claudel’s practice remained forgotten for many years until Anne Delbée published the book Une Femme – Camille Claudel (1982). Six years later, Bruno Nuytten directed a film about her starring Isabel Adjani. In 2017, the Camille Claudel Museum opened near Paris. Many of her works are also displayed in the Rodin Museum in the French capital.
To a large extent, Camille Claudel’s life was governed by the conventions of that period. Freedom of choice had a price, which was usually paid only by women. An unmarried woman making art was something utterly unthinkable for the majority of 19th-century French society. Until fairly recently, men had not suffered much from social and communal ostracism.
For instance, Paul Gaugin left his wife and children in 1891 and travelled to Tahiti in pursuit of creative inspiration. There, he discovered his fascination with the “primitive” (in his words) culture and symbolism, which ultimately shaped his unique style known and admired to this day. His works belong to prestigious collections around the world, while the style combines intense colours and Tahitian beliefs with typically European painting motifs. The moral aspect of this story is rarely even considered – Gaugin used a number of young local women, girls even, who are depicted in his paintings. He married a 13-year-old girl who gave birth to his child. According to some sources, he conceived ten children with other girls. The artist died of syphilis at the age of 54. Did any of this influence his career and historic appreciation of his legacy?
Deconstructing the discourse
The instance of Gaugin is just one of many stories described and documented by the critical feminist group called Guerilla Girls. As part of their project, Male Graze, they are recording multiple instances of abuse of women by male artists. With the use of sharp and cynical humour, they aim to create a constructive dialogue and introduce change in how we make accounts of and construct the history of art, taking into consideration female artists who are erased from the canon or deliberately dismissed.
The title Male Graze refers to the notion of the male gaze, which describes the male view imposed onto women from the position of superiority, downgrading them to sexual objects or objects of desire. The addition of the letter “r” in the word gaze emphasises the toxicity and violence of the gaze, thus reflecting the nature of the relationship between a man and the one he is looking at.
The title Male Graze refers to the notion of the male gaze, which describes the male view imposed onto women from the position of superiority, downgrading them to sexual objects or objects of desire.
As part of this project, Guerilla Girls exposes several facts buried by history referring to well-known and talented men. The cited artists took advantage of women to achieve their own goals – they became the subjects of their works, inspirations, and objects of unhealthy excitation – all in the name of art.
The goal of Guerilla Girls is to do justice to those unable to reach the same levels of success that men did. One of the proposed methods is rewriting labels in museums. Let us consider, for instance, the modified description of Picasso’s painting Weeping Woman, depicting a sobbing female in Guernica, displayed in Tate Modern.
The new description would state the following: Tate Modern believes this woman is weeping over the bombing of Guernica, but in 1937, there were plenty of weeping women in Picasso’s life. While still married to Olga Khokhlova, he was having an on-and-off relationship with his young mistress Marie Therese Walter and their child while carrying on an affair with photographer Dora Maar. Picasso said women were machines for suffering, and he liked watching them fighting over him. Of the five women who had a long-term relationship with Picasso, two died by suicide, two had a nervous breakdown, and one escaped and wrote a bestseller about it (…).
The Guerilla Girls project also aims to expose the price women had to pay as partners. The price of humiliation, staying in the shadow, a lack of support in their creative endeavours, or even psychological abuse. Unfortunately, a difficult character is not always the reason, like in the case of Picasso, or a double standard as exemplified by Gaugin. The root of the problem runs deeper and results from the cultural conventions of the period.
The Guerilla Girls project also aims to expose the price women had to pay as partners. The price of humiliation, staying in the shadow, a lack of support in their creative endeavours, or even psychological abuse.
From the ashes, they rise
One could draw parallels between the story of Camille Claudel and Lee Krasner. Both wanted to study under the best artists despite societal obstacles – gender in the case of Claudel and the immigrant origins of Krasner. The latter was a member of the New York elite group of artists known as The New York School, but not at the same level as her male peers. At that time, few women were present and appreciated in artistic circles. As an independent woman who kept learning and stimulating her intellect to develop her artistry, Krasner fought for her position for a long time, taking risks in her artistic choices.
When she met her future husband, Jackson Pollock, she had participated in small exhibitions and gained some acclaim among critics. Nonetheless, she put her own artistic practice on hold, not necessarily for the sake of Pollock himself, but rather due to his alcoholism and being overshadowed by his talent. Krasner introduced Pollock to the art scene, as he was not particularly skilled in creating those sorts of connections. She was his artistic advisor and loyal companion. Her work was pushed to the background, often compared to Pollock’s style or judged as an imitation of him.
Pollock died in a car accident while Krasner was travelling around Europe, taking a trip prompted by her husband’s infidelity. Krasner had a breakdown. Still, after his death, she tried to protect his legacy – she negotiated the prices of his paintings and made decisions on their sale. She also established a foundation under their name to fulfil that goal. Afterwards, her artistic practice gained momentum.
Today, Krasner is considered as one of the greatest (female) painters from the abstract expressionist movement and is cited alongside her husband and Willem de Kooning. She dedicated her life to her art, which to a large extent reflected her mental state – powerlessness, doubt, later depression, and long mourning after the death of her loved ones, her husband, and then her mother.
All these projects and life stories are just some of the examples but they show how deeply art is rooted in life. Even if an artist wishes to separate themselves from this fact on a formal level, there is no doubt that political and social contexts have an immense influence on artistic style and each career trajectory. How far can one go in the name of art? Is complete egocentrism a necessary condition for success? Most likely, Krasner would have never developed her own career while staying by Pollock’s side. Could Claudel have created equally impressive sculptures as the one made by Rodin? Could Mendieta, who is now ostentatiously mourned by the art world, have been free?
These questions will remain unanswered, although one should be aware of the reason why they are raised in the first place.