With her serious gaze and sumptuous attire, Mercy Otis Warren (1728–1814), in the American wing of the MFA is definitely worth a look, both for its execution by John Singleton Copley (1738–1815) and for her remarkable life.

The portrait of Mrs. Warren is traditional in its format, with her body in profile and her head facing forwards.

The background is only vaguely rendered: there are trees behind her, perhaps out a window, and what one imagines to be curtain sweeps behind her head and towards the line of her shoulder and dress. The dark brown of the curtain, left only as a wash, allows her pale complexion and shining dark eyes to engage the viewer. Copley has captured a complex gaze: one might interpret it as soulful, given the fact that her sister, Mrs. John Gray is known to have died the same year that this portrait was painted (1763).

Mrs. Warren’s hands delicately reach out as if to touch the flowers in front of her (thought to be nasturtiums, a flower associated with the American Revolution), yet do not touch the blossoms themselves. Her right index finger curls around a small green shoot.

With most of her writing days lay ahead, the choice of this flower and her support of a tendril are prescient of her role in the American Revolution as a poet, writer and propagandist. Copley doesn’t acknowledge or support this future career of Warren’s; he could have painted her with a quill in her hand instead of a flowering vine (a vine being more adept at representing a family than a career). Yet, Warren was to be her own woman, forging a path for herself as an American political and creative voice.

Despite the uniqueness of Warren as an individual, the focal point of this piece could be argued to be the beauty of the clothing, which was actually painted multiple times by Copley on different women, all associated with the Warren family.

The MFA’s website has an excellent explanation:

Mercy Warren’s dress appears in two other portraits by Copley: Mrs. Benjamin Pickman (Mary Toppan) (1763, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Connecticut) and Mrs. Daniel Sargent (Mary Turner) (1763, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco). Mrs. Pickman and Mrs. Sargent were much younger than Mercy Warren, and were painted at the time of their marriages. Art historian Margaretta Lovell has suggested that the expensive blue dress belonged to the Warrens and that they loaned the dress to Mrs. Pickman and Mrs. Sargent for the purpose of wearing it for their portraits, augmenting it with different trimmings but emphasizing family friendships and alliances.

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

A rich blue, in all images, the dress shines with the texture of silk. The ruched edging and gold braid show off its opulence. Warren’s version is the most modest of the three; with a transparent lace shawl covering her shoulders and the low neckline. Her positioning in profile also shows off less of the dress’s complex embroidery, whereas the portraits Mrs. Pickman and Mrs. Sargent, both are more revealing both of the women’s bodies and of the dress.

Mercy Otis Warren is not merely remembered as a subject of a Copley portrait, or the owner of an extravagant blue dress. In terms of Warren’s intellectual accomplishments, few women of the revolutionary time period can be considered her equal. Warren was a pamphlet writer, poet, playwright, historian and prolific correspondent with many of the founding fathers. Alexander Hamilton is quoted as having said of her, “In the career of dramatic composition at least, female genius in the United States has outstripped the male.”(1)

As a pamphlet writer Warren is known to have advocated for the inclusion of a Bill of Rights in a version of the constitution (and as such her work, published anonymously as “A Colombian Patriot” under the title Observations on the new Constitution, and on the Federal and State Conventions actually opposed that version’s of the constitution’s ratification). During the revolutionary time period, her work was published anonymously, as was almost all works, to avoid retaliation by the British. This may have allowed it to be judged on its merits. She is considered one of the few women of her time period to have written for publication. In the 1790s she published poetry and plays under her own name; rare for her time.

Warren was a prolific correspondent, originally answering letters on behalf of her father and brother when necessary, and later doing the same for her husband. Her keen wit and passion for the cause of the revolution shines through in the following anecdote:

During the war, Warren worked as her husband’s personal secretary and managed their Plymouth farm while he was away governing as president of the Massachusetts provincial congress. She kept up a frequent correspondence with John Adams, a protégé of her brother’s, and his wife, Abigail. In November 1775, as the British held Boston under siege, James Warren wrote to Adams, a friend and delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia, urging him to give up on trying to reconcile with George III. “Your Congress can be no longer in any doubts, and hesitancy,” he wrote in his lawyerly style, “about taking capital and effectual strokes.”

Mercy insisted on adding a paragraph of her own. “You should no longer piddle at the threshold,” she dictated. “It is time to leap into the theatre to unlock the bars, and open every gate that impedes the rise and growth of the American republic.”

Smithsonian Magazine

Warren is also the author of the three-volume History of the Rise, Progress, and Termination of the American Revolution. The title may be a reference to The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Edward Gibbon’s epic six volume work published from 1776-1789. This series is considered the first history of the American Revolution written by a woman, and one of the definitive versions from that time period, although it should be noted that John Adams believed it to be an oversimplification of the Revolution’s history. It did include the concept that the “Battle of Yorktown” was not actually a battle at all.

An accomplished writer, and a woman who was able to push her political agenda with her pen, Mercy Otis Warren’s portrait at the MFA should be admired not only for its beauty, but also for the complexity and character of the woman it represents.

1.  Zagarri, Rosemarie (2014). A Woman’s Dilemma: Mercy Otis Warren and the American Revolution (Second ed.). Somerset, NJ: Wiley. p. 142.

The Gordon Parks exhibit, on view now at Harvard’s Ethelbert Cooper Gallery of African & African American Art, is a exceptional body of work. The collection, that of Alicia Keys and Kasseem Dean (also known as Swizz Beatz), gives an overview of many different areas of Park’s work, and lets the eloquence of his imagery shine.

The Cooper Gallery deserves praise for the show is beautifully lit, and curated in a manner that draws the viewer through the exhibit, leaving one eager to both linger in front of each image and to see more at the same time.

The first photograph seen when arriving is a reimagined “American Gothic” entitled “American Gothic, Washington, D.C.” Cleaning woman Ella Watson imitates the iconic painting as she stands holding a broom and a mop rather than a pitchfork, with an American flag behind her rather than buildings.

Parks’ image depicts Watson on her own; she is both the masculine and feminine energy in this image: she wears glasses and stares unabashedly at the artist with her mouth grimly set, like the male figure in the original American Gothic. Yet, Watson is also in feminine attire with her slim waist on display, and details such as she sleeves of her dress. Parks melds both male and female into one persona and has her stand beneath the American flag, rather than in front of a traditional farmhouse and barn.

Her placement in front of the flag, her head is perfectly bisecting it, seems to imply that Parks wished to make a strong statement about either the working class, persons of color or perhaps both. Parks gives Watson a placement of importance, clearly well thought-out and suggests value the artist places on Watson’s contribution.

As one moves further into the exhibition, one is confronted over and over again, either with images making reference to art (such as above), literature (like his Invisible Man series based on Ralph Ellison’s book) or to current events of the time. All provide fodder for visually stunning and thought-provoking images.

Hands

Given the fact that Ella Watson’s hands remained invisible in the reimagining of American Gothic, it’s ironic to note that the first series of works in this show seem to focus on hands. Fingers point, hands reach out or they clutch objects, and we the viewers and left to interpret meaning.

In the image below, a hand reaches out from a pool of water, seemingly drowning. the fingers and arm stretch out of a rippling reflection – searching for assistance. The photograph’s grey-green cast contributes to this sinister moment with its otherworldly palette. The viewer is left with just this one piece of the story – just one frame in what was so a much longer tale. It can leave one short of breath.

A more subtle hand gesture, yet again unsettling, awaits just across from it: a child is presented with two baby dolls in two adult hands: one black and one white. He gestures subtly to the white one, seemingly selecting it. This image was from “Doll Test” where a psychologist was studying internalized racism. Parks eloquently captures this significant and heartbreaking moment where a black child chooses a white doll rather than a black one, in a single photograph.

A piece from Park’s Life series “The Atmosphere of Crime” series shows another eloquent hand; one that elegantly dangles a cigarette through prison bars. Yet, his other hand grips the bars tightly.

The timeless nature of this image, simple elegant hands, blocks of color, and a shadow slanting across the wall make it seem like it could almost be a photograph. It could be an image from any age: as much from 70 years ago as from today.

To delve deeper into the sociological side of this image, the disproportionate number of people of color who are incarcerated, even today make this piece timeless.

For context, find the tables below. While, dear reader, you probably didn’t need me to point out that there was an imbalance between the black population as a portion of the percentage incarcerated, nor that this is a long-standing problem (dating back to Park’s day), these figures do help to clearly illustrate the starkness of this disparity.

Here we are, almost seventy years after many of the photographs were taken any yet it feels as though some of them could have been taken yesterday: the same issues remain and the imagery is timeless in its beauty.

Certainly, “timeless” is an adjective that cannot be applied to all of Park’s work. He has recorded history with his lens as well: the portraits he has taken give glimpses of both powerful and unguarded moments amongst historical icons. It’s a delight to see such individuals such as Muhammad Ali recorded at the height of his career in rich black and white photographs. Malcolm X, photographed emerging from darkness while he speaks, is also another inspired piece.

While Park’s portraits of celebrities are wonderful, personally I find the works that focus on less well-known individuals is where Park’s artistic eye really shows through.

Park’s focus on social justice and recording the Jim Crow era in the South is both a historical artifact and an example of excellence in photography. These photographs feature the every person living their life, and allow us all to project ourselves into their reality.

They are also more accessible to a younger audience in terms of helping them to grasp the injustices of the Jim Crow era – and sharing artwork with a younger generation – and particularly political and socially conscious artwork is something incredibly important. The second Parks blog post (coming soon) will focus on these photographs, and also how to share them with children. 

On May 11th I had the honor of attending the Resilient Sisterhood‘s event entitled “A Celebration to Remember Our Foremothers in Gynecology.” This may sound like a strange event to have even the most tenuous connection with art… but stick with me.

First of all, let’s start with what the Resilient Sisterhood Project is. In a nutshell, they are a Boston-area group dedicated to reproductive equality. Click the links to learn more about them and about the concept of reproductive equality via at New York Times article that explains how the US is full of inequality in the health system: particularly for black women.

The event I attended was filled with amazing music and eloquent speakers all addressing the topic of the history of medicine and the hidden contributions of women. The focus was particularly on Dr. J. Marion Sims, who experimented on black women as he perfected certain gynecological techniques (such as repairing a fistula) and inventing the speculum. I also learned that he is the physician with the most statues honoring him in the United States, yet is also known to have practiced medicine under horribly cruel medical conditions in an completely unethical manner, with only questionable consent from his patients, as he experimented on slaves.

This NPR segment sums up the situation neatly.

Sims also kept quite good records. He, however, only names three of the female slaves in his writings. As such, these three women, Anarcha, Betsy and Lucy, are used a proxy to represent all the women who underwent experimentation at his hand. To properly honor all three of these women, the Resilient Sisterhood Project commissioned three paintings by Jules Arthur. The unveiling of these works was the culmination of the event on May 11th.

These are beautiful works and deserve to be seen and honored, both for their workmanship and for the story that they help tell. While I could never do as good a job as Jules Arthur describing his own work, I am delighted to attempt to analyze aspects of of these paintings in my own particular way, bringing my personal perspective.

Supporters and patrons of the Resilient Sisterhood Project ended up commissioning three works altogether once they had seen the amazing strength of the first piece (pictured above). This piece is reminiscent of much of Arthur’s work, as can be seen on his website. His pieces tend to feature shoulder-up portraits, done in a circular frame. This style is often called a “tondo” in the art history community, a derivative of the the Italian word for round, “rotondo.”

The details in this work of art really help to bring it alive and give it the depth of meaning that Arthur sought. The piece is made on a solid plank of wood with metal corners. The tondo has a functional yet decorative metal frame with rivets. Lace, or a worn wallpaper, embellishes the top of the piece, masking the distressed wooden planks. The blue in the wallpaper echoes the same color found in the kerchief adorning the head of one of the women in the portraits, and the scalloped edge of the lace worn by another seems to echo the lace wallpaper background as well. These details, functional yet with a graceful flair, beautiful yet slightly worn, echo the beauty of the women, and bring into relief the cruelty of the story that told in the box at the bottom.

The bottom of the first piece shows a portrait of Dr. Sims, samples of the original Sims Speculum and other gynecological tools, and the “The History of Medicine,” by Robert Thom, painted circa 1952 which purports to show the slave Anarcha. This sort of “box” that could exist in a cabinet of curiosities serves to ground Arthur’s painting in reality, reminding the viewer of the reasons for which the portrait above was painted. The sharp edges of the square box, and of the items painted to look pinned inside give it a haphazard look. This is purposeful as it parallels the questionable manner in which Sims completed his medical experiments. The medical instruments add to the unpalatable reality of it all.

The second piece to be unveiled is pictured below. In the dying light of dusk we see two female slaves looking after a third, with Sims standing in the shadows. The dynamic placement of the three main figures creates a religious nature to the work, where one could argue the the purple and red-clothed woman takes the role of a Jesus figure attempting a healing. The triangular nature with an ill woman on her left and the woman in blue on her right also suggests either the Holy Trinity or perhaps even a modified Pieta.

Taking the Pieta concept further, if we compare Arthur’s work above with Agnolo Bronzino’s Renaissance work below, one can see many similarities in color and form. One might note that both main figures are draped in purple, and there is a triangular placement of the three, as well as the fact that dark shadows lurk in the background in both, intimating the presence of evil nearby. All these aspects suggest the classical nature of Arthur’s second work in this series.

Despite the classical nature of the second piece, it’s also important to recognize it as innovative as well. Sims’s slaves, in this painting were also acting as his midwives and nurses. And, in that sense, they were given more agency to heal and “change history” than the Virgin Mary or a disciple could after Jesus’s crucifixion. These strong women in Arthur’s work nursed each other through moments of extreme suffering wrought by their creator, over and over again. For example, Anarcha underwent at least 30 (!) surgeries at the hand of Sims before her fistula was repaired, all without the benefit of any type of anesthesia. (1)

With such medical experiments frequently visited upon them, it’s no surprise that the 21st century brought a desire from many to remove his statue from Central Park, where it had stood for 124 years, as depicted in the third image.

The three named women are shown looking down as the statue is removed, women and men of all races and from all time periods contribute to its destruction. This piece represents the culmination of many years of hard work to bring the truth of Sims’ story to light.

Hopefully with the continued work of the Resilient Sisterhood Project and so many other groups dedicated to the reproductive rights of women of color, this story will continue to be known. We cannot turn back the clock: women do benefit from what was learned by the horrific non-consensual medical experiments. However, what we can do is sing the praises of the brave women who underwent these procedures – over and over again – rather than lionizing the perpetrator.

Thank you RSP and Jules Arthur for helping to make this story more widely understood.