You can also read this on Medium (with pictures of the art included) here: https://medium.com/@emilystepp12/baroque-to-disney-progressive-female-portrayals-in-art-2222d28aec4e
With the advent of recent Disney movies that have been mostly praised as “progressive,” it is worth examining them on a deeper level; if a character like Elsa or Anna from Disney’s smash hit Frozen is hailed as progressive, what makes them so? And how does that image compare to those found in the past? While it may seem difficult to believe, there were in fact a few women who rose to the same heights as men in the world of art — specifically Baroque art.
So, how do modern female portrayals more progressive than that of the portrayals by female Baroque artists?
On the surface this seems to have an “obvious” answer — why would the modern era not be more progressive than the 1600s? Even for their time, surely a female Baroque artist would have a limited understanding of what true progressive images are. I would argue that looking at these artists for what they do offer in the way of subversive imagery, rather than what they don’t, is a good practice; trying to force them to adhere to modern sensibilities seems to lead only to disappointment (I would also argue it to be a waste of time, since 1600 is not 2020, and it never will be).
Maja Rudloff discusses Frozen’s female heroines in this light, arguing that ultimately, “Frozen promotes a narrative of feminist ideals of equality, empowerment and female agency, but conflates them with postfeminist ideals of appearance, self discipline and strongly gender stereotyped depictions with regard to how the characters look and act,” (Rudloff, 2016, 1).
She clarifies this throughout the rest of the article, (Post)feminist paradoxes: the sensibilities of gender representation in Disney’s Frozen. She argues that while the character of Anna initially displays an interesting feminine portrayal,
“Anna’s achievement of bodily control and discipline becomes a sign of her romantic interests; the adjustments made to her outward appearance parallel the remodelling [sic] of her internal life. Her initial displays of inappropriate behaviour, her quirky outbursts and her other spirited character traits conventionally coded as unfeminine do not continue and are not integrated into her personality as she matures and seeks to be found desirable by the opposite sex. Rather, they vanish as the movie progresses, and she grows fond of Kristoff,” (Rudloff, 2016, 6).
But what about the character of Elsa? Her part of the story is often hailed by critics as the most progressive aspect of it; Rudloff examines Elsa’s “Let it Go” song moment, citing Rosalind Gill,
“[The] possession of a ‘sexy body’… presented as women’s key (if not sole) source of identity” (Gill 2007, 255). In this paradigm, the subject, most often female, is reminded to self-police, manage and develop her disobedient body so that her outer appearance aligns with her newfound inner sense of liberation, power and control. As Gill (2007, 255) contends, “’The body is presented simultaneously as women’s source of power and as always already unruly and requiring constant monitoring, surveillance, discipline and remodelling’ [sic],” (Rudloff, 2016, 7).
This reinterpretation calls into question just how progressive Frozen is; what seems on the surface to be nuanced takes, appears to be reinforcing the idea that a woman like Anna cannot be what is coded as “unfeminine”, or that a woman like Elsa, even in her moment of empowerment, must look more beautiful while setting herself free.
Rudloff concludes her argument by saying,
“The sisters are initially presented as persons with real problems, desires and ability for self-assertion. Elsa exhibits rebellion when she leaves Arendelle to embrace her true self, and Anna displays courage when she sets out after her sister. These traits, however, receive no special reward at the close of the film. We do not learn if the sisters’ quests and experiences have brought them any new aspirations or hopes for the future. Instead, we find them in much the same position as their princess predecessors: back in their castle and, in Anna’s case, by the side of her ‘prince’,” (Rudloff, 2016, 10).
This article illustrates how the assumption that 2020 holds more progressive images of women and femininity than 1600 may not be so obvious; what appears progressive in Frozen is arguably not as progressive as one might think.
Is it not also possible, then, that the images one may think of as not-so-progressive may be more progressive than one thinks? I took that idea and applied it to my own personal examination and reinterpretation of two self portraits by female Baroque artists.
My search for a contrast to the modern imagery led me to two female Baroque artists: Artemisia Gentileschi, and Judith Leyster.
Both women lived and worked in the 1630s and 40s, and both created self-portraits; they were both accomplished women for their day, and their success is unusual, as the field of art was dominated by men. These self-portraits offer an intriguing look not only into the minds of accomplished, learned women of the time, but of an image of femininity that may still be applicable today.
The earlier self-portrait of the two is by Leyster. Her portrait was painted around 1630 and is an excellent example of her own personal style. She is famous for her paintings all involving happy, cheerful faces (particularly of musicians in the middle of song), and she does not stray from this in portraying herself. She depicts herself as smiling, while she sits at an easel; she appears to be putting the finishing touches on another piece of art, visible in the background. She is dressed in clothing that modern sensibilities might call “modest,” being a black dress with a very large neckpiece of some kind. The dress is decorated with bits of latticework, and her hair is put up. If not for her cheerful smile, she would not look out of place in an early photograph of a similarly dressed woman staring stoically into the camera.
This portrayal she chooses offers much more than what appears on the surface; here, one sees a woman happy with her work, jovial and — one may assume — fulfilled and confident in her purpose. She knows who she is and what she enjoys. Comparing this to Elsa’s transformational scene may be effective here; granted, societal norms of Leyster’s time might not have permitted her to dress like Elsa — but she doesn’t have to. Leyster portrays herself as just as confident and self-actualized as Elsa, yet her outward appearance is (one may assume) unchanged from her day-to-day life. She doesn’t need a new, sexy dress; she can wear whatever she wants and make her art with a smile on her face, assured of her own abilities in a field dominated by men.
For a contrast to the character of Anna, I think Gentileschi’s self-portrait may serve well. The portrait was done around 1639, and is titled, Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. Here, Gentileschi depicts herself painting, though what exactly she is working on is hidden beyond the frame. Instead, one sees the artist herself, intently focused on her work. She wears a dress that is perhaps a bit less “conservative” than Leyster’s; a green garment with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a low cut such that her bosom is visible through the finely detailed fabric. On her neck is a golden necklace, with a pendant that upon a closer inspection, appears to be in the shape of a skull. Like Leyster, her hair is also up.
Gentileschi’s portrayal offers an interesting contrast to the criticisms of Anna’s character raised by Rudloff. Where Rudloff argues that Anna’s initial characterization as a quirky, resourceful (if a little socially inept) woman is scrapped in favor of her “maturing” and seeking out her one true love, what Gentileschi depicts here is a woman who is focused on her goals. I don’t doubt that someone in Gentileschi’s life told her something like “you need to get married instead of paint!” yet the very fact that this portrait exists points to her own confidence in herself. She is so intently focused on her goals that she, unlike Leyster, does not even look at the viewer. It is as if her answer to such an objection is, “no I don’t, I’m just fine right here, painting.”
Unlike Anna, Gentileschi’s portrait suggests that she does not need to change her wants or desires or ambitions in order to be an “acceptable” kind of woman. She presents herself in a less conservative dress than Leyster, suggesting she is very comfortable with displaying her feminine form; but she is also an artist, a painter, and that is her main focus (literally, as her gaze in the portrait suggests). Gentileschi appears to feel that she already is an “acceptable” kind of woman — and that kind for her is a painter. She doesn’t need to stop what she’s doing or abandon her creative nature in search of a husband; she just needs to make art. That is what brings her self-actualization in her femininity.
I’d like to return now to my initial research question: Are modern female portrayals more progressive than that of the portrayals by female Baroque artists? The answer is less obvious than it may appear. After all, even celebrated films like Frozen are not immune from troubling female portrayals.
While its main female leads do initially display promising characteristics — Anna being a contrast to the “ideal” of a neat and tidy woman, and Elsa seemingly breaking free of societal norms and finding herself — as Rudloff argues, these portrayals ultimately fail. If Anna eventually changes and “matures” into a woman intent on finding her one true love, and Elsa seemingly must self-actualize while also getting a new, sexy look, then maybe they’re not quite as progressive as it seems.
What kind of message does it send to a young girl? “Find yourself, be confident! But also, you have to look stunning while you do it, and upgrade your appearance.” Or for Anna, “You’re quirky and adventurous and fun! But that’s naivety talking, go find The One and get back in that castle.”
In contrast, when reinterpreting and examining the self-portraits by Leyster and Gentileschi, one finds a surprisingly progressive image. Leyster depicts a woman who has achieved self-actualization without the need for a new, sexy look; Gentileschi shows a woman focused on her goals and ambitions, a woman that defies the expectations of her day and follows her passions (which no doubt would have been dismissed as naivety).
This contrast, in turn, suggests that perhaps the images associated with the Baroque era (or indeed, any other “old-fashioned” time outside of the modern era) are not so far-off as one might think. There were female artists in that time, and they appeared to view themselves in far more progressive and subversive ways than one might imagine. And if that is true, then perhaps there is still something positive to be gleaned from the past, rather than an outright rejection of it; it would be a shame to reject the notion of a progressive image in Leyster’s portrait simply because her clothing is “modest” by modern sensibilities.
Works Cited
Artemisia Gentileschi. (ca. 1639). Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. Royal Collection Trust, London, Edinburgh, Windsor. Retrieved from https://www.artsy.net/artwork/artemisia-gentileschi-self-portrait-as-the-allegory-of-painting
Gill, Rosalind. (2007). Gender and the Media. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Retrieved from http://0-search.proquest.com.wncln.wncln.org/docview/1881309345?accountid=8388
Leyster, Judith. (ca. 1630). Self-Portrait. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. Retrieved from https://www.artsy.net/artwork/judith-leyster-self-portrait-1
Rudloff, M. (2016). (Post)feminist paradoxes: The sensibilities of gender representation in Disney’s frozen. Outskirts, Vol. 35, pp. 1–20. Retrieved from http://0-search.proquest.com.wncln.wncln.org/docview/1881309345?accountid=8388
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