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Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim was a canoness of the Saxon noble family who lived in the monastery of Gandersheim in present-day Germany. She is the first known female playwright and a notable Christian poet and dramatist of the 10th century. Writing in Latin, Hrotsvitha produced plays, featuring female protagonists who embodied virtue, piety, and resilience in the face of sin and persecution (Wilson, 1989). -
The Book of Hours is a prayer and devotional manuscript commissioned for the Queen of France, Jeanne d’Évreux, and illuminated by Jean Pucelle in a Gothic design. Jean Pucelle used grisaille, a monochromatic painting in shades of gray, enhanced with subtle color washes. This Book of Hours represents a gendered form of devotion. It was created for Jeanne's private use, reinforcing elite medieval women's spiritual agency and devotional life. -
Leyster places herself as if challenging viewers to question their expectations of what a woman artist should be. What strikes me about this self-portrait is how deliberately she asserts herself as a woman and a professional. In a time when women were expected to remain in the domestic sphere, Leyster made the radical choice to represent herself in the act of creation. -
Nature into Art perfectly portrays how Rachel Ruysch elevated still-life beyond mere decoration. What I admire most about Nature into Art is how it transforms ordinary organic matter into something transcendent. Ruysch didn't just document nature; she interpreted it, clearly stating that observation and intellect weren’t exclusive to male artists or more "prestigious" subjects like history or religious painting. -
With neoclassicism, I have noticed that the clean lines, balanced compositions, and classical references are all over works from this period. Angelica Kauffmann’s Virgil Writing His Final Epitaph is a great example. It’s calm and intellectual, and there’s an evident respect for the traditions of antiquity. What I find so impressive is how Kauffmann managed to make space for herself in this very academic and often male-dominated style. -
Kauffmann uses the story of Cornelia to emphasize values like motherhood and virtue, while still mastering the complex composition that history painting demands. It says a lot that she could work in this genre, considering how few women were accepted in that space. -
What stands out to me is how Solomon uses this scene to comment on the ambiguous position of women like governesses in Victorian society. They were educated and lived with upper-class families, but weren’t really treated as equals. The painting doesn’t show conflict or drama, but that’s what makes the sense of exclusion feel even more real; it’s subtle, and that’s exactly how many women’s struggles were at the time: unnoticed and unspoken. -
Cassatt focused on private spaces and relationships. To me, that says a lot about gender roles at the time. Cassatt showed that domestic life wasn’t dull; it was full of meaning and beauty, especially to the women who lived it daily. There’s no drama or conflict, just a sense of routine care. I think that’s powerful in its own way. It elevates the ordinary moments in women’s lives. -
Created in pre-WWI Germany, this work reflects the rising anxiety of the era and the precarious place of women in both the private and public spheres. It also quietly rebels against the tradition of portraying women as passive beauty symbols. Here, the woman is powerful in her pain; her emotional experience takes center stage. Kollwitz wasn’t afraid to show the darkness of motherhood, and that alone was revolutionary. -
With Black Iris III (1926), Georgia O'Keeffe zooms in on the flower, focusing on every curve and fold, which feels intense and intimate. Some critics (mostly men at the time) immediately read it as a symbol of female anatomy, but O’Keeffe pushed back on those interpretations. To me, that resistance is the feminist core of her work: she owned her narrative. She wasn’t going to let anyone else define it. That kind of creative independence was radical for a woman in the 1920s. -
This piece reminds me that feminist art doesn’t always have to show a woman front and center. Sometimes, it’s in the defiance, in the refusal to conform or be pretty or polite. Dora Maar’s Portrait of Ubu makes space for the weird, the uncomfortable, and the in-between, and I think that’s incredibly powerful. -
This piece makes a bold feminist statement. The triangular shape of the table (which symbolizes equality) reflects the feminist energy of the 1970s. It was created during a time when second-wave feminism was demanding real recognition and rights for women. To me, this piece still feels incredibly relevant. It’s a reminder that reclaiming space, especially in male-dominated fields like art and history, is a radical and necessary act. -
Faith Ringgold's quilt, Who’s Afraid of Aunt Jemima?, looks like a traditional quilt, which might make people dismiss it as “craft” rather than “art.” But that’s exactly the point. Ringgold uses a format that’s historically been tied to women’s unpaid domestic labor, and then fills it with a revolutionary story.
She’s talking about being a Black woman in a country that has always tried to silence voices like hers. -
Walker is fearless in the way she confronts racism, sexism, and the history of slavery. What hits hard in A Subtlety is how she ties all these themes together using sugar, a product with a deep, violent history tied to slave labor. By using such a material, she forces us to see how sweet-looking things can hide incredibly dark histories. The sexualized posture of the main figure critiques how Black women’s bodies have been exploited and stereotyped for centuries.