Gleefully Dabbling

Image sourced from OpenCulutre

Now that we have entered 2025, I find myself reflecting on how much has changed since 1933—and how much, unfortunately, has not. Women are still fighting to be taken seriously, to be seen as more than ornaments or extensions of the men in their lives.

In 2015, OpenCulture shared an article originally written in 1933 by art critic Florence Davies about Frida Kahlo. It should have been a celebration of Kahlo's formidable talent, but instead, it was titled, "Wife of the Master Mural Painter Gleefully Dabbles in Works of Art." Despite praising Kahlo's skill as "beautiful and skillful," the framing was undeniably dismissive.

Kahlo herself resisted this narrative. When asked if her husband, Diego Rivera, taught her to paint, she replied, "No, I didn’t study with Diego. I didn’t study with anyone. I just started to paint." With a twinkle in her eye, she added, "Of course, he does pretty well for a little boy, but it is I who am the big artist." Yet, despite her fierce confidence, the article's condescending tone echoes outdated biases women still face today.

This reminded me of a moment from my own education. An instructor once told me I could be a great artist—if only I weren't married and didn't have children. As if those roles disqualified me from being taken seriously. At the time, I was showing a painting of myself with my daughter, a subject apparently deemed unworthy of serious attention. Meanwhile, this same instructor often painted his children without scrutiny. While I am sure this comment was made without thought, I think it reflects the underlying prejudice towards women.

These subtle prejudices linger in the art world. They whisper that art made by women is "too pretty," "too emotional," or simply not serious enough. I feel it too. Every piece I create, I catch myself wondering if it’s too feminine—too polished, too delicate, not worthy of being called fine art.

I’m drawn to storytelling in my work, much like Kahlo, whose paintings were deeply personal yet undeniably powerful. My art leans toward illustration because I want to explore complex narratives—ones that challenge expectations. I’m not interested in painting a bowl of fruit for beauty’s sake. But if that bowl is rotting, with a woman standing behind it, a knife in her hand, confronting the viewer with defiance in her eyes, then it becomes more than an object. It becomes a statement, a challenge to be taken seriously.

Since graduating in 2016, I’ve seen progress. Women artists are being added to the art historical canon. Museums are expanding their collections. Scholars are reexamining works long attributed to men, only to discover they were created by women. But we are far from done.

Reading the OpenCulture article, I couldn't shake Walter Keane's dismissive words toward his wife’s work: "Sadly, people don't buy lady art." It stings because we’ve all felt it too. But I’m determined to challenge it—not just for myself but for every artist who has ever been told their work is secondary because of who they are, not what they create.