The Body Standard Construct
Art history proves that body standards are a construct. How becoming artist & muse helped me break the wheel.
In 1989, the art group Guerrilla Girls explored the female body construct in their work, Do Women Have To Be Naked To Get Into the Met Museum? This piece exposed that less than 5% of the artists in the Modern Art Sections are women, but 85% of the nudes are female.
Studying photography and graphic design in college meant I was required to take many art history classes as foundational knowledge. I learned of the great masters and studied visual history through the eyes of…well, the male. I thought, “but where are all the great female artists?” The truth is, they were always there and instead assigned the role of Muse.
Not only were women the subjects of art, but they were often nude or some would say, naked. Further solidifying the fascination of the female body. It’s important to note the difference between nude and naked. Nude implies consent to the artist’s use of the body, while nakedness has a sense of vulnerability, like, “ah, you’ve caught me in my birthday suit and now I must cover up!” Or, “oops, I shared your nudes with my best friend and now it’s all over the internet.”
Nude implies consent to the artist’s use of the body, while nakedness has a sense of vulnerability.
As I studied images through time, I noticed each period depicted the female body in a particular way, resulting in standards that rippled through culture. Art and the media, more often produced by men, perpetuated standards of the female form. More overtly, representation of the black female body displayed exoticism, sexualization, objectification and ownership throughout history. Even art created by women would often adhere to these ideals because it’s how we thought we needed to be.
It wasn’t until the 1960s-70s, a period of free love and exploration of sexuality, that we began to see the rise of “feminist art”. Feminist artists reclaimed the female body and depicted it through a variety of lenses, like the newly coined genre: performance art. For many artists, using their bodies in performances became a way to both claim control over their own bodies and to question issues of gender and sexuality. But that didn’t stop fads like dieting and plastic surgery to popularize in years ahead.
In my case, growing up with stick thin models of the 90s made “heroin chic” the cool new trend. Literally looking like a corpse was the way I thought my body needed to look as a young teenager. Looking back, it honestly horrifies me to see how unhealthy it was to consume these standards.
Art and the media, more often produced by men, perpetuated standards of the female form.
Finally, it seems we are edging into a new revolution. It’s about fucking time. Now more than ever, we see a range of bodies and expression through art and media in the digital age. Brands, music and movies seeking diversity, endless body positive selfies, pussy power uprising, and a passion for self love and treat yo’ self mentality. The cynical part of me thinks, “is it all just a trend?” And the hopeful part of me says, “not if I have anything to do with it.”
Deep down, the wisest part of me knows body standards are a construct and art history is proof of that. I saw my body type in Renaissance paintings—women with small breasts, square bums and a curvy belly. At one point my body was the ideal, so why can’t it be ideal today?
When I pose for my own photos, as artist and muse, I discover the silver lining. With self portraiture, I create for myself, first and foremost, only allowing viewers access to my performance if I desire. Being both behind the camera and in front of it, the power of choice has shifted into my hands.
What I’m really trying to get at is: we can break the construct if we choose.
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