Using Modern Culture to Read the Culture of the Past

My photograph of the painting

As I meander through level two of the Harvard Art Museum, gazing at the paintings and sculptures, a sense of familiarity arises. European and American artwork from the thirteenth through the nineteenth centuries dominates this floor, and most of the exhibits carry a quintessential feel to them. I passed by a seemingly endless supply of paintings of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus that were created by Western European men. The room dedicated to Rome displays images that contrast light and dark, highlighting works of some of the most influential Italian men. The next room underscores the inner angst of French men by exhibiting works characteristic of romanticism. The portraits, the religious commemorations, and the depictions of historical turning points are stunning, yet not particularly remarkable. Artwork of this nature is simply to representative of what the average American young adult conceptualizes as artwork to be particularly distinctive. Thus, I headed to the staircase, considering my search on this floor to be futile.

On my returning walk, I passed by a set of paintings that were not placed in a room, lacking the apparently strategic set-up of a true exhibit. Five of the six were similarly unremarkable- portraits of early American presidents, commissioned works of a colonialist and his wife, another Frenchmen’s depiction of the world. Contrastingly, the last work caught my eye and then captivated my attention.

It was a gathering of brightly-colored fruit, ripe and fresh, contrasted against a surface of shadows and a pitch-black background. The title appropriately read “Still Life with Watermelon.” However, perhaps the most interesting aspect of the work was its creator- the American artist Sarah Miriam Peale. Among the works of both revered and lesser-known American and European men was this female’s portrayal; among works of human subjects and emotions was this inanimate scene. I initially thought that the museum’s curator must have put little thought into this painting’s location, as it just seemed so out of place, though I now question whether it could have been placed in any more strategic of a position, as it clearly stands out. 

My photograph of the museum exhibit's label (click image for full-size, vertical viewing)

The text describes Peale as a rarity, a professional female artist in the early nineteenth century United States. By displaying “ideal, unblemished” fruit, the subjects of the painting are each viewed as “an exquisite, glistening jewel” (Still Life with Watermelon, 1822). It is not arduous to extend these ideas as one views the oil painting. Peale paints of ripe perfection with a talent that itself appears to be ripe with perfection. What does this say about American culture, or perhaps Western civilization as a whole? We find pleasure in flawlessness, whether in craft or in objects themselves. The impeccable is desirable, and captures our attention just as the bright colors of the fruit do against the black backdrop. Peale’s painting is appealing because we, as a society, find the immaculate aweing.

On the other hand, I find the greatest cultural phenomenon presented in this viewing experience to be more implicit, and the decision of not the artist herself, but of the museum’s curator(s). Why integrate this work with the limitless number of portraits by, and often of, wealthy men? What message is meant to be propagated by the seemingly inconspicuous nature of the fact that a female created this work?

Perhaps the piece itself is meant to be distinctive, to be the vibrant scene among the dreary images, the rainbow in an otherwise black-and-white film. Its positioning allows its artistic qualities to draw the viewer closer, rather than the title of an exhibition or the name of a famous artist. And American culture values that; recognition for our talent or success regardless of our beings or philosophies is central to our society. This piece’s creative distinctiveness, rather than its female creator, separates it from the others.

Digital image of the painting provided on the Harvard Art Museum's website

Why then, add the qualification in the accompanying text, that the artist was one of the “first professional female artists?” (Harvard Art Museums). Our twenty-first culture is particularly open to conversations concerning feminism and equivalent social and economic mobility for either sex. However, this was not the case when Peale painted the still life, and there is merit to the fact that she found such success in a field, and frankly, a century, in which males dominated. The not-yet finished transition in the sphere of equality of the sexes is already a significant historical movement, and most certainly defines American culture. Thus, the decision to note that Peale’s accomplishment is particularly notable given her gender without possibly suggesting that her gender makes the artwork an accomplishment is crucial. Only in this manner may the former cultural norm be recognized without undermining contemporary stances regarding equality and female success.

As I departed from the art museum, I collected my thoughts, coming to two broad conclusions. The first was that culture is fluid, yet limited in its mobility by human nature; we will likely always appreciate apparent perfection, while attitudes towards social and political norms are bound to shift. The second was that one’s impression of a work of art is entirely dependent on contextual elements; the messages that I gathered from Peale’s are contingent on its display choices and my upbringing as a female in the twenty-first century. It is these contextual elements that I truly define as culture.