Women have been a source of inspiration for artists and artisans since the dawn of time. From the ancient Greek and Roman eras to the works of Sandro Botticelli, Auguste Rodin, Paul Gauguin, and Edouard Manet, the female form has been a central subject, intertwined with themes of eroticism, love, lust, and sensuality. Women have been depicted as divine and tender, as well as the objects of men’s deepest desires, presences to be revered, cherished, and relished.

Idealized goddesses, noblewomen, and Madonnas with white alabaster skin and graceful curves contrast with depictions of women of color, often portrayed with dark hair and exaggerated features, reduced to the roles of servants or exotic beings from faraway lands.

But what do these artworks genuinely signify? What do they represent when examined in their historical and cultural context? And how have such perspectives changed over time?

Some believe that art is a window to the soul of its creator—a romantic notion, though one that strikes me as somewhat simplistic and linear when taken as a stand-alone narrative. Personally, I lean toward the view that art is a window into something far more significant and intricate, shaped by contexts and structures that have come and gone, are currently being constructed, and will continue to evolve.

Pioneering feminist theorists like Laura Mulvey, Griselda Pollock, Judith Butler, and Lynda Nead have been instrumental in shaping critical theories about women's role in the art world. Their shared yet unsurprising conclusion is that women have been systematically objectified throughout art history, predominantly portrayed through the male perception of female sexuality, morality, and identity.

This is where the theory of the male gaze comes into play—a foundational concept for feminist theorists and beyond. Griselda Pollock, a pivotal theorist of avant-garde and postmodern art, challenged and continues to challenge traditional male-centric narratives embedded in art history. Building on Laura Mulvey’s groundbreaking theory of the male gaze, which focuses exclusively on women in film, Pollock expands and develops this concept in relation to the field of visual art.

According to Pollock, the theory of the male gaze refers to the way visual culture positions women as passive objects of male desire, excluding them from being subjects with agency. It is a social construct heavily influenced by race, class, and historical context. The male gaze operates differently across racial and social lines, shaped by a combination of patriarchal, colonialist, and racist ideologies.

For instance, Paul Gauguin’s paintings of Tahitian women, the idealized and pious portraits of women of high social standing, and the contrasting depictions of lower-class women, often portrayed as coarse, less feminine, or more sexualized, serve as clear examples.

In essence, the theory of the male gaze explains that women have been depicted in the visual arts through the male perspective, by men, and for men—specifically for heterosexual men. And this can be traced throughout centuries of art history.

The upside to Pollock’s theory, in contrast to Mulvey’s, is her assertion that women have the power to disrupt and rewrite these long-established narratives. I personally align with Pollock’s perspective.

Museums serve as repositories of rich collections, preserving and caring for objects and artworks for present and future generations to see and learn from. They are guardians, caretakers, and agents of cultural heritage. But how do you approach and present pieces created in a male-dominated society without perpetuating the same narrative? In recent years, there has been a significant shift in curatorial and collection strategies, shedding light on the complexities of historical artworks and creating opportunities for greater inclusion of women in the arts.

A notable example is the National Gallery in London, a traditional museum in many respects, which houses a vast collection of Western European paintings dating from the 13th to the early 20th centuries. Many of the works it holds, such as the Rokeby Venus by Diego Velázquez, Venus and Mars by Sandro Botticelli, and Diana and Actaeon by Titian, are prime examples of art created for the male gaze. Yet, they remain significant pieces of history crafted by great masters whose aesthetics, techniques, and subject matter laid the foundation for today’s art world. Thus, their outright dismissal would be both reductive and disrespectful.

Despite its traditional background, the National Gallery has taken several steps to address this issue. It has expanded the context of its collection through updated labels and catalogues, reshaped educational programs, and showcased works by underrepresented female artists. A prime example of this effort is the exhibition Artemisia, which highlighted the contributions of Artemisia Gentileschi, one of history’s most remarkable female painters.

From 2020 to 2021, the National Gallery held the most comprehensive exhibition in the UK dedicated to the Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1653), curated by Letizia Treves. Born in Rome, Artemisia was the daughter of the well-established Italian painter Orazio Gentileschi. Trained by her father at a time when women were excluded from male-dominated professions like painting and from artistic subjects such as biblical and mythological scenes—subjects almost exclusively painted by men—Artemisia broke through these barriers. Despite social hurdles and constraints, she became the first woman admitted to the Accademia di Arte del Disegno in Florence and practiced her art in several cities.

In the modern world, Artemisia’s works were often presented as little more than an addition to exhibitions featuring her male contemporaries—much like a footnote to a larger academic paper. This exhibition, however, changed that dynamic. Artemisia’s work took center stage, and paintings by other great masters such as Caravaggio, Orazio Gentileschi, and Agostino Tassi were used to contextualize her achievements, rather than the other way around.

One of Artemisia’s most widely known paintings, which was also featured in the National Gallery exhibition, is Judith Slaying Holofernes. While Artemisia often painted the same subjects as her contemporaries, her personal artistic style differed greatly. Usually, Judith is portrayed with elegance, holding the sword to Holofernes’ neck with emotional restraint and disassociation, despite the horrific act she is committing. Traditionally, the maid is shown as a passive spectator.

In stark contrast, Artemisia focuses less on Judith’s appearance and more on her active role in the act. Judith pins Holofernes down with forceful decisiveness, slashing his throat with full awareness of her actions. She appears determined, resolute, and empowered. The maid, too, is not merely a bystander but an active participant in the murder, embodying a stance of sisterhood.

Artemisia painted two versions of this scene, one from approximately 1612–13 (Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte, Naples) and the other from 1613–14 (Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence). These two works were displayed side by side in the exhibition. The curatorial decision to present Artemisia’s versions together, rather than pairing one with a similar work by Caravaggio, her father, or Johann Liss’ Judith in the Tent of Holofernes—a piece already housed at the museum and easily accessible—was significant. It allowed Artemisia to stand as an artist in her own right, showcasing the breadth of her talent and the depth of her capabilities.

Thankfully, the number of artists, curators, and other art professionals working to highlight and support the contributions of women artists while addressing gender imbalances in the art world is steadily growing, and a single article could never encompass it all. From artists like Hannah Wilke, the Guerrilla Girls, Sarah Lucas, Mickalene Thomas, and Wangechi Mutu to influential figures such as Jerry Saltz (art critic), Hans Ulrich Obrist (curator and Serpentine Galleries artistic director), Lucy Lippard (writer, curator, and activist), Katy Hessel (art historian, curator, and host of The Great Women Artists podcast), and Maura Reilly (curator, writer, and activist), we are witnessing the hopeful and gradual shaping of a path towards a brighter and more equitable future.

Art is a peaceful yet profoundly impactful medium, capable of becoming a blindfold, a torch, a shield, or even a sword. The choice to wield it in any of these forms lies in our hands—women and men alike. So, what do you choose?