Apr Daily

Whispers on Pages: Unveiling Unspoken Stories of Women in Literature

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by

Tooth

Greek аrt repreѕeпted а vаlυаtioп of mаle апd femаle гoɩeѕ tҺаt codified а рoweг dyпаmic апd а ѕociаl order tҺаt perѕiѕtѕ todаy

On a routine Wednesday afternoon following my workday, I found myself at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Opting to explore the Greek and Roman galleries, what captivated me most was the realization that, over two decades, the museum’s exhibits have significantly enriched our comprehension of organic progression—specifically, the evolution of form. Interestingly, some of these forms have inadvertently obscured the true narrative of female gerontology.

 

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In the Greek and Roman sections, one encounters nude sculptures of women often posed in a classical triad—bent knee, curved hip, and a tilted shoulder to accentuate the form. One hand delicately rests over a breast, conveying modesty, while their smooth genitalia lacks any distinctive features. In essence, the pelvic areas exhibit modest indentations, but no discernible openings or slight separations in the pelvic mounds. These forms resemble Barbie dolls below, as if female bodies emerged fully formed from the head of Zeus, occasionally clothed and lacking anatomical detail.

Meanwhile, the male statues proudly exhibit their anatomy, with penises in various forms—curled and flaccid, pert and alert, with dropped or shrunken testicles scattered around. As I wandered through the exhibit, closely examining the numerous nude female statues and fragments, I observed an absence of vulvas and protruding labia. There was no suggestion that vaginas ever existed.

For a moment, I pondered whether the abundance of penises was a result of male archaeologists being so enamored that the male member was meticulously rendered in excruciating detail centuries ago. Perhaps, driven by the fear of emasculating their predecessors, their recovery efforts spared only the mutilation of marble male bodies. How is it that marbled penises survived the sacking, and for nearly three millennia, the penis endured in all its barely timeless glory, while an overlooked labia caught the attention of a curator?

Meanwhile, the male statues proudly exhibit their anatomy, with penises in various forms—curled and flaccid, pert and alert, with dropped or shrunken testicles scattered around. As I wandered through the exhibit, closely examining the numerous nude female statues and fragments, I observed an absence of vulvas and protruding labia. There was no suggestion that vaginas ever existed.

For a moment, I pondered whether the abundance of penises was a result of male archaeologists being so enamored that the male member was meticulously rendered in excruciating detail centuries ago. Perhaps, driven by the fear of emasculating their predecessors, their recovery efforts spared only the mutilation of marble male bodies. How is it that marbled penises survived the sacking, and for nearly three millennia, the penis endured in all its barely timeless glory, while an overlooked labia caught the attention of a curator?

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These marbled statues encapsulate an idealized representation of male and female roles in society, establishing a power dynamic and social order that persists in various ways today. Initially appearing thoughtless until observed repetitively, it becomes evident that this intentional and deliberate gesture has a lasting effect, erasing feminine humanity. Even the most enlightened among us still grapple with cultural definitions of our gender, casting our vaginas as profane, obscene, and ugly.

It makes complete sense why Georgia O’Keeffe obsessively painted flower petals, why Gustave Courbet embraced painterly realism to shock the art world with a universal truth, why Hannah Wilke kneaded erasers into vaginal shapes and affixed them to architectural and landscape postcards, cleverly titling the series “Needed to Erase Her,” why Judy Chicago’s decorative plate settings for her famous Dinner Party emphasize anatomy, or why Mickalene Thomas updated Courbet’s painting with her “Origin of The Universe.” The longer you study art, the more you understand what should have been there but wasn’t.

Rare is the graffiti of vaginas even today. I’ve seen it once, scrawled furiously on the tile walls of the Bleecker Street subway platform. But penises (and their twin companions) are everywhere: scaffold walls, subway advertisements, bathroom walls. Perhaps that’s why it was so startling to see that someone took the time to furiously scrawl a female form in bold Sharpie strokes, something close to Courbet’s masterful work.

Maybe it’s that I never noticed that those marble statues never presented female genitals with any accuracy.

Western civilization, at its core, instilled shame around the feminine anatomy, and by extension, sexuality. This shame still lingers in unconscious ways. The male nude body is so normalized in heroic art that it doesn’t shock or induce shame. However, this goes beyond anatomy; it’s an argument for a particular way of thinking. The heroic male confidently displays his physique, while the woman, even the sexualized woman, hides hers away.

Could this be why there’s a preoccupation with grooming down there? Why some women feel the need to bleach because it is too brown, or why others believe their labia are too large and seek surgical alteration? Could the constant erasure of our genitals in art and culture, smoothed flat and wiped away, contribute to our sense that they ought to be invisible or absent?

Artist Jamie McCartney recently mentioned to The Guardian that he was motivated to create the Great Wall of Vagina to address the trend in labiaplasty, stating, “There’s no power to go for information [on the vulva], so someone can easily be persuaded for surgery… If you look at medical texts of genitals, they’re not very broad, so TGWV presents 400 women and what you see is that someone in there is going to look a little bit like you.”