back in December , I went to The Histories by Kerry James Marshall and this piece was one of my favorites. Marshall is a master, but you didn’t need me to tell you that!
It’s a new year and all my applications have been turned in! 🤞🏾
I still want to use this account to share my thoughts on the art I come across but in a less formal way.
This is a wonderful portrait of Edna , she looks so relaxed and self assured. Let’s all be like Edna, lounging on a yellow pillow…
I took this picture a few days after Hurricane Melissa took landfall in Jamaica.
Since then I have been thinking about my country and how we will rebuild. Please donate to the several initiatives out there. Link in my bio to the official gov funding site.
🇯🇲
Another stop at the V&A led me to Francis Williams, a fellow Jamaican. He stands confidently at the centre of his portrait, surrounded by symbols of intellect and status: books, globes, and an intricately carved chair that almost feels like a throne. Through the window, a landscape appears, perhaps Spanish Town, situating him between two worlds.
Painted around 1760, the portrait feels surprisingly modern, almost surreal. His proportions, long legs, and large head give him a stylized presence that sets him apart from the refined realism of his peers. But what struck me most wasn’t the figure itself — it was the absence of a frame.
Francis’s portrait hangs unframed, surrounded by white nobility enclosed in gilded gold. It made me wonder what that absence means and what it says about value, visibility, and who gets to be framed in history.
With John the poet, and George The prince of wales, I wanted to note the frames in which they live, decadent gold carved frames.
This is yet another indicator of social standing of the subject. This observation made me realize that what is in the frame and out of it has to be considered when interpreting meanings from these pieces.
Johns frame is decadent but Georges goes beyond the rectangular framework with extravagant carving surrounding him.
This portrait stopped me in my tracks at the V&A. Melissa Thompson glowing in the middle of the 18th-century British section felt surprising at first ,an oval frame in a sea of gilded squares, her colours vibrant against muted nobles. But that’s the point.
She doesn’t just sit among these figures; she disrupts them. Her gaze, posture, and open hand invite us in on her terms. Wiley flips the rules of European portraiture to centre someone historically excluded.
To me, this is what portraiture can do: move from reinforcing hierarchy to making space for presence, visibility, and reclamation.
Lady Anne sits like she knows the room is hers.
Draped in velvet and fur, leaning back with ease, she gives us the perfect picture of confidence. Her gaze is steady, and that near-smile feels intentional. This is the kind of look a socialite gives when she doesn’t need to prove anything. This portrait isn’t just about fashion, it’s about presence.
And for me, it’s also a reminder of how portraiture has long been a stage for power ,who gets to be seen, and how.
