Portraits reveal how we see ourselves and others. Many portraits from seventeenth-and eighteenth-century Europe show a sitter, often a woman, dressed in fine clothes and placed in a grand environment. These women are the focal points of the composition, and artists use shape, texture, and value to emphasize their importance. It is easy to be overwhelmed by their beauty. However, we must rethink these works as more than just depictions of beautiful, wealthy women. A closer look at the history behind them shows that artists were painting a pervasive aspect of European culture: colonialism.
At the time of these portraits, Europe thrived off its access to the Atlantic World and the African continent. Resources obtained through slave labor built up European elites. Colonialism was a source of pride, and owning slaves was a form of mastery. Many trafficked children came to work as slaves for their European owners and were depicted in art. These slaves are never the focus of portraits. Rather, they are repeatedly painted as very dark skinned and surrounded by trappings of wealth. They are often wearing a turban or collar, performing an act of service, and sometimes holding an animal. These themes are not accidental. Artists painted these portraits to make a visual argument about the value of skin color, contrasting the slaves’ darkness to their mistresses’ whiteness. These are portraits are advocating for racial inferiority and superiority.
This collection seeks to reveal how portraiture reflected European consciousness, identity, and ideas on race. Even today, we can learn from these works by recognizing our own cultural blind spots and the ways we still dehumanize people. And perhaps, we can give dignity to others just by looking and noticing those who often go unseen.
Anthony van Dyck, Princess Henrietta of Lorraine, 1634
Oil on canvas, 84 x 50 in
Ascension Number: 88028826
English Heritage, Kenwood, London
The black page became a constant image for depicting domestic slaves of African origin in European art. First popularized by Titian’s seminal portrait of Laura Dianti and a black slave from the sixteenth century, the motif spread throughout the continent in the following decades. In this portrait, van Dyck depicts Henrietta of Lorraine in full-length as she is attended by a black boy who carries red flowers and looks at her adoringly. Van Dyck’s work served as inspiration for following portraits of the same subject matter. Other portraits of women and slaves followed common pictorial conventions–the woman facing towards the viewer, a slave child exotically dressed, and the child giving some sort of offering to their mistress or performing an act of service. This portrait is also important as an early example of using a black figure as a foil to the beauty of a person of rank.
Jan Mijtens, Portrait of Margaretha van Raephorst, 1668
Oil on canvas, 53 x 40.3 in
Ascension Number: SK-A-285
Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
The tradition of depicting black slave children in portraits also spread to the Netherlands. However, Dutch painters often included these figures for stylistic or iconographic purposes. The boy in this portrait by Mijtens is not thought to be a real slave. Rather, art historians believe he serves as a symbolic foil. Including slaves was an indication of someone’s wealth and nobility because only the rich could afford to have a slave dressed up in silk, lace, and pearls. Whether an actual person or simply a representation, black children were used to elevate their owners economically, as well as racially. The representation of skin color in art became a weapon. Mijten’s inclusion of this black boy intentionally serves as a device for skin contrast, with the idea that blackness best heightens the superiority of the sitter’s whiteness.
Francois de Troy, Portrait of Elizabeth-Charlotte of Bavaria, Duchess of Orleans, 1680
Oil on canvas, 58.2 x 69.6 in
Ascension Number: MV 2162
Musee National du Château de Versailles
De Troy’s portrait of the Duchess of Orleans keeps with the European tradition of representing women in lavish dress in grand settings. Swaths of red, royal blue, and gold fabric dominate the canvas–colors only members of the aristocracy could afford–and the pearls and fur add to the painting’s extravagance. The scene behind the duchess is a vast garden with a fountain, possibly representing Versailles. At this time, outdoor settings were becoming increasingly popular in portraiture. The outdoors suggest that the place of women is in nature and alludes to the idea that women, like nature, are beautiful and pure. The duchesses’ powdered white skin is further emphasized by the dark values around her. The black skin of the slave boy who obediently offers her a bowl of flowers only heightens this contrast.
Pierre Mignard, Louise de Kerouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, 1682
Oil on canvas, 47 ½ x 37 ½ in
Ascension Number: NPG 497
National Portrait Gallery, London
Like de Troy’s portrait of the Duchess of Orleans, Mignard depicts the Duchess of Portsmouth in similar fashion. Our eyes are immediately drawn to her exposed white skin and the fabrics in her dress. The duchess is accompanied by a black girl, who offers her mistress a conch shell full of pearls. Pearls indicate great wealth, but they are also common accessories for blacks in portraiture. In a gesture typical of these portraits, the duchess wraps her arm around the girl’s shoulder. This is an act of care; however, it also relays possession and ownership. Interestingly, the women in these portraits are never paying attention to their slave. They are always looking directly at the viewer, and the slave children are gazing up towards their mistress. This implied line tells us where our eyes should be—not on the slave, but on the beauty of their white owner.
Godfrey Kneller, Portrait of Louise de Kerouaille, 1684
Oil on canvas, 143.3 x 236.2 in
Goodwood House, Goodwood Collection, United Kingdom
Two years after Mignard’s portrait, Kneller, a German-British painter, portrays the Duchess of Portsmouth in dramatic fashion. In a portrait almost twenty feet tall, she dominates our viewing space with her sheer size and the red hue of her dress. As the mistress of Charles the II, we are meant to admire her sexual appeal, which Kneller emphasizes by exposing her bodice. Kneller also uses value to illuminate the duchess. A little black boy is pulling back a curtain, letting light into the room so we can see his mistress. Unlike previous portraits where slaves are in plain sight, Kneller hides the child in the dark. We can barely make out his face. His place is invisible, and his role is singular: to elevate his mistress. Kneller also includes a dog, a common motif in these portraits to represent a slave’s loyalty and their animalistic nature.
Nicolas de Largillierre, Portrait of a Woman and an Enslaved Servant, 1696
Oil on canvas, 55 x 42 in
Ascension Number: 03.37.2
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
While this woman’s identity is still debated, we know she had great wealth. Europeans’ status was tied up in their overseas investments, and Largillierre reflects this by including exotic markers–a pet parrot, luxurious fabrics, and an enslaved black boy. Only the rich would have access to such rare resources. Like Kneller’s painting, Largillierre’s dramatic use of value creates emphasis. Compared to the brightness of the woman, the slave boy is hidden in shadows as he gazes at his mistress. His dark, dusty skin stands in stark contrast to her alabaster complexion. Moreover, his metal collar and placement with the family dog alludes to the nature of his position. This is a visual argument for the “purity” and racial superiority of European culture. The grandeur of his mistress is overshadowing; this boy is meant to be ignored. In fact, at first glance, we hardly see him.
Nicolas de Largillierre, Princess Rakoczi, 1720
Oil on canvas, 53.7 x 40.9 in
Ascension Number: NG 3883
The National Gallery, London
Consistent with the Rococo style in the early eighteenth century, Largillierre depicts the decadence, even foolishness, of the aristocracy. Between the shimmery, gold fabric and the smiles on the two figures' faces, it is easy to ignore what this portrait is representing. This opulence is meant to distract. Despite the smile the slave girl gives her mistress, any apparent happiness is complicated by the thick metal collar around her neck. Like in other portraits, there is a clear power structure. The size of the princess dwarfs her slave. There is hierarchy not only in their positions but in their implied worth as people. The girl, dressed up in the fashion of slaves, appears doll-like—more a toy than human being. Ideas of racial inferiority and superiority are still present in European consciousness and little thought is given to the dehumanizing nature of slavery at the benefit of the wealthy.
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