Veiled in Time, Awakened in Light: Women Artist in Britain
Now You See Us Exhibition at Tate Britain
Veiled in Time, Awakened in Light: Women Artist in Britain
As last October unfolded and I found myself in London, I knew there was one experience I couldn’t miss, a journey to witness Now You See Us at Tate Britain, an exhibition that felt both historic and urgent. Stepping into the space, surrounded by works by women whose lives and legacies had long been veiled in time, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. To be in the presence of such important works of art, each one a testament to resilience, to creativity, and to the quiet revolutions fought by these artists - was nothing short of a privilege.
There was a hum of reverence in the galleries, as though the very walls recognized the importance of the moment. As I walked from one artwork to the next, I felt deeply connected to the women who had created them, as if their spirits whispered through the paint, the brushstrokes, the needlework. It was a reminder of how art transcends time, and how we are forever bound to those who made it possible for us to see what we now can. The experience was more than a visit; it was a profound encounter with history, with courage, and with beauty that had waited centuries to be fully acknowledged.
Tate Britain, London
Spanning four centuries—from 1520 to 1920—Now You See Us at Tate Britain brings together the work of over one hundred women artists who, despite systemic obstacles, were always part of the cultural fabric of Britain. This ambitious exhibition does more than celebrate individual achievement; it traces a collective story of persistence, resilience, and the quiet, determined fight to be seen.
For much of history, the creative work of women has been rendered invisible, not only overlooked, but often quite literally lost. Countless paintings, drawings, and embroidered masterpieces have vanished without record. Many women were never credited at all, their names swallowed by time. Others exist in the archive only faintly: a single surviving work, a mention in a husband’s or father’s biography, a signature that was once dismissed. What we have today is only a fragment of what once was.
And yet, even within this fragment, there is richness. The women featured in this exhibition challenged the limitations imposed upon them. They sought out training when it was denied, demanded access to life drawing, exhibited their work in public forums, and fought for their rightful place in the institutions of art. Their work was not a gentle pastime, it was ambition, vocation, and, at times, resistance.
For centuries, they were judged by different standards, their legacies diminished or ignored. Now You See Us arrives at a moment of global reckoning with art history’s silences, following the recent success of exhibitions such as Artemisia at the National Gallery in London (2020), which brought Artemisia Gentileschi’s masterpiece back into the spotlight, and By Her Hand at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Connecticut (2021), where I had the privilege of being guided by an art historian. These exhibitions, among others, have brought much-needed attention to women’s contributions to the visual arts, offering a fuller understanding of their enduring impact. And currently at the Musée Jaquemart André in Paris is having an exhibition about Artemisia Gentileschi as well, which I am hoping to visit in a couple of months.
Tate’s Now You See Us is part of this larger movement. It is not a temporary spotlight but a commitment to permanently reweaving the story of British art, ensuring that women’s work is no longer an afterthought, but an integral part of the narrative.
Pioneering Women of the Tudor Era
The journey of women artists in Britain begins in the rich and powerful world of the Tudor court, where patronage and power often walked hand in hand. Despite the limited roles for women in the courtly sphere, a handful of remarkable female artists made their mark, creating works that blended the art of portraiture with political and social symbolism.
Susanna Horenbout, a Flemish illuminator, was one of the earliest female artists to work in England. Invited by Henry VIII to work at court, she became part of the inner circle of artistic production, contributing miniature portraits and intricate illuminations. Her style, which combined Northern European techniques with the English Renaissance aesthetic, demonstrates both precision and grace.
Following her, Levina Teerlinc, another Flemish artist, became a key figure at the Tudor court. Appointed as the official portrait miniaturist to four successive monarchs, Teerlinc’s work was prized for its intimacy and ability to capture not just likenesses, but the very essence of her subjects. Her portraits of Elizabeth I, among others, convey a sense of the power women could hold within these spaces, quiet yet undeniable.
The third woman of note from this period, Esther Inglis, brought a unique blend of calligraphy and miniature painting to Britain. Born in France and later settled in Scotland, Inglis’s calligraphic manuscripts, decorated with vibrant, detailed borders and miniatures, reflect both her technical prowess and her intellectual engagement with the Renaissance. Her work was commissioned by nobility and often included personal dedications, revealing not just the artist’s technical skill, but her intellectual contributions to the cultural exchanges of her time.
These artists, though often overshadowed by their male counterparts, were integral to the visual culture of the Tudor era. Their survival in the archives is a testament to the enduring impact they had in creating not only art, but a subtle form of cultural resistance. Their work offers us glimpses of a forgotten history, showing that women were not simply silent observers but active participants in the shaping of British art.
Trailblazing Female Professionals
As Britain moved into the 17th century, a small but significant group of women began to claim art as a professional identity. These were artists who painted not for personal amusement or domestic display, but for income, recognition, and a place in the artistic world.
Mary Beale stands out as one of the most successful professional painters of her time. A portraitist active in Restoration England, Beale not only ran a thriving studio with her husband (who managed the business side of her practice) but also wrote a treatise on painting technique, a rare document of artistic theory by a woman. Her self-assured likenesses, often of clergy, intellectuals, and family, show a confident hand and deep understanding of human presence.
Joan Carlile was one of the earliest women in Britain known to work professionally as a painter. Her portraits reflect both social ambition and subtle individuality, capturing the visual codes of elite identity in mid-17th century England. Alongside her, Anne Killigrew, a poet and painter at the court of Charles II, earned posthumous praise from Dryden, who called her “the fairest blossom of the Spring.” Her surviving works, though few, reveal a talent for both allegory and intimacy.
Mary Verelst, often overlooked, deserves special recognition as a trained professional who spoke several languages and likely taught as well as painted. Her self-portrait presents her not just as a painter but as an intellectual figure, surrounded by books and instruments of learning.
Together, these women chart a new horizon. They positioned themselves within an art world that was still skeptical of their presence, proving that talent, training, and determination could yield careers, however hard-won. This section of the exhibition makes clear: these were not hobbyists. They were professionals, in every sense of the word.
Early Women Exhibitors
As the 18th century progressed, opportunities for women to exhibit their works became increasingly available, though still fraught with resistance and prejudice. Despite these challenges, several pioneering women found their way into the public eye, exhibiting alongside their male counterparts and asserting their rightful place in the art world.
Angelica Kauffman was one of the first women to make a lasting impression on the European art scene, not only as an artist but as a member of the prestigious Royal Academy in London. Her inclusion as one of the founding members of the Royal Academy in 1768—a monumental achievement—marked a turning point for women in British art. Kauffman’s works, often depicting historical and mythological subjects, showcased her technical prowess and intellectual depth, breaking free from the limitations often placed on women’s art.
Mary Grace and Mary Black, while not as widely remembered today, were part of the new wave of women artists who exhibited their works in public venues. Both were active during a time when women’s art was still regarded with suspicion, but their persistence helped to carve out a space for future generations. Katherine Read, another founding member of the Royal Academy, was known for her portraits of royalty and aristocracy, and her work exemplified the high level of skill and professionalism that women could bring to the world of exhibition.
Mary Moser, who, alongside Read, was one of the 36 founding members of the Royal Academy, is especially notable. Her work as a botanical and portrait artist was highly regarded in her time, and she became one of the first women to gain access to the Royal Academy’s life drawing classes, which were typically restricted to men. Her participation in the Royal Academy’s exhibitions and her eventual recognition in British art history were milestones for women’s involvement in the artistic community.
These early female exhibitors played an essential role in changing the landscape of British art, forcing a reluctant society to recognize the skill and talent of women artists. Their persistence, despite the significant barriers they faced, paved the way for future generations to have the opportunity to exhibit their work, challenge conventions, and claim their place in the public eye.
Redefining Women's Artistic Pursuits
While many women artists struggled for recognition in the professional art world, there was also a tradition of women painting not for public acclaim or financial reward, but as a private, personal pursuit. These works, often done in miniature or delicate mediums, offered a space for women to express themselves in a world where their creative voices were often ignored.
In the 18th and early 19th centuries, women of various social strata were encouraged to paint as a form of genteel accomplishment. However, for many of these women, painting was not a mere pastime. It was a way to navigate their worlds, to assert a form of agency, and to craft a narrative about who they were.
Penelope Carwardine, Mary Benwell, and Charlotte Jones were among the women who painted miniatures, a genre that, while often considered "decorative," demanded intense skill and precision. These miniature portraits were personal treasures, small in scale but large in emotional resonance. They were given as tokens of affection, keeping loved ones close even when distance separated them. Through these intimate works, we see a quiet defiance to the norms of their time; painting, for them, was not just a social exercise, but an artistic and intellectual pursuit.
Diana Hill, Anne Mee, and Sarah Biffin carried this tradition of intimate, personal art even further. Sarah Biffin is especially remarkable: born without arms or legs, Biffin became one of the most celebrated miniature portrait artists of her time. Her ability to paint with her mouth or feet, using meticulous attention to detail, placed her in the company of the best artists of her era. Traveling with a circus in her youth, she eventually won the patronage of Queen Victoria, who was captivated by her resilience and skill. Her self-portrait, one of the most profound statements of agency and artistry, challenges the viewer to see beyond her physical condition and recognize the depth of her creative talent.
Sarah Biffin is a name I had not encountered before, and when I first stood before her self-portrait, it took a moment for the full weight of her story to settle in. At first glance, the portrait seemed like any other—elegant, quiet, a masterful expression of character. But then, something in me paused. As I took a closer look, I realized, Biffin had no arms or legs, her paintbrush lays on her shoulder. She had painted this remarkable self-portrait despite her physical condition, holding the paintbrush with her mouth. The realization hit me like a wave, and I felt an overwhelming surge of admiration. This tiny, intimate work, so full of determination and grace, brought tears to my eyes.
To think of the world she lived in, where limitations were imposed upon her every step of the way, and yet she had not only survived but thrived, it was beyond inspiring. I felt a deep, personal pride for her, as though witnessing the quiet triumph of her spirit. What moved me most was learning that Sarah Biffin eventually received the recognition she so deserved, painting for royalty, for the elite, and carving out a space in history for herself. It was a reminder that despite the odds, recognition is possible, and legacy is earned.
Emma Eleonora Kendrick, Christina Robertson, and Katherine Reed
As we move further into the 19th century, the tradition of painting for personal expression continued, but now with an increasing sense of professional ambition. Women artists like Emma Eleonora Kendrick, Christina Robertson, and Katherine Reed pushed the boundaries of miniature portraiture and contributed to the shifting landscape of British art. These women, while still operating in a space often reserved for the gentler aspects of the profession, were determined to shape their own identities as artists.
Emma Eleonora Kendrick was particularly known for her intimate portraits, which captured not just the likeness of her subjects, but their essence. She was highly regarded for the way she could convey emotional depth within the delicate frame of miniature painting. Her work speaks of the quiet yet persistent undercurrent of feminine creativity that continued to flourish despite the constraints of the time.
Christina Robertson, who was later appointed portraitist to the Russian imperial court, further expanded the role of women artists within professional realms. She moved beyond miniature painting, eventually creating full-scale portraits that were highly sought after. Her ability to blend realism with the aura of her sitters' inner lives marked a shift in how women’s artistic voices were perceived—not just as delicate, decorative creations, but as serious and sophisticated expressions of both technique and personal narrative.
Katherine Reed also pursued a professional career within the portraiture genre, offering detailed and nuanced portrayals of the wealthy and elite. While not as widely known today, her skill in capturing likenesses was highly respected in her time, and she represents the growing opportunities for women to contribute in more visible and respected artistic fields.
Each of these women, working within their own carefully carved spaces, made strides toward establishing professional artistic careers for women. Their works serve as a reminder that the path was not easy, but their persistence opened doors for future generations of women artists, even as they navigated the persistent tension between societal expectations and artistic ambition.
Floral Inspirations in Women’s Art
There was a hushed elegance to the room where flower paintings and botanical studies bloomed across the walls. It felt like stepping into a secret garden cultivated over centuries, one where women artists had tended every petal with quiet determination and astonishing skill. I found myself lingering here longer than I expected, drawn in by the detail, the delicacy, and the unspoken passion behind every brushstroke.
Mary Delany’s paper collages took my breath away. I’ve loved her work for years, but seeing it in person… those precisely cut petals arranged over deep, velvety black backgrounds, was something else. Her mixed-media approach, combining collage, watercolor, and a deeply studied eye for form, felt almost radical for her time. The contrast made each flower appear almost illuminated, as if the blooms were glowing from within.
Mary Moser’s flower paintings radiated joy and confidence. There was a sweep and exuberance to them, lush, almost theatrical arrangements that showed not only her technical ability but also a deep love of the natural world. I imagined her moving through a garden with purpose, choosing each flower like a note in a symphony.
I also stopped in front of Augusta Withers’s botanicals, so finely rendered, so alive. Her precision didn't sacrifice feeling. And Clara Maria Pope’s works, too, held that luminous quality that’s hard to describe but unmistakable when seen.
And then there’s Mary Gartside. Her name alone makes me light up a little. An Essay on a New Theory of Colour is a book I’ve longed to own for years now. I first discovered her at the Colour Symposium hosted every year by the Slade School, where Alexandra Loske, a brilliant historian of colour, spoke so passionately about Gartside’s work. I remember being struck by her theory, her sensitivity, and her vision, all packed into a book that feels like a lost gem. It still sits on my wishlist. So it was such a beautiful surprise to see the book in the exhibition. I hadn’t expected it, and catching sight of it felt genuinely special, like meeting an old friend in person for the very first time.
Mastering Watercolour: Women’s Contributions
Watercolor can be such an unforgiving medium, fragile and exacting, but in the hands of the women in this section, it became something transcendent. The works of Mary Ann Jones and Matilda Lowry stood out like whispered secrets. I’ve always loved their watercolors: Jones’s gentle compositions feel like they breathe, while Lowry’s attention to color and detail turns the ordinary into the extraordinary.
There was something intimate about these pieces, like pages from a journal or pressed flowers saved between chapters. I felt protective of them, as though their softness might be overlooked in favor of bolder, more ambitious works. But here, in this space, they were given room to breathe, and to speak.
Harriet Goldsmith, Helen Allingham and Maria Flaxman’s work added quiet strength to the room. Their watercolors weren’t flashy, but they were resolute. Together, these artists reminded me that smallness is not weakness, that subtlety, like watercolor, requires a steady hand and a fierce heart.
Women and Victorian Visual Culture
Moving into the Victorian section felt like stepping into a different world, one charged with spectacle, but also with tension. Women artists were navigating a shifting visual culture, one filled with both opportunity and performance. The art here shimmered with ambition and awareness. You could sense how these women were asserting themselves not just as decorators or dilettantes, but as professional image-makers in an increasingly visual society.
What moved me most was how these artists used the tools of their time, be it photography, illustration, or design; not just to be seen, but to shape how they were seen. This wasn’t simply about representation, it was about authorship. In a world where women were so often subjects, these artists became the makers of their own images.
Women at the Easel: Claiming Space in the Studio
One of the most quietly radical moments in the Victorian section was encountering the photographs of women artists in their studios. These weren’t casual portraits; they were declarations. Henrietta Rae stands confidently at her easel, brush poised before A Bacchante. Lucy Kemp-Welch, elegantly dressed, is shown in her studio, surrounded by the tools of her trade, her seriousness unmistakable. These images are striking not just because photography was still relatively new, but because these women were asserting their identities as professionals, creators, and visionaries in an era that often saw them as muses rather than makers.
And how elegant they looked doing it. Victorian women’s fashion, so often critiqued for its constraints, here became a kind of armor: high-necked blouses, voluminous skirts, intricate detailing. There was power in their presence, and beauty not just in their art, but in the way they carried themselves while making it.
The Figure and the Forbidden: Mastery Without Access
To see Love Locked Out by Anna Lea Merritt was to witness a mastery of the human form that seemed almost defiant. Women weren’t allowed into the traditional life-drawing ateliers of the time, yet here was Merritt, rendering the nude with such grace and emotional subtlety. Similarly, Henrietta Rae’s mythological scenes, especially Psyche Before the Throne of Venus, demonstrated not only technical brilliance but a bold claiming of subject matter typically reserved for men.
These works reveal the sheer determination and resourcefulness it took to master anatomy, composition, and drama under institutional restrictions. They didn’t just catch up, they surpassed.
The Stage of History and Allegory
Elizabeth Butler’s The Roll Call stopped me in my tracks. A line of weary soldiers, snow falling, the aftermath of war palpable in every brushstroke. That a woman painted this, and that it captured the public imagination to such a degree, is nothing short of remarkable. This wasn’t just participation in history painting, it was dominance.
Henrietta Rae’s classical ambition and Annie Louisa Swynnerton’s Mater Triumphalis furthered this theme. Swynnerton’s maternal allegory was both tender and monumental, a celebration of strength through softness, a kind of feminist futurism cloaked in allegorical robes.
Movement and Majesty: Commanding the Canvas
Lucy Kemp-Welch’s Colt Hunting in the New Forest was pure, exhilarating motion. The horses seemed to leap out of the canvas, galloping straight toward the viewer. It was not only technically dazzling, but emotionally stirring. You could feel the wind, the hooves pounding the earth.
Her inclusion here felt like the perfect punctuation to this Victorian chapter: a woman painting with boldness, movement, and muscle, breaking free of any lingering expectation that she might paint quietly, delicately, or from the sidelines.
Colt Hunting in the New Forest, Lucy Kemp-Welch. 1897
Petitions and Persistence: Writing Their Way In
Tucked among the paintings and drawings in the academic section were some of the most powerful artifacts of the entire exhibition: letters. Handwritten, carefully composed, and often brimming with restrained urgency, these letters were sent by women to academies and institutions, requesting—sometimes pleading—for acceptance, for training, for equality.
They weren’t simply asking to be let in. They were asserting a right to exist as artists.
It was deeply moving to read their words. You could feel the weight of centuries pressing against them, and yet here they were, crafting language as a tool of resistance. It struck me how much those letters echo today’s conversations: equal pay, equal recognition, space to create without being diminished or dismissed. The fact that this fight is still ongoing gave these century-old documents a contemporary clarity. It wasn’t just history, it was a mirror.
And yet, there was triumph too. Many of these women were accepted, graduated, and went on to win medals, prizes, and commissions. Their work wasn’t just a footnote, it shaped the academic tradition itself, even as that tradition tried to keep them out.
Among these written appeals, one particularly resonant thread was the petition to the Royal Academy, where women were still fighting for equal rights in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Their arguments were calm, reasoned, but their message was radical in its simplicity: treat us the same. It’s difficult not to read those letters without a lump in your throat. Despite everything stacked against them, they believed in their own talent and demanded the right to cultivate it.
And when the doors didn’t open, they built their own.
One of the most inspiring presences in this section was Louise Jopling, a portraitist, activist, and educator. A photograph captured her mid-demonstration at her own art school, an all-women’s space where students could learn from a successful professional in an environment free of condescension. She stood tall and poised, surrounded by women in long skirts and high collars, her brush lifted in authority. It was more than a classroom, it was a revolution in action.
Equally striking was the photograph of a group of women gathered in front of the Slade School of Fine Art. The Slade was one of the first institutions in Britain to admit women on equal terms with men, and this image radiated a quiet power. These weren’t outsiders begging entry, they were already there, students and future professionals, ready to shape the future of art. The photograph didn’t just document their presence, it celebrated it.
New Languages, New Freedoms: From the Academy to the Avant-Garde
With access to formal training finally expanding, especially at progressive institutions like the Slade, women artists didn’t just master the techniques of academic painting; they began to transform them. No longer confined to the margins, they entered salons, exhibited internationally, and shaped the evolving currents of art from within.
What followed was exhilarating.
The academic rigor many of these women had fought so hard to attain became a foundation for stylistic rebellion. Some leaned into symbolism and spiritualism, others explored the psychological, the fantastical, the abstract. Their brushwork loosened. Their palettes grew bolder. Their subjects shifted, from myth and allegory to intimate scenes of female experience, emotion, and identity.
There was a sense that the old rules had been studied, learned, and now, liberated from them, these women could begin speaking in their own artistic voices.
And that’s what made this section of the exhibition so deeply inspiring: to see the connection between petition and painting, between the studio and the self. These women didn’t simply break into the art world; they expanded it, challenged it, and made space for others to follow.
International Horizons: Women Artists Beyond Britain
As the 20th century progressed, women artists were no longer bound by national borders. With the academic training they had fought so hard to receive, they began participating in broader artistic movements across Europe and beyond. Dame Laura Knight, a central figure in British art, also gained international recognition for her daring depictions of ballet dancers, circus performers, and women at work. Her work, vibrant and full of movement, set a precedent for women to carve out their own narrative space in the public eye.
In this section, I was particularly moved by Silvia Goose’s paintings. Her depictions of the printer and the nurse were intimate yet universal, capturing the quiet strength of women in their professions, working with their hands, dedicating themselves to service, yet so often invisible in the grand narrative of art. These works, in their quiet reverence for labor, felt particularly relevant today, reminding us of the value of all kinds of work, especially that which is traditionally female.
Olive Mudie-Cooke’s watercolor Camp Entanglements Between Fleas and Beaulencourt was another revelation. Its detailed, atmospheric rendering of wartime scenes felt intimate and reflective showing not just the vastness of conflict, but the moments of personal experience within it.
Dame Ethel Walker’s Decoration: The Excursion of Nausicaa was equally stirring. The mythological subject, coupled with the sense of abstraction in her design, positioned her as an artist straddling both the classical and modern worlds. The piece felt like a bridge from the past to the future, a perfect encapsulation of how women artists were not just participating in art history but reshaping it.
A Legacy of Vision and Persistence
As I stood in front of these works, witnessing the legacy of women artists who fought for access, recognition, and equality, I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of continuity. Their struggles were so clearly part of a larger movement, one that stretches beyond galleries and into the very heart of cultural change. These women didn’t just make art, they made space for themselves and for future generations.
Seeing their works side by side, spanning decades and continents, it became clear how much of a revolution was embedded in their very practice. Their resilience, vision, and artistry have left an indelible mark on the history of art—and continue to inspire us today, reminding us that the fight for equality, for recognition, and for self-expression is ongoing. We are still, as these women were, fighting for the space to see ourselves as we truly are.
The Light of My Own
As I reflect on the journeys of these women artists, pushing against institutional barriers, asserting their voices, and carving out space for themselves; I’m reminded of the importance of the body as both a subject and a symbol. In my Study of a Female Torso, I aimed to capture the strength and resilience embedded in the female form, something that speaks to both the artist’s gaze and the struggles of being seen. This piece is a celebration of the figure, of visibility, and of the quiet power that comes from owning one's place in the artistic landscape.
Click on the image below to collect.
Study of a Female Torso
As always, thank you for being here.