You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure. - John Berger “Ways of Seeing”
I saw a writing prompt that asked for the writer to describe what Girlhood was to them, and immediately I remembered thirteen years ago when I walked into an airport to greet my then three-year-old twin nieces. They each had a backpack, one with a kitten listening to music, and one with a puppy doing the same. I crouched down to greet the one with the kitten and complimented her backpack. She smiled at me with the kind of smile only a child has, the one that is bursting with “I love you” without the ability to yet fully articulate it.
In the coming months, they lived with us, sleeping in my room while I slept in the storage room in our basement. Every day, without fail, their little feet would clop-clop-clop down the steps as they wavered before asking, “Can we play with your neck-a-lace?” They loved to drape themselves in cheap necklaces I bought from Claires and Hot Topic, playing pretend as they took up space in their own world while their parents were finalizing their divorce and my brother left for Basic Training.
Girlhood is, in my experience, beauty with a backdrop of violence and terror. It must have both. In the thirteen years since that time, I’ve experienced the nuances of Girlhood with my nieces time and time again. We text daily, we share inside jokes, and we sit together as Lana Del Ray plays in the background and they make friendship bracelets and discuss their latest Hollywood crush. We craft a private world of our own.
If Girlhood was a painting, it’s this very painting.
“At The Dressing-Table” was painted in 1909 in Neskuchnoye, Kursk Governorate (which is now part of Ukraine) by Zinaida Serebriakova.
Zinaida was born on December 10th, 1884 in what is now Kharkiv, Ukraine. She was born to be an artist, meaning she came from a family of artists. Her father, Evgenii Lansere, was a sculptor whereas her mother, Ekaterina Lansere, was a painter. Her uncle, Alexandre Benois, was a founding member of the Mirs iskusstva art group, which she later joined. Historically, for women to become artists they needed to be part of artist families, most notably the father. So in this way, Zinaida was perfectly suited to become an artist.
Despite having an artist father, Zinaida was actually two when her father passed, so she never knew him. Following his passing, the family moved to St Petersburg. Zinusha, as she was known by her relatives, went to art exhibitions and the theater with her mother. While she started painting from an early age, she was often ill. At eighteen, Zinusha went with her mother to Italy and went on a cultural tour. She even stopped in Vienna to visit some museums, no doubt gaining more inspiration for her art.
When she returned to St. Petersburg, it was recommended that she meet with the famous painter Ospin Braz and study art. As it turned out, she didn’t care much for the work. Opsin primarily painted ceremonial portraits and she found the daily work uninteresting. However, with that, her ability as a painter blossomed.
And so we find Zinaida in 1909, at age 24. A snowstorm waged, and she was stuck in her house. At this point, Zinaida would paint a variety of models in her area. She famously painted Russian Peasants, something unheard of before (and quite contrary to what she was painting with Ospin Braz).
It started with boredom, with her incessant need to be entertained amidst a terrible storm. Her home was warm, so she started to paint herself in the mirror. Then she turned to the different small things around her. Before she knew it, the painting that would come to be her most famous was born.
At the encouragement of her brother, Zinaida showcased her painting in 1910 and was delighted to find it was purchased for the Tretyakov Gallery’s collection. The painting was warmly received, launching her career, but it never reached the high standard it could have perhaps met.
There’s no mistaking that the painting is lovely. It’s a delight to look at. Zinaida stares at us, optimistic and excited. She seems as enamored with her mirror reflection as we are with her. There is careful detail put into the painting, namely into the items that make up the forefront of the scene. Only when we realize there are not two candles but only one do we fully grasp that we are, in this painting, Zinaida. We are taking her perspective, one of self-love and joy.
Historically, images of women have always existed per ‘the male gaze,’ a woman is presented in a painting from his perspective, and whether that perspective is good, bad, sexual, or ornamental largely varies. Here, Zinaida is presenting ‘the female gaze’ in a way that is perhaps not just revolutionary, but rarely seen. There is no shame in her gaze, no self-loathing, and her defiance is more subtle, you could almost say it’s soft.
There is no sexual connotation. Zinaida is in her room, getting ready for what we presume are some fun nightly activities. Perhaps she’s planning to meet a lover. We could pinpoint each item and dissect what that item says of her evening, but we’re never led to believe what she is going to do is shameful, or rather, that she is ashamed.
She is, if you permit me, just a girl.
My introduction to our current conversation surrounding Girlhood came from my aforementioned nieces. In fact, my introduction was through a meme. You see, I’m a huge fan of the show Twin Peaks, and my younger sister wanted to show them. I agreed they could see the first few episodes, and they quickly connected that Kyle MacLachlan, the star of the show, was also the kingpin of their favorite memes.
Around the time we watched, Kyle put out a TikTok with Gwen Stefani musing, “I’m just a girl.” This, followed by his incredible attempt to recreate Lorde’s “Listening to Myself” post somewhat solidified him to legendary status among my nieces.
My nieces are like many teens their age, though they sometimes attest to their originality. My one niece argued that the other ‘stole cow print’ from her because she was into it first. My oldest niece is obsessed with ‘everything coquette’ as well as Pedro Pascal. And they are inclined towards memes like the one above that says, “I’m just a girl." We made them write a mini Gen Z dictionary for us.
So what is Girlhood? When I look at Zinaida’s self-portrait, I think of my nieces. I think of them as teenagers doing their makeup to dress up as fairies for the Ren Faire. I think of them as toddlers piling neck-a-laces on themselves. I think of how the joke of “I’m just a girl” is one must be ‘soft’ with girls because girls are by nature sensitive, and how the joke is ironic in and of itself. Sensitivity, the ability to cry and not react to everything with anger and violence, is strength. And what is Girlhood in relation to that? Girlhood is the quiet internal battle of realizing your sensitivity and believing it is inherently weak.
Girlhood is learning at a young age that what is considered feminine is most often considered weak. It’s learning the lie that in order to be extraordinary you have to be different from the girls around you. It is being taught that proximity to maleness is strength. Girlhood is being 8 and learning that all girls like pink, so now you have to say that your favourite colour is black, so you can be unique. Even though you don’t really like black. Even though you still like pink. - Dzifianu Afi “Everything I know About Girlhood/Womanhood”
One of the greatest joys of being an aunt of twelve kids (yes twelve), is I get to see them in all stages. I have nieces that are toddlers, nieces that are tweens, nieces that are teenagers, and one who is almost an adult. I have ten nieces total, so my life is surrounded by Girlhood, and it’s a never-ending joy.
My nieces have the unique ability to see wonder and joy in ways lost to so many adults across the board. They see things I, as a sad boring adult, cannot see. And I crave that perspective, that ability to find beauty in every part of life the way they can so effortlessly. Best of all, they are uninhibited. My nieces don’t hate pink, don’t think things that are feminine are weak. They like what they like, and that’s it. And I love it.
It’s for this reason that I think Zinaida Serebriakova paints Girlhood so well.
When her famous Self Portrait premiered, fellow painter Valentin Serov called it “very cute” and the painter and critic Alexandre Benois stated Zinaida gave the Russians “a wonderful gift.” I have mixed feelings about the use of the word ‘cute.’ Part of me can’t help but roll my eyes. Calling a painting ‘very cute’ is something you say to a child, not a 24-year-old woman.
On top of that, Zinaida had already been painting for years, and her paintings are all technically well done. Her paintings of Russian Peasants are breathtaking, and they don’t touch the full spectrum of her work.
But, at the same time, I do think her painting is cute. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory form. I mean it’s cute, wonderful, revolutionary, fascinating, and genius. You can be all of these things. Just because something is ‘cute’ doesn’t mean it isn’t also ‘genius.’ By my frustrations, I’m only revealing my own internalized misogyny.
When one looks at Zinaida Serebriakova’s paintings, we cannot help but feel a sense of love emanating from them. I don’t mean love in the sense necessarily that we can’t help but love them (I mean, I sure can’t), but love in that we can see her love for those she paints. Whether it is family, friends, or, again, peasants.
Painting ballerinas is hardly revolutionary. Yet, when Serebriakova’s daughter Tatyana became a dancer, she immersed herself in their world. As both a woman and the mother of a dancer, she was given insight into a world men were denied. She went backstage, working nearly daily on sketches and paintings of what she alone witnessed.
Through her paintings, we are brought into a secret world. A world where these girls reign, where they are strong and capable. Historically, the life of dancers was not an easy one. Many theaters operated as brothels for their patrons, offering the very dancers on stage for private entertainment to men of power. But we do not see these women as sex objects, used to fill the pockets of the theater owners.
Rather, they are their own beings. They smile as they prep for their performances, moving with comfort and ease that comes from inner confidence. One may be quick to dismiss Zinaida’s work as ‘soft’ and ‘girly’ but lacking in substance, but that would be entirely wrong. Not only are her paintings pleasant to look at, but the deeper we look into them, the more we can drown in wonder. To deny ourselves the gift of Zinaida’s work because we’ve been conditioned to believe that what is traditionally feminine is ‘inferior’ isn’t just wrong, it’s a surefire way to ensure missing out on something truly wonderful.
Following the Bolshevik Revolution, Zinaida’s life was in turmoil. She had to flee to France in the hopes that she could make enough money to support her family and reunite with her children. Her husband died during the revolution, and her family’s finances dwindled to nothing. She became depressed in Paris and was unable to make a substantial living. Her mother died of starvation as a result, and she wasn’t reunited with all four children until they were near adulthood.
In fact, Zinaida’s work was not accepted in the USSR until she was in her 90s. She was invited to return to Moscow for a showing of her work which ended up being a huge success, but she refused. For one, she was too old, and for another, she wasn’t sure she could face the country she once loved in all its changes. She suffered for years, much of her youthful optimism taken from her.
Yet, when I see her later paintings, I cannot help but feel that girl in the mirror is still present, and she’s still fighting. She’s not fighting with guns and fists, but with her own quiet strength, a strength so many of us have falsely believed is lacking.
Does Girlhood ever actually end? I don’t think so. Not really, not completely. In researching Zinaida, I came upon this piece. It’s a self-portrait she did later in life, placed next to a photo of her. Not only do we see the way she is able to attain a likeness, but once again she looks straight at us and smiles. Once again, she is presenting herself here as an artist unabashedly. There is a defiance in her eyes. She has seen things, lived through two wars and yet she is still able to smile. She is still, in my opinion, just a girl.
This is one of my favorite paintings I loved it growing up and still do ❤️
I loved this! So happy to get to know some amazing artists in your newsletter!