Embedded Files
Art and Power is a virtual exhibition that platforms a selection of animate objects in the collection of the Minneapolis Institute of Art (Mia). Co-created by students in the College for Women at St. Catherine University during the fall semester 2025, this exhibition features chat labels that these student-scholars composed through close encounters with their selected artwork. The following questions shaped their research: What is the history of museums? What is the history of this museum? Whom does the museum serve? Why is this object in this collection? Why does it look the way it does? What is the object’s positionality? What is the positionality of the viewer? What is the object’s relationship to power? What is the viewer’s relationship to power?
Starting from the assumption that “museums are not neutral,”* Art and Power invites you to think with and through these resonant works of art and the stories they tell about art and power across time.
*This phrase was coined by art historians and activists La Tanya S. Autry, Teressa Raiford, and Mike Murawski. See https://artstuffmatters.wordpress.com/museums-are-not-neutral/
Ingeborg Westfelt-Eggertz (1855-1936)
Self-Portrait with Cigarette, ca.1890. Oil on canvas
Gift of Funds from the Paul and Sheila Steiner Charitable Trust, 2024.82
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Olivia Stevermer
Economics, Political Science, and Public Policy Major, Class of 2026
The first thing you notice in this painting is the subject’s (the artist herself) direct gaze. Rendered in realistic detail, she draws your eyes to hers with a relaxed, appraising expression – her eyes slightly hooded and mouth parted, curling up at the corners. Her right arm rests across her lap and holds her left elbow, and in her left hand is a cigarette.
Ingeborg Westfelt-Eggertz was a painter and draftsperson active between 1875 and 1920. Born into the upper-middle class of Swedish society in Stockholm in 1855, she was among the first generation of Nordic women, who had access to careers as visual artists. She painted this self-portrait around 1890 at age 35, when she returned to Stockholm from Paris.
Most notably, Westfelt-Eggerts depicted herself smoking in this self-portrait. While a self-portrait with a cigarette was common among men at the time, it was not yet an appropriate habit for women of her social standing. Women depicted smoking in art had, up until this point, held significant sexual and “lower-class” implications. As women became professionalized as artists, and therefore gained further capacity for financial independence, smoking iconography from women artists began to reflect the “New Women” movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Given her use of a cigarette as a prop in this self-portrait, Westfelt-Eggertz arguably perceived herself as a “New Women,” presenting herself not only as an artist, but also as a woman who claimed her autonomy.
Japanese Artist
Figurine of a Woman, 1000-800 BCE. Earthenware and traces of color
The John R. Van Derlip Fund, 2016.46
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Bailey Top
Art Major (Graphic Design), Class of 2028
Dogūs, or clay figurines, are earthenware creations dating back to the Middle to Late Jōmon Period. Their most iconic renditions feature large, coffee-bean-shaped eyes, peanut-shaped ears, tiny mouths and noses, and “alien-like” bodies. Dogūs were used for protecting graves, as their large eyes were said to be watchful, extending to keep watch over mothers during labor and to warn off malicious spirits.
What follows is a prose poem I composed inspired by this Dogū and her story:
I’m born from a culture, one of hunters and gatherers, also of people dedicated to creating art and worship to bless their lands and their lives for longer and healthier lives. My existence is made to be there for a successful birth, to be the watchful eyes against warring spirits. I’m there to mark the deceased in their mounds. I represent the beauty of my people and what they need from me. Yet, I’m now just behind glass, staring into a display of giants and armored warriors. The very gods my people worshiped were before me. The only being close to my time can’t understand me. The Kofun period is 9,700 years different in time. I sound alien to them. I’m an alien among the other beings. My beauty is seen as foreign or supernatural in nature. It frustrates me. It’s isolating. My tiny body holds life of its own, yet my insides are hollow. I can’t give birth despite the women I helped. I can hope to reunite with my people. I can only hope.
Chiachio & Giannone (Leo Chiachio b.1969 and Daniel Giannone b.1964)
Selva blanca, 2014-2015. Hand embroidered with cotton, rayon, and jewel effect threads and silk fabric appliqué on fabric
The Mary Ingebrand-Pohlad Endowment, 2024.30.A-C
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Tasunee Yang
Communications and Art Major (Graphic Design), Class of 2026
There is no doubt that considerable effort has been invested in creating this amazing and mysterious three-part embroidered tableau. It is both busy and eye-catching at first glance. Your eyes might have wandered initially to the central panel with its dachshund enthroned in a golden chair or the monkeys at the top. Around these animals are many shaded yarns of leaves, mainly green, and more spread out than others, each with its own unique shape. They drift and position themselves to either cover the golden chair or conceal the hidden creatures, distracting the viewer with their vibrant colors. No matter where you begin, the first look withholds the meaning of the colorful flowers, the detailed dachshund in the middle, the many charms, or even the colors chosen. Even during the second, third, and even fifth look, there is context that must be provided to know the fuller story.
The creators of Selva blanca are Chiachio & Giannone, a queer couple who live in Argentina, with their six dogs. They describe their work as being about love and finding family, and being able to come together and create a life that revolves around art despite societal taboos. Their love is heartwarming and light-hearted, with a humor that can be seamlessly integrated into their embroidery works. They play with these textile embodiments to challenge societal norms and uplift women’s labor that has long been ignored, including labor as simple as house chores. Many of their works feature women artists and Latin identity, inspiring curiosity in the viewer to collaborate in making the meaning behind the piece.
Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson (1767-1824)
Portrait of Mlle. Lange as Danaë, 1799. Oil on canvas
The William Hood Dunwoody Fund, 69.22
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Tshiabsi Vang
Nursing Major, Class of 2028
Neoclassicism dreams in clarity, harmony, and restraint.
This is the world Girodet learned to paint:
a temple of ideals, where heroes pose with dignity
and even chaos keeps its posture.
But every temple has shadows.
Beneath the order, emotion stirs.
Precision cannot silence the human heart forever.
In Neoclassicism, every gesture means something.
Every highlight is a choice.
So when he placed Lange in Danaë’s pose,
He knew exactly what language he spoke.
A dialect of discipline turned inward on its subject.
The movement promised idealism, universality, and virtue.
He delivered instead a portrait of excess, a goddess collapsed
under too much gold.
Even in order, truth can cut.
Even in clarity, power reveals its edge.
And so the style meant to elevate the noble
became the perfect stage for a quiet, polished revenge.
***
This excerpt from my poem “Lines Built To Hold” was inspired by Girodet’s deliberate and calculated revenge in his painting of Anne Françoise Lange as Danaë. I wanted to highlight how he used the ideals of Neoclassicism – such as clarity, harmony, and precision – not to honor or elevate his subject, but to assert control and satisfy his own ego. Girodet’s act was intentional and insidious. He weaponized a style built on dignity and virtue to humiliate, distort, and forever alter the way a woman was seen. His inability to accept criticism turned into a carefully executed act of dominance, where every gesture, every highlight, and every choice reinforced a quiet but permanent meaning. The poem reflects on the dark side of artistic skill, showing how beauty, discipline, and order can be twisted into a tool for personal humiliation.
Chinese Artist
Standing Bodhisattva, late 7th-early 8th century. Marble
The Ruth Ann Dayton Chinese Room Endowment Fund, 2007.18
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Alexandriana Davis
English and History Major, and Gender & Women’s Studies Minor,
Class of 2028
As this Standing Bodhisattva has lived through many forms, they have experienced tremendous pain from colonization. The Western greed and desire to control have infected them, stolen them from their home, and rendered their meaning invisible. However, their nature-centered adornments, ambiguous gender, and spiritual significance are still powerful. It is now time for us all to face the colonial legacy of our world and listen to the voices of those who have been silenced for centuries. To connect with a being, you must be a listener.
The following is an excerpt from “My Love, My Resistance:
A Bodhisattva Statue's Theoretical Grappling with Gender and Colonialism”
By Alexandriana Davis
You stole me from my home,
Destroyed my identity,
And told me I was lucky.
Well I tell you
That every moment you come near me
I silently spit in your face.
I tell you
That my soul is still here, fighting.
The rage you brewed inside me
Will be what tears you down.
Now, I stand before you,
A powerful, compassionate, loving
Bodhisattva bound by none of your definitions.
I stand before you in my corporeal ambiguity
Fighting for my story to be told.
I stand before you, a symbol:
A symbol of the ruins of colonization
The consequences of an imposed gender binary
And the manifestations of both here to this day.
You may have tried to taint me,
Manipulate me,
Silence me.
But you will never take away
My beauty.
You will always remember
My love
My resistance.
Yūji Honbori (b.1958)
Eleven-headed Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, 2012. Cardboard, wood, plastic, and pigments
The Joan and Gary Capen Endowment for Art Acquisition, 2012.32A, B
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Stell Dodds
American Sign Language Major, Class of 2027
The multiple heads, which are often depicted with different facial expressions from wrathful to serene, represent various aspects of Kannon’s power to help human beings overcome desire and attain enlightenment and rebirth in the Western Paradise.
—Eric Ercums, “Compassionate Beings: Japanese Buddhist Art” (2009)
***
Worthy are you to pass me by.
Turn your head to look and worry no longer.
Friendly faces and a bright future beam at you;
See their yellows, their greens, their blues.
And trust me when I say,
I know your colors and your warmth.
Papercuts deep in your palms as they slap the ground.
Stinging in your hands and ringing in your ears.
Bleed from my thorns as you beg for a merciful hand.
Usuzumi stained red with the runoff.
In a different life, those prayers were successful, and so were you.
I am my creator’s treasure,
trust that the favor is returned to you.
Venerated, your place amongst my repurposed wonders.
Your grace is imprinted on my mind.
Unlike us, resisting the weathering of time.
Tsukumogami, heat-seeking missiles on your heels.
Your karma tossed aside like the empty box amongst them.
But you’re already set with your one-track mind.
Devoted like a dog, you circle your own tail,
And refuse to look consequence in the eyes.
The above is an excerpt from my poem “Multifaceted,” which serves as a narrative about the Buddhist belief in rebirth as told by two sides of the Eleven-headed Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva (that which welcomes innocents, and that which wards off evildoers), both the 8th-century wood statue located in the Temple Shorinji of Japan and Honbori’s cardboard sculpture.
Agostino Masucci (1690-1758)
The Annunciation, 1742. Oil on canvas
The Ethel Morrison Van Derlip Fund, 62.47
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Julia Tycast
Public Health Major, Class of 2027
Agostino Masucci’s painting of The Annunciation depicts a moving version of the biblical story of the Virgin Mary as she receives the news from the Archangel Gabriel that she will be carrying a child, later to be known as Jesus. Mary, chosen for her purity and devotion to God, is a key figure in the painting, dominating the left-hand side of the composition. On the right-side is Gabriel, known to be a loyal angel whom God sends to earth from time to time. Masucci’s singular interpretation of The Annunciation draws on themes of hope and love, while highlighting Mary's purity and her genuine devotion.
Masucci created this painting during a time when a transition was happening between art styles. Known for his commissions for King John V of Portugal, Masucci employed both Baroque and Rococo art styles to convey the dramatic emotions and soft elements of biblical stories. His painting of The Annunciation is one of three pieces commissioned for King John V of Portugal. This painting was later translated into a mosaic tableau and installed in the Church of Saint Roque, located in Lisbon.
Imagine the absence of paintings depicting this story, including Masucci’s; it would be an injustice to Mary. They are significant in shaping how we perceive and think about powerful women in art and history today. Indeed, Mary represents many things and tells the most important story in several faith traditions.
Louise Erdrich (b.1954)
Story of a Woman, 2015. Acrylic on canvas, typed paper
The Patricia and Peter Frechette Endowment for Art Acquisition, 2019.1.4A, B
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Audrey Murphy
Exercise Science, Psychology, and Pre-PT Major, Class of 2027
Seemingly simple, Story of a Woman consists of a horizontally lined painting alongside a typed sheet of paper, on which appears a repeated phrase “no baby,” and one placement of “yes baby,” typed in black ink. This streaked painting is dedicated to the reproductive ability of women; it is painted with a blood red palette, which can also be seen to represent the bloodshed that women experience in childbirth, child loss, and breach of a woman’s pelvic area. It can also represent the external battle that women face when they have to fight against their aggressor. Observed by someone who frequently views muscle tissue under a microscope, this streaking resembles muscle tissue. At the same time, these horizontal lines resemble writing (like a book or poem), which is what Louise Erdrich is more famously known for. She connects her visual art and written art together in this unconventional diptych. It is true when they say that a picture is worth a thousand words.
Inspired by Story of a Woman, I have written a poem that expresses how I feel and how I think the painting feels.
“Belonging,” by Audrey Murphy
There is a reason I am titled without the article “The”.
There is no singular story of a woman.
There are many,
Woman,
Sister,
Friend,
Mother.
But to half of the population,
I am grouped with many,
And called one thing,
Mine.
To have,
To claim,
To do with in the way [he] pleases.
But I belong to no one
But
Myself.
What will it take for them to realize that?
I am what I make myself.
And I belong
To
Me.
Benjamin West (1738-1820)
Destruction of the Beast and the False Prophet, 1804. Oil on panel
The William Hood Dunwoody Fund, 15.22
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Melanie Francisco
Sonography Major, Class of 2027
The American artist Benjamin West created this painting based on the Book of Revelation 13. It represents the war between the Beast, the False Prophet, and Christ. The painting has chaotic, dramatic, and cinematic elements with figures that embody anger and fear. To demonstrate and texture the darkness of this scene, West incorporated colors like yellow, brown, red, gray and green. In terms of its composition, the artwork has a powerful illumination that comes from the upper-left quadrant; it shows clarity and guidance towards Christ and his followers. The light is a representation of the divine. In the lower-right quadrant you can see darker tones that represent the shadows of the battle and the. It also conveys the negativity from the Beast and the False Prophet. The light and dark shadowing – or chiaroscuro – create a divide between the painting between salvation and domination. Furthermore, in the painting you either see only the heads of the animals or their full bodies, but most importantly the lion, because it represents the Beast in Revelation.
The Destruction of the Beast and the False Prophet is a painting that represents a dramatic integration of academic classicism and religious narrative. West used elements like shadow, light, and symbolic detail to emphasize the powerful battle of eschatological triumph and divine justice at the end of the world. The painting also can be interpreted through a symbolic lens on how we view modern challenges today; the Beast can represent political power in tandem with the False Prophet as its companion.
Giuseppe Cesari, cavaliere d’Arpino (1568-1640)
The Archangel Michael, ca.1624-26. Oil on canvas
Gift of Funds from Elizabeth and Whitney Macmillan in Honor of Patrick Noon and His Curatorial Contributions to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, 2020.53
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Lizbeth Dominguez Castillo
Respiratory Care Major, Class of 2027
Giuseppe Cesari’s depiction of The Archangel Michael presents a dramatic and uplifting scene of triumph, painted during the early seventeenth century by an artist favored by the papacy. Originally created for a devotional environment, the painting served as both spiritual inspiration and a visual assertion of the Church’s authority. Today, the artwork resides in the Minneapolis Institute of Art (Mia), where its meaning continues to evolve beyond its sacred origins.
The upward motion of the angel, their vivid red cloak, and the contrast of light and shadow all suggest strength, clarity, and transformation. As the object’s biography unfolds from a holy setting in Rome to its reinterpretation in a modern museum, it mirrors shifting cultural values shift over time. The Catholic Church, amid the Counter-Reformation, used religious art strategically to assert dominance, inspire obedience, and shape public emotion. Paintings like The Archangel Michael functioned as visual arguments, reinforcing the authority of the Church through idealized imagery of heavenly triumph and moral order. Today, the painting participates in a different system of power: the modern museum. Institutions like Mia shape master narratives about what counts as “important art,” often prioritizing European works and reproducing hierarchies of culture and prestige.
Ultimately, you should care about this work because it represents universal ideas of struggle, change, and rising above challenge. Michael’s confrontation with iniquity embodies personal battles or moments when courage is needed. The painting still speaks to viewers today because it captures a moment of decision, a moment that people may recognize in their own lives.
Morris Topchevsky (1899-1947)
Strike Breakers (Company Violence), 1937. Oil on canvas
The Julia B. Bigelow Fund, 2018.69.2
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Emmalee Altepeter
History Major, Class of 2026
No, it’s not a war painting. Not in the traditional sense at least. The war depicted here is fought between striking workers and the business owners – aided by the police – of the Fansteel Metallurgical Corporation factory near Chicago. The policemen, wearing gas masks and holding guns, dominate the foreground of Morris Topchevsky’s painting. In the background, within the windows, the strikers can be seen in distress. The strike lasted nine days, during which the police tried twice to force the strikers out of the factory with tear gas, the swirl of clouds at the center of the painting. They were successful on their second try. Later the strikers would lose court cases, protections normally offered to strikers denied to them. They were only striking because they wanted to join a union, a right protected by the National Labor Relations Act of 1935.
Strike Breakers speaks to the complicated legacy of labor in the 1930s. The decade began with the Great Depression; record unemployment rates and huge wages cuts defined this time. The New Deal would bring the economy out of depression, as workers gained new protections against exploitation by their employers. Throughout the 1930s, however, labor art often objectified workers. The art served as propaganda, preying on workers’ fear of unemployment.
So where does Strike Breakers fit in? It is different in that it is about a strike rather than worker’s pride. The dominant forms are not dehumanized strikers. Instead, the policemen take center stage. With their bug eyes, elephant trunks, and pudgy hands, they too are dehumanized.
Jim Denomie (1955-2022)
Standing Rock, 2016, 2018. Oil on canvas
The Minnesota Artist Fund, the Michael Bennes Endowment for Art Acquisition, the Karl Thomas Opem Acquisition Fund, the Shared Fund, the Driscoll Art Accessions Endowment Fund, 2022.17
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Valeria Nino Irenze
Nursing Major, Class of 2027
Jim Denomie’s Standing Rock, 2016 is a monumental painting that captures the tension, humor, and resilience of the 2016 Dakota Access Pipeline protests. Its vibrant hues pulse with energy, pulling viewers into a chaotic yet purposeful scene. Denomie uses satire and exaggeration to highlight the absurdity of government power and corporate greed, showing men in suits toasting in the background while Native protesters face violence at the front lines.
The work connects directly to the long history of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, whose land was guaranteed under the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, but later taken through broken promises and congressional acts (Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, 2022). By situating the protests within this legacy of dispossession, Denomie emphasizes that the fight for water and land is part of a centuries‑long struggle for survival and sovereignty.
The landscape also reflects the spiritual and communal healing that emerged at Standing Rock in 2016. Water is not a commodity but a relative, and the protests became a place of prayer, song, and unity (Jewett & Garavan, 2019). Denomie’s imagery – including frogs battling two‑headed dogs, animals pouring water back into the river, and animals watching over the sky – visualizes this renewal of spirit and connection to the Earth.
Denomie’s painting transforms a protest into a permanent cultural legacy. It ensures that Standing Rock is remembered not only as a place of political struggle, but also as a spiritual and communal movement, reframed through the lens of art. Ultimately, Standing Rock, 2016 is more than protest art. It is a record of resistance, a spiritual document, and a call to action, ensuring that the voices of Standing Rock remain alive for future generations.
George Morrison (1919-2000)
Red Totem I, 1977. Stained redwood panels on plywood form
The Robert J. Ulrich Works of Art Purchase Fund, 2012.5
The Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN
Chat Label by Nora Sojourner-Cassidy
English, Social Sciences, and Critical Studies of Race & Ethnicity Major, Class of 2027
With edits integrated
George Morrison did not consider himself to be an Indian artist, not in the way that Indian artists were supposed to be. He did not do crafts professionally, and he was not trained by the Santa Fe Indian School. He was rejected from the Philbrook Museum of Art’s Native American art competition, for his art not being Indian enough. The idea of “Indian art” was a construct, created by white people, in order to “preserve” Indian culture. But to preserve something is to cause it to stagnate, and even if Native Americans could no longer “skin deer to make moccasins,” that did not mean that they would stop creating art. It was up to white men to decide what was Indian, and what wasn’t, and so they rejected Morrison’s work.
Red Totem I was created in 1979 as a result of an invitation from Evan Maurer, the then-curator of the department of African, Oceanic and Native American arts for the Art Institute of Chicago. This show was called “The Native American Heritage: A Survey of North American Indian Art.” Morrison was Ojibwe, and his Red Totem I seems to say that there is no such thing as an “Indian.” “Indian” is an exonym, a name created by colonial outsiders in order to understand a group. Ojibwe people have not historically made totem poles. Totem poles were not ten-foot tall rectangular prisms meant for museums, but totem poles are a part of “Indian”ness, the broader identity that was imposed on Morrison. His totem is a critical examination of his ostensibly Indian identity, not his Ojibwe identity.
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