Mary Wollstonecraft’s Statue: How to Subordinate a Woman on her Own Platform
This week, a week of commemoration and remembrance in the U.K., saw the unveiling of a long-awaited statue. Newington Green, north London, is now home to a memorial for Mary Wollstonecraft, our first feminist. The statue is for Mary, distinctly not of her. Indeed, this “breakthrough” sculpture depicts a tiny woman emerging from an amorphous blob. And, what’s that? Oh, of course, she’s completely naked.
Mary Wollstonecraft is often hailed as “the mother of feminism”. She wrote the first book in English that argues for gender equality: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792). A century before the suffragettes gained momentum, Wollstonecraft fought for women and girls to be educated and treated just like men.
In her honour, campaign group Mary on the Green (MOTG) have been working tirelessly for the past decade to secure funding for a commemorative statue of Wollstonecraft. Their campaign centres on the alarming fact that - to this day - over 90% of statues in London commemorate men; hardly representative of the capital’s 51% female population.
After ten years, and a £143,300 fundraising achievement, the campaigners’ work came to fruition. The statue stands 10ft tall, cast in bronze and coated in silver. A female figure inhabits the last foot or so, half buried in the all-consuming mass below.
I actually met some of the MOTG campaigners, at the Women of the World festival, a couple of years ago. They flanked a banner and handed out flyers featuring the silhouette of a classically dressed 18th-century woman. I can’t help but question whether this resulting sculpture is quite what they had in mind. I’m not sure that the silhouette of an amorphous amalgam would have had quite the same fundraising impetus.
The sculpture, by Maggi Hambling, is described by The Guardian as “a silvery naked everywoman figure emerging free and defiantly from a swirling mingle of female forms”.
Close-up of the female figure in Hambling’s sculpture. Image from The Guardian
Though the paper intends to celebrate Wollstonecraft’s long overdue recognition, its celebratory description is troubling. This “everywoman” hardly reflects the average UK female: size 16, with a double D cup size and notably lacking in washboard abs. What we’re offered is an ableist view of women, who apparently all share pinched caucasian features.
Shift your focus to the bulk of the statue, made up of, quote, “a swirling mingle of female forms”, and I’m left bemused. What exactly is a “female form”? And does one really look like that?!
Sure, on the surface, the “everywoman” analogy seems nice enough... but why should this statue commemorate every woman? Picture Churchill’s statue, so revered that it was protected by boards and armed guards earlier this year. It doesn’t abstractly stand for all parties who fought in the war, or dug for victory - it’s just him. So why are men celebrated individually, whilst women are left to share one small victory between all 3.8 billion of us?
To me, the Mary Wollstonecraft statue is a striking example of artistic gaslighting: how literally to belittle a woman whilst purporting to honour her. The female figure, whoever she may be, is subordinate in her own sculpture: she’s tiny, out of reach, unrecognisable and stripped bare.
I’m not alone in my uncertain and uncomfortable response to the statue. Hambling’s sculpture has faced its fair share of backlash since its unveiling on Tuesday 10th November. Many of the statue’s critics take particular issue with the figure’s naked form. Writer Tracy King tweeted:
"There is no reason to depict Mary naked unless you are trying to be edgy to provoke debate. Statues of named men get to be clothed because the focus is on their work and achievements.”
Unlike King, I’m not altogether bothered by the figure’s nudity. A huge naked statue would indeed be a very bold statement. Unfortunately, this statue apologises for its own nakedness through its diminutive stature.
The MOTG campaigners’ mission statement explains the importance of their cause “because our statues send a powerful message about what matters to us - and implicitly about what doesn’t”. By that logic, if we look at the dimensional ratio of this statue, does it implicitly point to the female figure as the part that matters the least?
The artist, chosen by a panel of judges, obviously intended for this sculpture to break the mould. Unlike classical male statues, who are figured larger than life, atop lofty pedestals, Hambling wanted to prove that "the female figure doesn’t need to dominate to be powerful". But, wouldn’t it arguably be more radical to place a woman on the exact pedestals that have always been reserved for men? Unfortunately, in a world where we still have to campaign for more than a decade to earn a statue of an iconic historical figure, I think it couldn’t hurt to amplify women beyond life size.
Emmeline Pankhurst Statue - Manchester.
Consider this sculpture alongside that of Emmeline Pankhurst, unveiled in her hometown of Manchester in December 2018. Here, Emmeline stands defiant and firm; she is depicted in action, orating upon a chair with her arm outstretched. This is not just another bronze figure. It’s not stuffy, it’s not archaic, but it is recognisably Pankhurst. Constrastingly, Wollstonecraft is robbed of her own pedestal. The sculpture on Newington Green forces its namesake into the shadow of her own memorial. She is to be heard but not seen.
The new statue of Mary Wollstonecraft was designed to provoke debate and conversation, which it certainly has. Love it, hate it, or just don’t get it, here’s hoping that this statue causes people to stop, take a look, and maybe give Mary a Google. As long as we’re all talking about her, I suppose it has achieved its goal…
However, personally, I’d rather that the culmination of Wollstonecraft’s efforts for “everywoman” would figure us as a more powerful force than one of The Borrowers atop an imposing wave.
