Image caption: Rebecca Draisey, Ode to Dance, acrylic on wood, 24 x 30 in. Image courtesy the artist.
“Do Women Have To Be Naked To Get Into the Met. Museum?”
—The Guerilla Girls, 1989
The Exhibitionists is a fluidly organized collective of figurative woman artists. While individual exhibitionists move in and out of the group, their shared focus remains the same: how to authentically capture the contemporary experience of being a woman by disrupting and expanding the nude tradition.
Art Windsor Essex has a collection of roughly 4,000 works of art, but fewer than 20% of those works are made by women. The Exhibitionists, who mostly came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, are almost the same age as AWE, which began as the Willistead Art Gallery of Windsor in 1943. As the Exhibitionists studied art and began their careers, AWE’s holdings were growing alongside them. But here, as elsewhere, as these artists gained confidence and grew in their practices, AWE was still not seriously collecting women artists.
For The Exhibitionists, the female body is a contested site of power and celebration, of play and vulnerability. Chappus, Collins, Draisey and Renaud Fisher have selected work from AWE’s collection that reveals the institution’s strengths and gaps. They have placed their work and the work of other Exhibitionists alongside AWE’s collection to reveal what’s possible when we centre equity and bravery in our collecting choices.
We would like to acknowledge the valuable contributions of all Exhibitionists who have worked with The Exhibitionists since their inception in 2014.
—Emily McKibbon, Head, Exhibitions and Collection
The Exhibitionists are a group of figurative women artists who authentically explore contemporary experiences of being female. We paint and draw one another in costume, in imagined or real environments, often satirizing social constructs. Feminine nakedness is too often linked to seduction, sexuality, indecency, or powerlessness. Our work seeks to demystify the female form, celebrate beauty, and assert feminine power.
Some of us had parents who lived through wars, some the Great Depression. We grew up learning to fix, save, recycle, and reuse. Nothing went to waste. Our mothers laboured endlessly in cooking, cleaning, and caretaking, their lives narrowed by duty and expectation. As Alice Neel observed, these women were often judged as “ugly,” their bodies marked by hardship and relentless responsibility. ¹ They were not born that way; life etched itself into them.
Yet there was resilience, humour, ingenuity, and fierce love. Kitchens were loud with laughter. Clothes were mended with care. Beauty existed anyway.
We came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, riding the wave of activism and social change. Free speech, free love, access to birth control, and humanist principles surged forward. We moved into the sex, drugs, rock-and-roll angst of a post-industrial, pre-tech world—punk-laced, defiant, and soon shadowed by the AIDS crisis. Our resistance made a difference. We believed progress was permanent.
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We are not immune to the pressures shaping women’s lives—the demands to behave, to be pleasing, modest, and quiet. Equality and freedom, we learned, were never immovable constructs. That erosion now makes our work more compelling. Our opinions are weighted by decades of quietly imposed rules. We are committed to honestly sharing our real experience. We do not consider ourselves classic feminists. We are humanists. We wrestle with beauty, age, relevance, and the modesty code. Our work rejects exploitation and is grounded in respect—for ourselves, for one another, and for those who engage with it.
We persist in moving beyond inequality toward a world that honours complexity, difference, and dignity. We have not given up. We still believe in the ideals our progenitors fought for.
How do you lose a voice you were never meant to have? How do you carry truth when it is dismissed before it can take form?
Our bodies hold the record.
Our images break the quiet, fracture comfort, and refuse erasure.
This work fills the silence with presence. It exposes what power depends on, remaining unseen.
We dare to be seen.
We don’t get the accolades afforded some artists but what we do have is the autonomy to tell the truth.
—Judy Chappus, Sandie Collins, Rebecca Draisey and Linda Renaud