How (and Why) Was Black Identity Erased in Art?

Historical narratives have long misrepresented the stories of the Black people in America. Black representation has often been conspicuously absent, deliberately obscured, or filtered through racist stereotypes. These disparities do not exist solely within the accounts of textbooks and lectures, however. In both subtle and overt ways, early American artworks often excluded Black identity entirely, portrayed it through demeaning stereotypes, or actively sought to obscure it—as evidenced by the literal overpainting of Black figures in several significant works.

Although positive images have increased in recent decades, the data shows that images of Black people in America are still dramatically underrepresented in the arts. In 2019, an American study of nearly 2,000 art shows found that less than 11% of the artworks were created by Black artists. Correspondingly, depictions of Black people throughout galleries and museums are meager.

Without a doubt, these statistics would have been even lower in the 18th and 19th centuries. Minimal works exist from 18th century America. Notably, those created most often follow the theme of slavery. Many 18th-century images can be found in advertisements, searching for escaped slaves. They were a crude mockery, with simplistic sketches accompanied by a derogatory text. One 18th-century ad from Virginia describes a runaway slave called Bob as “about 26 years of age, was burned when young, has a scar on the wrist of his right hand, the thumb of his left hand burned off, and the hand turns in… He can read and write; and, as he is a very artful fellow, will probably forge a pass…” In another example, a slave named Belfast is reported as having “mild good countenance and features, smooth black skin, with very white teeth… When he went off, he wore an old (short coat) of a light color, wore out at the elbows.”

Following a biased and formulaic structure, these notices typically opened with a reward offer, followed by the escaped person’s first name and detailed physical characteristics. The descriptions often included specific identifiers like scars, birthmarks, or distinctive features—details that would have been considered inappropriate to mention in descriptions of White individuals. The advertisements frequently employed reductive and racist terminology, particularly when describing skin tone and hair texture. These advertisements could be found from the deep south of Louisiana to the far north of Canada.

Considering the disturbing background of racism and slavery in early American history, it is unsurprising that the majority of Black people have been depicted through subservient and disparaging stereotypes. For example, Winslow Homer’s lithograph, Our Jolly Cook, depicts a scene in which White soldiers are shown watching a Black cook dance by the campfire. Winslow illustrates the soldiers’ faces with a weariness of war but shows the cook with a cartoon-like expression of foolishness.

Invisible or Visible?

These insensitive portrayals would extend beyond drawings and into the fine art world as well. Even though the tone appears to be formal and, at times, tasteful, the oppression is still evident. John Orne Johnson Frost’s Bird’s-Eye View of Marblehead exemplifies this dubiousness. At first glance, it is thought to simply be a topographical rendering of 19th-century Marblehead, Massachusetts.

However, the painting’s seaside emphasis is key to a modern interpretation of this work: its fishing industry in the 19th century was linked to the broader economy, with its products either exported overseas or allocated for enslaved populations. Much of what was created or built in this era was done by the labor of slaves. Frost’s 19th-century painting of this small seaside community describes the social constructs at the time, including slavery. This understanding compels us to recognize that any such early American landscapes will encompass Black identity, whether or not they are seen.

Fraud in the Fine Arts

Other pieces have been more noticeable in their attempt to conceal Black identity. The 19th-century naturalistic painting Bélizaire and the Frey Children by Jacques Guillaume Lucein Amans, which depicts three children alongside Bélizaire, a fifteen-year-old enslaved youth, illuminates a complicated background of racial misrepresentation and suppression. In fact, the painting’s provenance and restoration history reveal that during the ascendancy of Jim Crow legislation, Bélizaire’s figure was deliberately overpainted, erasing him from the historical record. It existed in this state for over a century until its recent discovery and restoration.

The work’s recovery owes much to Jeremy K. Simien, a ninth-generation Creole collector whose research into his own genealogy led to the authentication and purchasing of the portrait in 2021. Believing he “had a duty to place it somewhere with the best interpretation, the safest, where it wouldn’t be forgotten again,” Simien transferred the painting in 2023 to the Metropolitan Museum. Its installation in the American Wing has ensured its preservation and proper contextual interpretation, marking an important step in efforts to address historical omissions in Black art historical narratives.

Regrettably, Simien’s care of Bélizaire and the Frey Children is an exception. Black identity, when not expunged, has often been edited with a biased brush. How cultural institutions, like museums, have addressed the issue is often another challenging matter. François Fleischbein’s 1837 painting, commonly referred to as Portrait of Betsy, exemplifies the complex intersection of portrayal, conservation, and institutional responsibility in museum practices. Housed in the Historic New Orleans Collection (HNOC), the painting depicts a lovely Black woman adorned in a golden tignon, delicate lace collar, and sparkling accessories. Her refinery has only recently been restored; in 1988, conservator Phyllis Hudson, without institutional authorization, removed the collar and bow based on apparent racial and socioeconomic biases.

The institution’s subsequent handling of this alteration proved equally problematic. For three decades, HNOC displayed the modified portrait while simultaneously perpetuating an unsubstantiated report about the sitter’s identity, notably that she was the artist’s housekeeper, Betsy. These interpretative choices reflected and reinforced period-specific racial biases about social status and material possibilities.

A chance intervention in 2016 by conservator Craig Crawford revealed that Hudson had overpainted, rather than removed, the original elements. This discovery facilitated the portrait’s restoration to its original state. It also prompted institutional self-examination regarding conservation practices, implicit bias, and transparency. This incident has prompted HNOC to implement more inclusive interpretative practices and to acknowledge its institutional role in perpetuating historical misrepresentations. The museum now explicitly addresses this conservation controversy through new exhibition text. In divulging these errors, they are demonstrating how institutional transparency can enhance both historical accuracy and visitor engagement while restoring dignity to historically marginalized subjects.

While traditional fine art has largely excluded Black subjects or reduced them to demeaning caricatures—as seen in works like Homer’s “Our Jolly Cook”—the advent of photography in the late 19th century would offer a powerful counterpoint to centuries of artistic misrepresentation and erasure. Black Americans began to take control of their own image for the first time. This technological advancement arrived at a crucial moment when formal artistic depictions of Black life remained scarce and often stereotypical. For that reason, Frederick Douglass, one of the most influential Black civil rights leaders of the 19th century, preferred to pose for photographs. In a lecture on Black and African American Art History, Robert Kelleman from the Smithsonian stated: “Douglass didn’t feel that caucasian artists would properly portray him as accurately as photographs would and Douglass actually ended up becoming the most photographed person in the world in the 1800s.”

The rise of photography in the late 19th century also marked a major shift in who could have their picture taken. What was once only available to the wealthy became something anyone could afford. It quickly grew into a powerful tool used against racist illustrations that mocked Black features and culture. In cities and rural areas alike, Black Americans took hold of the opportunity to be photographed, using these portraits to show their dignity and humanity on their own terms. By controlling how they were depicted, they created lasting images that respected authentic Black life and experiences.

Whether directly or indirectly portrayed, however, there has effectively been a systematic erasure of Black presence from the records of this period. The history of Black people in America has been complex. It reflects a pattern of erasure, prejudice, and resistance that continues to shape America today. Yet, Simien’s thoughtful care of the “Bélizaire and the Frey Children” portrait and the HNOC’s recent acknowledgment of past curatorial errors mark significant progress toward a more authentic and complete representation of America’s diverse cultural heritage. These kinds of changes are ambitious but necessary to face. But it doesn’t take institutional experts to forge these changes. Anyone can support Black people in the arts by funding projects, purchasing art, speaking out on social media, visiting museums, and staying educated. Black art history deserves to be restored.