The Groove 219 - All Art Is Political
Welcome to the 218th issue of The Groove.
I am Maria Brito, an art advisor, curator, and author based in New York City.
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ALL ART IS POLITICAL
Last Wednesday I went up to Columbia University as a guest of their Art Market Society to talk about my career in the arts. At the end of my talk, one of the undergrad students asked me, “when did art become so political?” The answer is that it has always been. All art is political. Even when it doesn’t scream activism or protest. Even when it’s just a serene landscape or an abstract painting of nothing in particular. Because art, at its core, is about choices. Who gets to make it? Who gets to show it? Who gets to own it? These are all political questions.
The idea isn’t new. The writer George Orwell put it bluntly: “All art is propaganda.” That might sound extreme, but Orwell’s point was that even art that appears neutral carries ideological weight. Whether it reinforces the status quo or challenges it, art is never just about aesthetics. It reflects power, identity, and control, whether the artist intends it or not.
The Illusion of Art for the Sake of Art
One of the panels painted by Claude Monet as part of the Nymphéas or Waterlilies set that was offered to the French State as a symbol of peace on the day that followed WWI’s armistice of November 11, 1918. Monet’s Waterlilies had an anti-establishment connotation, and the fact that he decided the set’s public placement was a political move. The paintings were displayed according to his design at the Musée de l’Orangerie in 1927, a few months after his death, and met with skepticism by the visitors at least until the early 1950s.
A work of art doesn’t have to depict war, injustice, racial issues or activism to be political. In fact, art that claims to be “apolitical” is often the most revealing; it reflects what a culture considers safe, acceptable, and worth preserving.
Think about the Impressionists. Today, Monet’s water lilies feel peaceful, almost meditative. But in the late 19th century, these paintings were radical acts of defiance against the rigid, government-approved Salon system. They rejected historical and mythological narratives, choosing instead to paint fleeting moments of modern life. What seemed like a purely aesthetic choice was actually a rebellion against an establishment that dictated what “important” art should look like.
Toni Morrison said it perfectly: “All good art is political! There is none that isn’t.” Even art that seems purely decorative upholds certain values. It reflects who is centered, who is erased, and what a culture deems worthy of attention.
The Art Market Is a Political Machine
Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat, 1793. Oil-on-canvas.
The way art is bought and sold might seem separate from politics, but the art market is one of the clearest reflections of power in society. Consider these facts: Museums are funded by billionaires, corporations, and governments, all of whom shape what gets seen and what gets erased. Blue-chip artists (almost always white men) continue to dominate auction records, even as galleries push for more diversity.
Collectors like to believe they’re just buying what they love. And maybe they are. But every purchase is a statement. Supporting living artists, uplifting underrepresented voices, or investing in blue-chip names that reinforce elite power structure; it all has deep meaning.
The ethics of collecting are shifting, too. Should collectors worry about repatriation of stolen art? About owning work by artists with problematic histories? About sustainability in materials? These aren’t abstract questions; they’re pressing, real-world issues that collectors (and institutions) have to navigate.
When Art Becomes Dangerous
Pablo Picasso, Guernica, 1937. Oil-on-canvas.
Some of the most powerful artworks in history have been seen as dangerous threats to the status quo.
Jacques-Louis David’s 1793 “The Death of Marat” wasn’t just a portrait of a murdered revolutionary, it was pure propaganda, designed to turn Marat into a political martyr and show support for a monarch-free France. It was an image crafted for influence, not just aesthetics.
Then there’s Picasso’s masterpiece “Guernica”, the 1937 indictment of the horrors of war, which was so politically charged that even 66 years after the original was made, a tapestry version that hung outside the Security Chamber at the UN was literally covered up by the U.S. government when Colin Powell argued for Iraq War in 2003. Ai Weiwei has been arrested for his work. Banksy’s pieces are regularly removed by authorities.
Governments, institutions, and social media platforms continue to censor art when it crosses certain lines. Why? Because they know art is powerful.
And now, AI is creating politically charged art sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. What happens when a machine generates “protest art”?
There Will Always Be Politics in Art
Art has always been political, whether it’s challenging the system or quietly upholding it. The question isn’t whether art should be political, it's whether we’re willing to acknowledge the politics already embedded in it.
If art doesn’t challenge, question, or provoke, it risks becoming nothing more than expensive ornament.
So, next time someone tells you art isn’t political, ask them: Who made it? Who paid for it? Who benefits from it? And then watch as the whole argument of “oh, it’s only landscapes”, or “it’s just abstract” falls apart.