My Decolonial Framework

Unlearning the Canon: Confronting Art History’s Problematic Foundations

As an art history graduate, I’ve spent countless hours immersed in textbooks, browsing through museums and galleries, and attending seminars and lectures, marveling at centuries of human creativity. But beneath the aesthetically pleasing surface of oil paintings and marble sculptures lies a complex and often troubling history—one that demands critical reflection and, ultimately, reimagining.

The discipline of "Art History," as it’s traditionally taught and practiced, has deeply Eurocentric and problematic roots, emerging alongside colonial expansion, imperial collection practices, and the rise of nationalistic identities. Unsurprisingly, its foundation reflects the values and biases of those in power at the time.

At the heart of this is the classical art historical canon: a narrow collection of “masterpieces” by predominantly elite, white, male, European artists. From Michelangelo to Monet, the canon has long dictated what counts as "important" or "high" art, systematically excluding the vast majority of the world's artistic production. Entire geographic regions and beautiful cultural traditions were ignored and dismissed, not because they lacked sophistication, but because they didn’t align with Western ideals of "civilization," beauty, technique, and authorship.

Art History's traditional Eurocentrism has reinforced a hierarchy that places Western art above all else. African masks, Indigenous textiles, Islamic calligraphy, and Asian ceramics, among many other artworks with deep cultural and spiritual significance, were fetishsized and denigrated as “primitive” or “decorative,” if they were acknowledged at all. Their creators were often anonymous, and their work could only be "craft art," never "fine art."

From my art history classes at UC Berkeley, I now see how these biases are foundational, built into the very structures of our museums, and even general society. I've realized that you cannot study art history without reckoning with the fact that institutions like the British Museum, the Louvre, and the Met are filled with objects taken, often looted, from colonized regions. These museums have long functioned as tools of imperialism, displaying the spoils of conquest while controlling the narrative around what counts as culturally and economically "valuable."The act of taking, labeling, ranking, selling, and exhibiting these works in Western institutions is itself an exercise of power—a practice of appropriation and erasure that still echoes today.

However, the field is changing. Slowly, but significantly.

There’s a growing movement to decolonize art history—to dismantle the old hierarchies, question the canon, and reframe the way we engage with art and its histories. This means acknowledging the colonial contexts in which many art objects were acquired, advocating for the repatriation of stolen artifacts, and amplifying voices that have historically been silenced. Utilizing a decolonial framework in art history demands viewers critically question who made the work, and why. For example, was a Native artist commissioned by a European patron? Why is the artwork valued, both in past and present times? What material is the art made of, and how was it sourced or produced? Examining hierarchies of power, labor, and empire reveal far more to viewers than surface-level beauty.

Like many other scholars and curators increasingly turning toward non-canonical and global perspectives, I wish to elevate artists and artistic traditions from Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Indigenous communities. My senior honors thesis (which totaled sixty pages!) detailed the almost completely ignored history of Indigenous artistic agency and labor during the height of Spanish colonization, focusing on the hybridized feather mosaics and enconchado (mother-of-pearl shell) artworks produced by Indigenous Mexican and Pacific Asian artists. My thesis, regarding Indigenous artworks such as the ones shown below, not only aimed expand and diversify the field, but also to challenge the assumption that “great art” must follow European standards and techniques. In the case of feather and enconchado mosaics, it becomes quite clear that European and Christian patrons completely relied on (and were willing to pay exorbitant amounts for) the labor, materials, technical expertise, and beautifully creative artistic traditions of the very Indigenous people they colonized and tried to dehumanize.

Juan (Bautisa?) Cuiris; Weeping Virgin; Michoacan, Mexico; 1590; Feather mosaic and paper on Copper. From Images Take Flight by Alessandra Russo, Gerhard Wolf, and Diana Fane.

Miguel González, The Virgin of Guadalupe (Virgen de Guadalupe), c. 1698, oil on canvas on wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl (enconchado). (Los Angeles County Museum of Art).

Ultimately, it's a super exciting time for decolonial art history as we’re also witnessing an increasing shift toward democratization and digitalization. Online exhibitions, open-access archives, and social media platforms are breaking down barriers to entry, making art history more accessible to people outside of elite institutions. This digital turn is giving rise to more community-based storytelling, where meaning is shaped not just by scholars but by a broader public with diverse perspectives.

Viewing art through a decolonial lens isn’t about rejecting the canon entirely. Instead, it means we, as viewers, must contextualize, critique, and expand our definitions of "art" and "history." It's about asking who gets to define value, whose histories are remembered, and how we can create a field that is more inclusive, just, and reflective of the world we live in.

I believe that art history has the power to illuminate the human experience...but only if we’re willing to confront its own history first.