Detail of If You Surrendered by artist Amy Sherald
Artist Amy Sherald redefines American portraiture, celebrating Black identity and the sublime beauty of everyday life.
BY KAZEEM ADELEKE, ARTCENTON
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND- Amy Sherald’s career has been punctuated by moments of beauty, bravery, and confrontation. From capturing Michelle Obama’s likeness in a portrait that redefined First Lady iconography to her bold interventions in portraiture and identity politics, Sherald’s art has always challenged expectations. But in 2025, she became the center of a national controversy—one that would test her relationship with major institutions and reveal the limits of representation in American art.
Now, artist Amy Sherald: American Sublime, opening at the Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA) this November, marks more than a return. It is a reclaiming. After withdrawing the exhibition from the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery over curatorial disagreements involving her painting Trans Forming Liberty, artist Amy Sherald has found institutional refuge in Baltimore—a city that has long been central to her artistic development and critical reception.
As someone who has followed her work for nearly a decade—writing about her early exhibitions, major milestones, and recent challenges—I see this show not only as a retrospective but also as a reckoning. This article provides a critical snapshot of artist Amy Sherald’s artistic arc, ultimately affirming her vision according to her own terms.
In 2016, I wrote a piece titled “Artist Survives Heart Disease and Wins Prestigious Art Prize,” where I traced painter Amy Sherald’s emergence as a formidable voice in contemporary portraiture. She had just won the Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition, and her work, Miss Everything (Unsuppressed Deliverance), had gained national attention for its balance of surreal humor and quiet dignity.
Back then, Sherald’s work was deeply autobiographical. She had survived heart failure and a transplant, and her subjects—often ordinary Black Americans—carried an emotional and existential weight. In her figures, we see poise and stillness. Yet they also insist, quietly but firmly, on being seen.
Her technical vocabulary was already distinct: grayscale skin tones (a nod to photography’s influence and to symbolic neutrality), vibrant color fields, and figures who refused performance. Her training at Clark Atlanta University and the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) grounded her in both classical technique and contemporary urgency. Even then, I wrote that her art “hovered between personal memory and cultural reckoning.” But we didn’t yet know how fully that tension would expand.
In 2018, Sherald joined the Baltimore Museum of Art’s Board of Trustees. Her appointment was a signal that her role in shaping institutional discourse was growing. Around the same time, her portrait of Michelle Obama, unveiled at the National Portrait Gallery, pushed her into a rare category: an artist whose work became instantly iconic, widely circulated, and deeply debated.
Amy Sherald’s paintings focus on public memory, collective trauma, and historical absence. Her portrait of Breonna Taylor—commissioned by Vanity Fair and now held at the Smithsonian—marked a watershed moment in how artists engage with loss, justice, and representation in real time. Her voice grew clearer. She once said, “My paintings hold a space of quiet, of dignity, so that my subjects aren’t just responding to pain—they’re asserting presence.” It’s that assertion—calm, grounded, fierce—that would later be tested.
In mid-2025, Sherald planned to tour her exhibition American Sublime through major institutions, including the National Portrait Gallery. But tensions arose over one painting: Trans Forming Liberty, a bold reimagining of the Statue of Liberty as a Black trans woman, poised, vulnerable, and radiant.
Concerns emerged from within the institution: would this image provoke backlash? Was the symbol too provocative in a fraught political moment? Reportedly, the gallery proposed either removing the piece or pairing it with public commentary—some of which included anti-trans views—to “contextualize the reaction.” Artist Amy Sherald declined. She withdrew the show.
As I wrote in August: “Sherald chose a venue where her voice and vision would be fully supported. In doing so, she reaffirmed what many already knew—that art must not be reduced to compromise when its very purpose is clarity.” The withdrawal made national headlines. Critics and supporters debated whether institutions were doing enough to protect artistic freedom. Sherald’s choice resonated widely. In an era where many artists are asked to self-censor, her decision was a declaration.
Then came the BMA.
In a statement released in September, the museum affirmed, “We stand with Amy Sherald. We will present American Sublime in its full integrity, including Trans Forming Liberty.” It was more than solidarity—it was a gesture of institutional courage.
The exhibition, opening November 2, features over 40 works spanning two decades. It tracks Sherald’s evolution: from early grayscale portraits and modest compositions to increasingly symbolic, politically charged pieces. The show’s title—American Sublime—is a play on historical landscape painting. However, here it refers to something else: the complexity of Black life, rendered with grace and power.
Baltimore is a fitting stage. Artist Amy Sherald trained here. She taught here. Her first major institutional purchases came through the BMA. Now, the city becomes the space of her reassertion.
Curated with precision and depth, the show avoids hagiography. Instead, it offers a layered reading of an artist who has never stopped refining her gaze. Alongside Trans Forming Liberty, viewers will encounter Miss Everything and The Make Believer. Additionally, newer works grappling with joy, erasure, and transfiguration will be on display. Community programming will run throughout the exhibition’s run—including artist talks, panels on censorship and art, and youth workshops. The BMA has made clear: this show is not just a corrective. It’s a platform.
Artist Amy Sherald’s journey—from surviving heart failure to standing at the center of a cultural storm—is marked not just by resilience but by clarity of vision. Her art is not reactive; it’s declarative. It demands that we see but also that we think. In an age that both celebrates and contests representation, Sherald’s portraits remind us what is at stake. They defend the dignity of the image, the artist’s agency, and the freedom of institutions to uphold truth. American Sublime is not only the title of this exhibition. It’s a provocation. It asks us what kind of sublimity America is willing to see—and who gets to embody it.