Emily Mae Smith has spent years turning broomsticks into people, and now her paintings are asking a simple question: what happens when the tool of women’s labor becomes a weapon?
Smith’s show Transit of Venus is at Petzel Gallery in Chelsea, Manhattan, through October 24. The title refers to the astronomical transit, when Venus moves between Earth and the Sun, appearing as a tiny dark spot. That darkness is the engine of the whole project. What doesn’t show in the spotlight? How long it takes to paint a painting? What we’re really feeling beneath a strong exterior?
The paintings themselves are full of odd company. Witch-like bunnies, eyeball-filled grapes, and broomsticks that stand like human figures. They all share the same technical skill and the same dark undertow.
Brooms as Bodies
The most striking example is “Venus (Inner Vision)” (2026). It’s a broomstick figure standing contrapposto in a hazy wooded landscape. We see her handle, head, and torso as though through an X-ray. Her veins and organs are on display.
That’s the core move. Smith paints the inside of her subjects as clearly as their outside. The title Transit of Venus works on two levels: the astronomical event and the act of looking through something opaque to find what lies within.
The effect is immediate. You know exactly what she means before you can put it into words.
Reframing History
Reframing history isn’t new. Artists have been doing it for centuries. Smith’s twist is casting a broomstick in the role. A broom is a symbol of women’s work, a humble tool for sweeping floors. Turning it into a weapon changes the entire dynamic.
“The Locust II” (2026) reimagines Jules Joseph Lefebvre’s helpless and demure nude, “The Grasshopper” (1872). In Smith’s version, the figure is now equipped with a scythe. The shift is brutal in its simplicity. A helpless woman becomes a figure with agency.
“Petite Muse at Work” (2026) does the same thing from the other direction. The male-artist-genius figure becomes a woman. Again, the broomstick is the key. It’s not just a change in gender. It’s a change in function.
The comparison is worth drawing in full:
| Original | Smith’s Version |
|---|---|
| “The Grasshopper” (1872) | “The Locust II” (2026) |
| Helpless, demure nude | Equipped with a scythe |
| Passive female figure | Capable of wielding power |
| Male artist-genius | Woman at work |
Each of these paintings takes a familiar image and flips it. The broomstick is the lever that does the work.
Transparency as Multiplicity
Smith’s paintings could be understood as a way of seeing multiplicity, all the sides of something. The title Transit of Venus points at the same idea: what appears as a tiny dark spot from one angle reveals itself as a complex interior from another.
The paintings themselves are built on that principle. The viewer sees the handle as a head. The surface is readable, but the underneath is the story.
The Astronomical Alignment
The astronomical transit is the show’s structural anchor. Venus moves between Earth and the Sun, appearing as a tiny dark spot. That’s the literal meaning of the title. The metaphor follows quickly: what we see in the spotlight is not the whole picture.
Smith extends the metaphor into the paintings themselves. The hazy landscapes, the X-ray vision, the transparent bodies — all of it is about what gets left out when the light hits the subject directly. The darkness is the subject.
That darkness is the engine of the whole project. What doesn’t show in the spotlight? How long it takes to paint a painting? What we’re really feeling beneath a strong exterior?
The Light Behind the Subject
The imagined light source sitting behind the subject becomes Smith’s commentary on translucency. What might not appear in the spotlight. How long it takes to paint a painting. What we’re really feeling beneath a strong exterior.
The title Transit of Venus refers to the astronomical alignment. The show’s central image, “Venus (Inner Vision),” stands contrapposto in a hazy wooded landscape. The handle is the head and torso, visible through an X-ray.
The show’s central image, “Venus (Inner Vision),” stands contrapposto in a hazy wooded landscape. The handle is the head and torso, visible through an X-ray.
The Show’s Location
The show runs through October 24. The gallery is Petzel, on West 25th Street in Chelsea. The gallery’s address is 520 West 25th Street, Chelsea, Manhattan.
Walking into the gallery, the reviewer wondered if Smith was getting enough credit now that Wicker is coming out. That question hangs over the whole enterprise.
The Force of the Work
The paintings are technically skilled. The darkness is real. The force of the work is undeniable. A broomstick becomes a figure. A figure becomes a weapon. A weapon becomes a tool of resistance.
- “Venus (Inner Vision)” (2026): a broomstick figure standing contrapposto in a hazy wooded landscape, visible through an X-ray
- “The Locust II” (2026): reimagines Lefebvre’s “The Grasshopper” (1872) with a scythe
- “Petite Muse at Work” (2026): turns the male-artist-genius figure into a woman
- “Transit of Venus”: the astronomical alignment when Venus moves between Earth and the Sun, appearing as a tiny dark spot
The broomsticks are worth remembering.
Source material: “A Broomstick in a Man's World,” Hyperallergic.
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