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In 1985, a group of Black and Asian women artists walked into London’s most prestigious contemporary art space—and changed everything.
Sonia Boyce polaroid grid — Previews of Boyce’s photography work, demonstrating how the exhibition offered space beyond painting, including the voices of Black women through multiple media
They weren’t invited. They didn’t fit the mold. But they made a space anyway.
Led by Lubaina Himid, The Thin Black Line wasn’t just an art exhibition—it was a declaration.
A refusal to be invisible. A gallery wall turned protest sign.
This wasn’t diversity.
This was disruption.
And nearly 40 years later, we’re still following the line they drew.
In the art world of the 1980s, Black women weren’t just overlooked—they were actively erased. But on June 24, 1985, Lubaina Himid, a visionary artist and curator, gathered 11 Black and Asian women artists to change that narrative.
The result? An exhibition called The Thin Black Line.
It was bold. Political. Feminist. Unapologetically Black. And most of all—ignored by critics at the time.
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The Exhibition That Wasn't Supposed to Happen
Exhibition title wall — A raw typographic poster listing the 11 featured artists, announcing their presence in a space that had long ignored them
The show challenged not just the art on the walls, but who got to hang it. Artists like Sutapa Biswas, Claudette Johnson, Chila Kumari Burman, and others used mixed media, performance, and paint to explore themes of race, gender, diaspora, and resistance.
This wasn’t your polite gallery show. This was Black women making space for themselves, because the art world refused to.
At the time, many major institutions dismissed the show—or failed to show up at all. But decades later, The Thin Black Line is recognized as a seismic moment in British art history. Himid herself would go on to become the first Black woman to win the Turner Prize in 2017.
Why It Still Matters
Installation view — Snapshots from the ICA gallery walls, showing framed works and surrounding collage, capturing the DIY, activist energy of the show
This exhibition wasn’t just about inclusion—it was about reclamation. These women weren’t waiting for an invitation. They were writing themselves in—on canvas, in text, in sound, and in space.
In recent years, institutions have scrambled to retroactively honor this moment. But the truth is: the artists had already done the work. We’re just catching up.
“If they won’t hang us in their history, we’ll hang ourselves in ours.”
— (Imagined but true to the spirit of the show)
✨ Legacy
Claudette Johnson’s portraits — A powerful close-up of Black women's faces, asserting subjectivity and presence in contrast to dominant stereotypes
The phrase “the thin black line” now stands for more than just one exhibition—it represents the narrow, often invisible margin where Black women’s work barely enters the frame… until they take up the brush.
In 2025, we honor not just what they painted—but what they forced the world to see.
They called it The Thin Black Line—but it was never just about race.
It was about being left out, pushed aside, and finally saying: “We’re here. We’re undeniable.”
These weren’t just artists.
They were archivists of anger. Curators of presence. Architects of a new narrative.
And if you didn’t see them then, that’s fine.
We’re seeing them now.
🖤 Keep watching the margins. That’s where the next movement always begins.
See you next week in History in Hue.
-Gio