To S.M., a Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works

The title of the poem gives readers the subject of the poem. S.M. refers to Scipio Moorhead, an enslaved artist and poet who was a friend of Wheatley’s, and who likely engraved the image of Wheatley on her published poetry collection. The painting that Wheatley is responding to has not survived.

The poem begins with the speaker describing the details of Moorhead’s painting. Interestingly, however, we do not get a depiction of the painting’s subject matter or visual imagery. Instead, the speaker dwells on the artist’s process and skill, focusing on Moorhead’s abilities rather than the object he has created. The speaker extols the painter’s superior draftsmanship: “thy pencil did those beauties give” (Lines 3); she also argues that the artist has made the work so lifelike that the painting’s subjects are “breathing figures learnt from thee to live” (Line 4). The speaker has had a deeply personal response to the art, as this “new creation” gave her “soul delight” (Line 5). This word choice—and “creation” in particular—is a biblical allusion that echoes God’s creation of humanity in the Book of Genesis.

In lines 7 and 8, the speaker implores the painter to “fix thine ardent view” on a “noble path” (Lines 8, 7). The speaker seeks to elevate the art and artist—he should use his art, both his paintings and his poetry, to pursue “immortal fame” (Lines 12). In doing so, he can attain a lasting artistic legacy.

At this point, the speaker shifts focus. Immortality through creative endeavor is all well and good, but to the poet, the Christian afterlife is a higher plane still. While the first is the result of ambition and self-promotion, the second is the result of a godly life. The speaker implores the painter to “raise thy wishful eyes” towards heaven when creating (Lines 14)—this way, his work won’t simply be elevating his reputation, but also reflect the virtuous existence that will end at the “splendid city” (Line 16), or heaven. This Edenic city has glorious architecture—“twice six gates or radiant hinges” (Line 17)—and experiences constant daylight and a never-ending spring, existing in a permanent state of rejuvenation and rebirth.

The speaker’s elation with this artist’s work inspires her to think of the immortality of heaven, and she turns towards the philosophical. After ascending to this “Celestial Salem” (Line 18), artists will still be able to create. The freedom that they will attain in this place directly contrasts with the enslavement the artist experienced in his life.

However, their productive period has an end-date: when “the shades of time are chas’d away” (Line 23) at the Second Coming of Jesus. The end of the poem expresses the speaker’s struggle with death and the loss of artistic creation. No longer will they have access to the classical references that inform their work, now lacking language to tell of “Damon’s tender sighs / Or rising radiance of Aurora’s eyes” (Lines 29-30). Wheatley would have expected her readers to understand these references, which represent typical subjects for poetry and visual art respectively: Damon one of a pair of famous friends from a Greek myth who becomes an emblem of noble self-sacrifice; Aurora is the Latin word for the dawn, a fitting subject for a painting. Once they are in heaven, neither painter nor poet will appeal to the muses. Instead, they will be inspired by “nobler themes” in a “nobler strain” (Line 31). The “solemn gloom of night” (Line 33), or death, “seals the fair creation from my sight” (Line 34). The artists will no longer add to their fame and earthly canon.

While the ending is a drastic tonal shift from the ecstatic joy and admiration of the opening of the poem, the gloomy end is not without some hopeful optimism. This heavenly ascension will result in a “purer language” (Line 32). While heaven promises true immortality and everlasting life, the speaker mourns the loss of ability to create.