Arts for Justice Cleveland Presents We the People… All the People: Portraits by Judy Takács

In her new show at Midtown Collaboration Center, and as the United States celebrates its semiquincentennial, Arts for Justice Cleveland presents works of figurative painter Judy Takács through Election Day, inspiring hope and action through portraiture. Using art as her ammunition by depicting our country’s most vulnerable citizens, Takács issues a call-to-action that presents democracy as a work in progress. Takács, a Cleveland Institute of Art graduate based in Solon, has long used portraiture to tell stories of courage, vulnerability, and conviction. In We The People…All The People, she reminds us that creating the world we want to live in is a constant work in progress, freedom isn’t free, and “We the People” means ALL the People. Says Takács, “the show is meant to be positive without being too rah-rah America, but a hopeful, and upbeat show.” Co-curated by Cleveland art historian and curator Megan Alves, the exhibition is exactly what we need as we approach our nation’s 250th birthday—a reminder that through art and action, meaningful change is possible, and we as a country still have a long way to go.

The exhibition was spearheaded by the Arts for Justice Cleveland founder, Karen Prasser, to exhibit in their new gallery space on the second-floor atrium and hallway of the Midtown Collaboration Center, which includes 100 feet of wall space amongst Cleveland Institute of Art and startup offices. Arts for Justice Cleveland is a nonprofit organization that harnesses the power of the arts to advance social justice and raise awareness of wrongful convictions. Takács told Prasser (a longtime collaborator), “if you have the space, I have the art.” The statement proves fitting: a remarkably prolific artist, Takács fills the walls with works spanning her expansive oeuvre. In We the People… All the People, her oil paintings–self-portraits, triptychs, and multi-panel installations–become compelling visual arguments for constitutional freedoms, social responsibility, and the ongoing work of democracy as we reach our nation’s 250th birthday.

Anchoring the exhibition and welcoming visitors is Takács’s twelve-canvas polyptych, We the People… All the People, the meaningful work that inspired the exhibition’s title. Each round oil painting with collage and gold leaf detail depicts a child representing the most vulnerable members of society whom the Constitution and government are meant to protect. Takács feels the government is falling short of this duty at the present moment, and her portrayal of voiceless and helpless children best showcases our nation’s shortcomings. Among the twelve portraits that encompass We the People… All the People, we see a child holding the banned book Fahrenheit 451, five-year-old Liam Conejo Ramos who was detained by ICE in while wearing in his infamous bunny hat, a young African-American boy who was killed by police during a mental health episode, two Iranian girls killed by an American bomb, and the outspoken Epstein victim Virginia Giuffre as a young girl, among others. The series was inspired by the now-grown child depicted in the first oval portrait, Catalyst, whose mother made a passionate Facebook plea in response to the sweeping DOGE cuts to Medicaid- and Medicare-funded health and social services. Without the services, Takács explained that parents and loved ones have to leave the workforce and take care of their loved ones, rather than remain producers in society, tethering the vulnerable to their caretakers. In the twelve-canvas polyptych, Takács also takes a deeply personal approach, portraying her son, who left Northeast Ohio for the West Coast in search of a community he felt would be more accepting of his identity as a gay man; and a self-portrait as an eight-year-old artist in the making. Takács displays the following text to accompany the We the People… All the People series: “These are the children we once were. Americans, foreigners or both. Here by choice or necessary opportunity, birth or force. Creatives, thinkers, makers, caregivers. The autistic, the artistic, the activists. The L, the G, the B, the T, the Q, the allies. All must be safely protected in a nest built from rights and responsibilities guaranteed in the US Constitution.”

In perhaps one of my favorite works in the exhibition, the diptych Hope is a singing bird and swinging axe, the artist personifies hope as a young woman adorned with black wings and a feather headdress, a black bird on her shoulder in each panel. In the bottom panel, she depicts the same female figure from another angle with an axe in her hands. In both panels, the bird holds a scrap of the Constitution in its beak. What makes this diptych so interesting is the poetic references Takács uses, comparing two poets’ descriptions of hope. Poet Emily Dickinson said, “hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul singing the tune without words and never stops at all”, while Rebecca Solnit tells us that “hope is not a lottery ticket you sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. Hope is an Axe you break down doors with in case of emergency.” To Takács, the panels represent a personification of Hope and Action; hope without action is pointless, and action without hope is self-defeating. A true metaphysical concept of a diptych, where two parts create one unified work of art by their mutual reference to the other.

Among the exhibition’s most compelling works are a powerful set of self-portraits where Takács offers herself as a model of resistance through ironic, symbolic personas. In one large, round canvas, Declarations and A-MEND-ments, the artist paints herself sewing the American flag, “(a) mending it” as she says, to include a rainbow of stars and hearts among the white stars on the traditional flag. She is channeling Betsy Ross and Rosie the Riveter in this self-portrait, the ode to Rosie evident in the bandana tied on her head. A collage of documents adorns the background, including a Bill of Rights, a Joint Resolution, and my favorite touch—an Ohio “I ♥ voting” sticker, the heart is shaped like the state. Of the piece, Takács explains the country needs to cast a wider net to embrace the “beautiful diversity that shaped and built our United States of America.” Another compelling work, First Amendment Triptych, is a striking three-panel portrait that explores the erosion of constitutional freedoms. In the first panel, Freedom of Speech, Takács depicts herself with her mouth bound by an American flag bandana. In Freedom to Peacefully Assemble (Protest) and Address Grievances, she stands with her hands tied behind her back, holding a sign bearing the Bill of Rights that is pierced by nine bullet holes—a reference, the artist explains, to the nine people killed by ICE in January 2026. The final panel, Freedom of (and from) Religion, portrays Takács once again with her hands bound by the same American flag bandana as she holds the Bill of Rights. These are concepts Takács believes should have been in the original Constitution to begin with, which she reflects through her work.

The self-portrait group’s pièce de résistance is MyCentennial 1976, a very complex and layered nostalgia piece about the 1976 Bicentennial, based on Takács’s idealism and enthusiasm as a fourteen-year-old American history aficionado and Bicentennial Nerd. Here we see the young artist as an earnest teen seated on the floor at the coffee table doing her homework, surrounded by a collage of patriotic memorabilia from the era, including bits from her personal journals and notes taken from classes in her sprawling cursive writing. The artist saved this ephemera for decades, perhaps manifesting this very exhibition in the nation’s 250^th year. To Takács, things in 1976 were definitely not perfect, but she felt we were heading in the right direction with civil rights, women’s rights, human rights. As she says, “I imagined that I might grow up to be an artist…or the president. I wouldn’t be the first woman president though, surely that would happen decades before this idealistic fourteen year-old” would have the opportunit­y. Her youthful fascination with the founding of our nation grew into artistic activism and a deep respect for democracy, our US Constitution, and the rights we fought so hard to secure in the subsequent amendments—the foundation of this exhibition, fifty years later.

Amongst the new works, the exhibition is peppered with selected pieces from Takács’s earlier series that speak to the spirt and echo the meaning of the show, including works from her long-running 2014 series Chicks with Balls: Judy Takács paints Unsung Female Heroes and My Weapon of Choice: Judy Takács paints Reproductive Rights, where the artist uses a paintbrush as a weapon to battle for abortion rights before and after the overturning of Roe v. Wade.In fact, one of the exhibition’s most pivotal works is a triptych—Love, Athena–from her 2020 The Goddess Project: Warriors. In the triptych, the artist reimagines herself as a supportive and caring Athena standing in solidarity with her sisters, not as the jealous, vengeful Athena of Greek mythology: she wields her paintbrush, not vengeance, on her sisters. Of the work, Takács states: “Standing with me is a woman who has emerged from gender transition, a Black mother who fears for the lives and safety of her three grown children, a mother and child with a shared vulnerability, and several who have faced profound loss and recovery against all odds. We all hold symbolic shields to protect ourselves, each other and those we love.”

Co­curator Megan Alves explains the lineup of the show’s works was very intentional, with Love, Athenastaged as one of the powerful ending points. “We started with the children as an emotionally accessible entry point for people viewing the exhibition; it humanizes the issues and it’s very disarming.” As visitors move through the corridor, the exhibition shifts from places of hope to the more challenging issues, pressures, and pain points of the present. This placement was deliberate and allows viewers to see the context and absorb it. Alves states that at the end of the exhibition “there is hope for the entire arc of the show where the Love, Athena triptych shows our vision of inclusivity within the American Constitution. Since it is We the People… All the People, we are showing what all the people are and have that positive vision for the future.”

Some may be of the opinion that politics has no place in art, but that view overlooks what has defined art throughout history. For centuries, artists have told stories of civility, human struggle, compassion, and empathy, creating a visual record of their time through the ideals and images they leave behind. In We the People… All the People, we see our country reflected back to us in the present through the struggles of its citizens. The exhibition arrived just before the nation’s 250th birthday, and Takács uses the occasion not for simple celebration, but for reflection.

We The People…All The People
June 25 – November 3, 2026
Midtown Collaboration Center
1974 East 66th Street
Cleveland, Ohio 44103