Did Susan Eakins Sign Thomas Eakins’ Paintings? A Closer Look at Artistic Stewardship and Historical Context

When it comes to the legacy of great artists, few figures are as complex—and quietly influential—as Susan Eakins, the wife of Thomas Eakins.

A talented painter in her own right, Susan also played a key role in preserving, organizing, and promoting her husband’s work after his death in 1916. But her stewardship raises intriguing questions, particularly around authorship, attribution, and what constituted acceptable practice in her era.

Recently, I came across what appears to be an example of Susan Eakins signing her late husband’s name on a painting. One signature was clearly hers. The other—ostensibly Thomas’—bore a capital “T” that closely resembled the “S” in her own name, with the overall lettering suggesting the same hand. It prompted me to ask: did Susan ever sign works on his behalf, without clarification that the signature wasn’t his?

The response I received from a respected Eakins scholar was both candid and illuminating:

“I think Susan probably did sign some of Thomas Eakins’ paintings. She clearly inherited stacks of them, many of them probably unsigned, and I don’t think it would have occurred to her that this was in any way inappropriate. It was a way of recording that it was his work.”

One of Thomas Eakins’ more elaborate signatures. His autograph evolved multiple times throughout his artistic career.

From today’s perspective—where provenance, authorship, and authentication are deeply scrutinized—this may seem cavalier. But in the early 20th century, such actions may have been seen less as forgery and more as documentation. As the scholar noted, Susan was not just maintaining a studio; she was preserving the legacy of a husband whose work was underappreciated during his lifetime.

A signature in question, seen in the bottom right corner of Thomas Eakins' painting, titled Portrait of Fanny Hunt

One anecdote from the same exchange reinforces this point: Susan once gave a painting to Eakins biographer Lloyd Goodrich that had an incomplete figure sketched in chalk—a figure that Thomas never actually painted. Before gifting it, Susan erased the chalk drawing so the piece would appear “finished.” Her intent wasn’t to deceive, necessarily, but to protect and polish what she saw as her husband’s rightful reputation.

While such practices would raise eyebrows—or red flags—among today’s art historians and conservators, they reflect a different set of values and concerns. Susan was working in a time before widespread photographic documentation, before the rigorous attribution standards we rely on now, and before the market-driven obsession with authorship took center stage.

Signature of Susan Eakins on one of her paintings

Ultimately, the question of whether Susan Eakins signed Thomas’ name on his paintings remains partly speculative, though stylistic evidence and contextual reasoning make it a strong possibility. It’s a reminder that the work of preserving an artist’s legacy is rarely tidy—and that the lines between stewardship and authorship can blur, especially when viewed through a modern lens.

As always, a comprehensive catalogue raisonné—paired with today’s imaging technologies—would help resolve these lingering questions. Until then, we continue to explore the gray areas, guided by curiosity, context, and the compelling human stories behind the signatures.