Art Eyewitness Book Review: How Art Can Change Your Life by Susie Hodge

How Art Can Change Your Life 

by Susie Hodge

Thames & Hudson/$19.95/191 pages

Reviewed by Ed Voves

While reading Susie Hodge's new book, How Art Can Change Your Life, the lyrics of one of the songs from the 1980's musical, Barnum, came to mind.

Bigger isn't better                                                                                        Taller isn't braver                                                                                        Stronger isn't always wise

Smaller isn't necessarily the lesser                                                                Guts can come in any size

The song lyrics were entirely appropriate given the book's surprisingly small size -  191 pages - and the audacious scope of its subject. 

How Art Can Change Your Life deals with human emotions and the many challenges to our identity and well-being. Susie Hodge sets herself the daunting task of showing how appreciating great works of art can help address the problematic situations which plant themselves in the path of our journey through life. That took a lot of courage on Hodge's part, a lot of "guts."

How Art Can Change Your Life, it should be noted, is not a lightweight "pocket book." However, I was a bit surprised at the comparative brevity of Hodge's new book, given her recent Thames and Hudson publications. Art in Detail (2016) tipped the scales at 432 pages. Modern Art in Detail, published the following year, covered the century since Vincent van Gogh in 336 pages. Both  were large format volumes, lavishly illustrated, with a unique design allowing for key aspects of major paintings to be analyzed and understood by the general public.

"Bigger isn't better," Tom Thumb proclaims in Barnum and Hodge proves him right.

How Art Can Change Your Life presents 72 masterpieces of art, mostly paintings, beginning with Giotto's Arena Chapel frescoes and extending to contemporary artists like Yinka Shonibare. These are examined thematically in twelve sections dealing with vital issues such as confronting anxiety, relieving stress, overcoming sorrow, inspiring self-reflection and embracing happiness.

Each of the 72 entries in How Art Can Change Your Life consists of a full-color illustration of the masterpiece and one-page commentary. 

       Page display from How Art Can Change Your Life, showing          Aelbrecht Bouts' The Mater Dolorosa, mid-1490's

The basic format of each text entry begins with an illuminating quote, followed by a succinct artist biography and an analysis of the work. The commentary concludes with a reflection on how understanding the respective masterpiece might help deal with one of the many psychological or spiritual problems we face in the disturbing world of the twenty-first century.

All of these tasks are accomplished on a single page. Like the Wanderer above a Sea of Clouds by Caspar David Friedrich, we need to travel light in the quest of How Art Can Change Your Life.

Hodge begins the book with a short, three page introduction. As readers familiar with the "In Detail" books will know, Hodge is a master of concise, informative prose and an able stylist. In this brief intro, she incorporates moving quotes from some of the artists whose works are later analyzed. She follows with findings from scientific studies on the cognitive and emotional effects of looking at art and then sets the stage for the bold venture into art appreciation in the succeeding pages.

Yet, at the starting gate, Hodge almost stumbles. The first topic she deals with is the most difficult: dissipating anger. Hodge deserves credit for her sincere attempt to provide constructive channels for anger management. But to try and get a "grip" on explosive human emotions in six brief art critiques is to risk falling back on formulaic responses or suggestions, such as the following: 

Feelings of anger can be reduced or neutralized by making a list of things to be grateful for, or focusing on what is good in life.

This is quite sensible advice and, from the standpoint of anger prevention, it is wise counsel indeed. But once the flashpoint of anger is reached, I doubt that Hodge's good intentions will be of much help.

Moreover, two of Hodge's choices of art works to be examined in conjunction with anger are very problematical. Pipilotti Rist's car-window smashing video, Ever is Over All, seems an act of fomenting violence or enjoying it vicariously. Whatever Rist's motives in making her protest in defiance of modern mechanized society, its inclusion in How Art Can Change Your Life strikes me as inappropriate to the goals of the book.

The other unsettling work of art is so famous and controversial - especially in the last few decades - that an entire book might not be enough to it justice. This is Artemesia Gentileschi's Judith Beheading Holofernes, painted around 1620.

Artemesia Gentileschi, Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1620

If ever an artist had a right to be angry or to try and vent her rage with a powerful work of art such as this, it was Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-c.1656). Yet, her life's meaning is not to be comprehended by concentrating on this painting at the expense of the rest of her oeuvre. 

After being raped by her father's colleague and then outrageously abused by the legal tribunal investigating the crime, Gentileschi went on to paint other masterpieces, which are sadly less familiar than this one. Judith Beheading Holofernes appears over-and-over in art history books. 

Thus, Gentileschi's story illustrates Hodge's theme of utilizing art to overcome anguish or anger. But the inclusion of this celebrated depiction of violence detracts from grasping that point. It would have been far more in keeping with the spirit of How Art Can Change Your Life to have used one of Gentileschi's later works, notably her moving, visionary self-portrait now in the Royal Collection in Great Britain.

Once Hodge moves beyond the contested ground of anger-dissipation, How Art Can Change Your Life is on firmer ground. That does not mean that Hodge avoids dangerous or difficult situations to rack-up debating points in support of her thesis. Throughout this fine book, Hodge looks at great works of art in conjunction with many of history's most harrowing ordeals.

With keen insight, Hodge reminds us that Claude Monet could hear the barrages of World War I artillery as he worked to depict the effect of light and shadow on the lily pond and gardens of his private paradise of Giverny. 

Claude Monet, The Japanese Footbridge, 1899

Through all the turmoil of war, Monet waged his own private battles, as well, contending with family loss, cataracts and old age. In doing so, Monet "created a sense of peace around him...This enabled him to reset and overcome his anxiety." 

Like Monet, Paul Klee used his art as a shield against stress, in his case of the most direct and oppressive form. Driven from his teaching position at the Dusseldorf Academy by Nazi aggression, Klee created his own, interior Giverny. During the last years of his life, Klee painted over 1,000 works of art, each an affirmation of the creative spirit vs. the soulless mindset of totalitarianism.

Paul Klee, Red Balloon, 1922 

Klee's response to adversity is a process available to us too, as Hodge notes :

...Klee was a Transcendentalist, and one aspect of transcendentalist belief is that the material world is only one of several realities and that creativity comes from beyond consciousness. Klee used the process of making art as meditation, saying that it helped him live in an "intermediate world."

This is precisely the situation of millions of people today, shadowed by the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic and the growing fear of global warfare. 

Hodge continues her reflections on Klee with a discussion of Post-Traumatic Growth through which "people who have suffered extreme stress use the experience to enhance and appreciate life and also learn to embrace new opportunities..."

This is a brilliant illustration of Hodge's skillful pairing of incisive art analysis with thoughtful suggestions for life-enhancing activities.

Katsushika Hokusai, Under the Wave off Kanagawa, c. 1830-32

Many of the art works Hodge selected are "old friends" from museum visits or hours spent leafing through exhibition catalogs. Hokusai's Under the Wave off Kanagawa appears in the topical section on "creating energy." It is a curious placement, given that Hodge envisions this fabled work as a "vision of human fragility and defencelessness..."

Energy is the keynote of Under the Wave off Kanagawa - of nature and of humankind. When your boat is about to be swamped - literally or metaphorically - you row all the harder. And you create all the more. Claude Debussy (1862-1918) composed LeMer (1903-05) with the imagery of  Hokusai's masterpiece ever in his mind.

The Annunciation by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859-1937) is another work studied in How Art Can Change Your Life. It is one of the highlights of the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I am fortunate to see this work frequently and I never cease to be amazed and inspired.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2021)

Henry Ossawa Tanner's The Annunciation 

on display at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

The Annunciation, in which the Virgin Mary is informed by the Angel Gabriel that she will be the mother of Jesus, is one of the most ancient subjects of Christian art. Here Tanner re-envisions the sacred scene in terms of startling, psychological drama. Gabriel appears as "pillar" of fire, pure energy rather than a humanized form. Mary, is surrounded by bands of deep, rich color, These represent a fabric screen, rugs and blankets but exert a similar effect to the ethereal color blocks of Mark Rothko.

All of this visual alchemy took place in 1898, years before the radical stages of Modern Art began. Yet the most revolutionary feature of Tanner's Annunciation - and the reason it appears in Hodge's section on empathy - is that Tanner depicted Mary as Jewish girl with dark Middle Eastern ethnic features at a time when Jews were facing racial and religious prejudice.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2021)

Detail of Henry Ossawa Tanner's The Annunciation

It was a bold step - but one based on personal experience. Tanner was an African-American artist who, as a student, had experienced discrimination himself.  Fortunately, Tanner became the protege of Thomas Eakins and received support from Rodman Wanamaker, of the famous department store fortune. None-the-less, Tanner was risking the esteem of his White patrons by painting the Virgin Mary as a young Jewish woman.  

Choosing Henry Ossawa Tanner's Annunciation was a masterstroke on the part of Hodge. Just as The Annunciation is an example of empathy in action, so too is How Art Can Change Your Life.

One could - and should - treat Susie Hodge's How Art Can Change Your Life as a "tract for the times." But given the genuine worth of this inspiring, provocative volume, it will, I believe, prove a "ready-reference" book to be consulted and cherished for a long time to come.

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved  Original Photos: Copyright of Anne Lloyd                                                                                          

Cover art and page display from How Art Can Change Your Life © Thames & Hudson 

Introductory Image: Caspar David Friedrich (German, 1774-1840) Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, c. 1818. Oil on canvas: 94.8 cm × 74.8 cm (37.3 in × 29.4 in.) Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg

Artemesia Gentileschi (Italian, (1593-c.1656) Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1620. Oil on canvas: 146.5 cm × 108 cm (57 2/3 × 42 1/2 in.) Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy

Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926) The Japanese Footbridge, 1899. Oil on canvas: 81.3 cm × 101.6 cm (32 × 40 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Paul Klee (Swiss-German, 1879-1940) Red Balloon,1922. Oil on gauze on board: 31.7 cm × 31 cm (12 1/2 × 12 1/4 in.) Guggenheim Museum, New York City.

Katsushika Hokusai (Japanese, 1760-1849)Under the Wave off Kanagawa, c. 1830-32. Woodblock print; ink and color on paper: 25.7 cm × 37.9 cm (10 1/8 × 15 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2021) Henry Ossawa Tanner's The Annunciation, 1898. Oil on canvas: 144.8 cm × 181 cm (57 × 711/4 in.) Philadelphia Museum of Art

Art Eyewitness Book Review: The Face and Bestiary from the British Museum

       The Face: Our Human Story by Debra Mancoff         

 Thames & Hudson/303 pages/$24.95

Bestiary: Animals in Art from the Ice Age to Our Age by Christopher Matthews

Thames & Hudson/256 pages/$24.95

Reviewed by Ed Voves

"Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life," Dr. Samuel Johnson proclaimed  to his boon companion James Boswell, "for there is in London all that life can afford."

The date was September 20, 1777. Eighteen years before Boswell recorded this famous remark, one of the prime attractions of London had opened its doors, offering examples of "all that life can afford" to Londoners and visitors alike. The world's first public museum, it was located in the Bloomsbury section of London and was called the British Museum. The name was something of a misnomer in Johnson's day and for many years afterward since there was very little on display that pertained to the British Isles.

Today, the British Museum exhibits art and artifacts from every period of history and from every continent and almost every nation of the world. This mighty institution has joined with the publishing firm, Thames and Hudson, to produce two books highlighting its vast holdings. These handsome, insightful volumes are each based upon a key theme, the human portrait and the relationship of people with animals. 

The Face: Our Human Story by Debra Mancoff and Bestiary: Animals in Art from the Ice Age to Our Age by Christopher Matthews complement each other splendidly. To an amazing degree, human beings have masked or garbed  themselves in animal-themed motifs. Furthermore, the experience of our fellow creatures in the animal kingdom has inspired and elevated the mind - and - especially - the emotions of  men and women since time immemorial.

    Marble bust of a sleeping child, possibly placed on the child's tomb,

 1st-2^nd century AD

These two books are beautifully illustrated and have engaging, provocative texts. Mancoff's prose is almost poetic as she evokes the many moods of human life and the masks we wear to try and conceal our true selves:

Our faces function as a window to our thoughts and feelings and as a mirror of social attitudes and expectations; they connect our inner life to our outward experience... All these factors - meanings, identity, emotion and connection - have made the human face the most potent and persistent subject in the history of art.

Perhaps the human face is a little too potent. For that reason, humans have created masks or disguises to cover the "shocking" truth of our lives. 

     Unknown artist. Roman military parade mask, c. 2^nd century AD

During the later Roman Empire, soldiers wore elaborate masks with the features of the gods of the Pantheon or Amazons (as in the above example). These masks were a feature of dress parades or dazzling displays of horsemanship rather than providing protection from enemy arrows. For the whole point was to maintain the fiction that the Celts, Germans or other "barbarians" serving in the legions were  real-live Romans, when in fact actual Romans were in ever-shorter supply.

One of the opening images of The Face is this striking, almost nightmarish, face from ancient Mexico, likely Xiuhtecuhtli of the Aztec culture, around 1500.   

    Unknown artist, The Turquoise Mosaics, c. 1400-1521

The "Turquoise Lord," Xiuhtecuhtli, is a somewhat shadowy figure in Mesoamerican myth. This frightening mask would have been worn by a temple priest in one of the many ceremonies invoking the help of the gods to nurture Aztec crops in the extremely weather-sensitive environment of Mexico.

Masks are not always intended to conceal or to overawe.  Sometimes a "change of face" denotes a major cultural or religious transition.

Unknown artist, The Satala Aphrodite (Anahita), c. 1st century BC. 

One of the most fascinating images in The Face is the seemingly conventional countenance of a Greek goddess. Its museum name is The Satala Aphrodite. But this is not Aphrodite or Artemis, either. Rather it is the Persian goddess Anahita, whose lineage can be traced back to the even more ancient divinity, Ishtar, of Babylon. 

The features of Anahita were reworked with recognizably European features, making her more acceptable to new devotees as her cult moved westward, as so many "mystery" religions did under the Roman Empire. This remarkable work was  discovered in 1873 in modern-day Turkey in the cultural transfer zone (and often battle zone) on the border of the Roman and Persian empires. 
  
However fascinating masks and "guises" are, the unconcealed human face always takes the prize. The many illustrations in The Face convey the incredible range of expressions, intentions and obsessions which are displayed on our face. Try as we might, we cannot wipe away our inner self from registering on our outward countenance.

Ironically, we are never so hard to "read" as when we throw pretense to the winds and just "be" ourselves.

Look at the remarkable portrait drawing of Isabella Brant by her husband, Peter Paul Rubens. Isabella Brant (1591-1626) was no conventional beauty by the standards of her age or ours. Her face in Ruben's sketch, however, is filled with vivacity, charm and self-awareness. What was she thinking about while her husband sketched away?

Peter Paul Rubens, Portrait of Isabella Brant, c. 1621/1622

Perhaps this enigmatic woman was aware of how precious was the moment she and her artist-husband shared together. We will never know what interior dialog was playing out in her mind -and on her face. That is one of the charms of this magnificent rendering of the mystery of human  feeling. 

What we do know about Isabella Brant is that she died four years after this sketch was completed. She was cut-down by bubonic plague, still a fearsome killer three hundred years after the Black Death. We can only hope that Rubens' love for his wife helped her find peace in her tragic final hour.

Human empathy is based on a sense of shared experience and the ties of kinship. We can better relate to other people because we a aware that they strive, struggle, suffer as we do. That is true of relationship of humans with animals. 

Human beings identify with the inhabitants of the Animal Kingdom and have done so since time before time - before the cave art of Chauvet.  

In Bestiary, we see one of the most compelling works in the collection of the British Museum.  A piece of Mammoth tusk has been inscribed with the depiction of two reindeer swimming across a river. It was created about 13,000 years ago and was discovered in France, the source of much of the surviving Ice Age art.

As the caption text surmises, this incredible art work was likely created to record an incident of a hunt, the memory of which could be invoked to help promote a sense of "mastery over the creature through its representation."

Unknown artist, Magdalenian era,The Swimming Reindeer, 11,000 BC

Yet, if you look closely at the features of the reindeer you cannot but feel the artist's appreciation of the life force, the animating "animal" power, of these beasts as they struggle against the current of the river and of the forces of existence. 

After all, the daily experience of Ice Age tribesmen, wandering the bleak earth in search of food, was little different from that of the animals they hunted.

Closer in time and to the spirit of modern society is the golden panel screen painted by Maruyama Ōkyo (1733-1795). One of the greatest painters of traditional Japan, Ōkyo was well aware of Western techniques and incorporated them into time-honored genres like Kano painting. His Tigers Swimming a River, painted around 1781, reveals a modern sensibility as these fearsome predators show the characteristics of house cats.

Ōkyo, unlike the unknown carver of the swimming reindeer, never saw a living tiger. Japanese samurai, however, had hunted tigers during the bloody war in Korea during the 1590's and the big cats continued to fascinate the Japanese long after the war.

             Maruyama Ōkyo, Tigers Crossing a River, c. 1781

Tiger skins remained a much sought-after item in Japan. But a preserved tiger pelt has a flattened head and this is how Ōkyo painted his swimming felines as they ford the golden river. Given the mystical setting of the tigers' journey, this hardly seems a defect.

As the emotional distance increases between animals in the wild and people living in cities, the greater is the compulsion to project human attributes upon animals. The Victorian artist, Alfred Crowquill (in real life Alfred Henry Forester), was a master of caricature, using animals, "dressed to the nines," to poke fun at people with their lengthy list of social distinctions. 

Alfred Crowquill, A Monkey Dressed as a Man,1844

"Fashion is but One Creature Apeing Another" Crowquill affirmed in this hilarious send-up of the nineteenth century British gentleman. However, animals are different from humans. They do not smoke pipes or play board games. Christopher Matthews, in the text of Bestiary, wisely notes that animals "in the flesh would bite, scratch or simply bolt."

With animals proving so illusive, so impossible to ever fully-understand, humans have created whole categories of hybrid beasts. These weird, wonderful creatures represent the "wild side" of nature, but with a human attribute that we can focus upon in order to tell "our" story in myth and legend. The final chapter of Bestiary brilliantly surveys this  "zoology of the imagination," from  the Sphinx of Egypt to the dragons of China to the Sea-Spirit figure from the Solomon Islands of the South Pacific.

Unknown artist, Solomon Islands, Sea spirit wooden figure, pre-1893

Perhaps the greatest insight of these two wonderful British Museum books relates to the extraordinary explosion of fantasy literature in modern society. The human genome is being decoded and the Hubble Space Telescope is sending back images of Deep Space  - but we keep looking.  As fast as science provides answers, human beings discover new, uncharted realms in themselves and in the world around them.

The more we "know", the more there is to explore. And that is a very good thing.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved
Images courtesy of the British Museum and Thames & Hudson publishers.

Introductory image:                                                                                                          Cover of The Face: Our Human Story by Debra Mancoff (Thames & Hudson, 2018)

Unknown artist, Marble bust of a sleeping child wearing crepundia (amulets and charms) on a cord across his chest. Possibly placed on child’s tomb.,1^st-2^nd Century AD. Purchased from the estate of Charles Townley, 1805. Marble: 26 cm. (Height)  British Museum Reg. # 1805,0703.110

Unknown artist, Roman Imperial era. Bronze parade mask with a woman’s (Amazon’s) face, c.  2^nd century AD. Excavated at Nola, Southern Italy during the 18^th century. Bronze: 25.5 cm (height) British Museum Reg. # 1824,0407.10

Unknown artist, Mixtec or Aztec. The Turquoise Mosaics. Mask, possibly of Xiuhtecuhtli, 1400-1521.Found in Mexico. Carved from cedro wood and covered in turquoise mosaic with scattered turquoise cabochons, mother-of-pearl eyes and teeth made of conch shell: 16.8 cm. (height) x 15.2 cm. (width) x 13.5 cm (depth) British Museum Reg. # Am,St.400

Unknown artist, Hellenistic Greek. The Satala Aphrodite, c. 1^st century BC. Found in Turkey, 1872. Bronze head from a cult statue of Anahita in the guise of Aphrodite or Artemis: 38.1 cm. (height) British Museum Reg. # 1873,0820.1

Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish,1577-1640), Portrait of Isabella Brant, c. 1621/1622. Drawing with black and red chalk, with brown wash, on paper: 381 mm. (height) x 294 mm. (width) British Museum Reg. # 1893,0731.21

Cover of Bestiary: Animals in Art from the Ice Age to Our Age by Christopher Matthews (Thames & Hudson, 2018)

Unknown artist, Late Magdalenian period, The Swimming Reindeer, 11,000 BC. Excavated at Montastruc, France. Incised on Mammoth ivory: 207 mm. (length) x 30 mm. (height) x 27 mm. (width) British Museum Reg. # Palart. 550

Maruyama Ōkyo, Tigers Crossing a River, c. 1781. Painting, six-panel folding screen. Ink, colour and gold-leaf on paper. Signed and sealed. 153.5 cm. (height) x 352.8 cm. (width) British Museum Reg. # 2006,0424,0.1

Alfred Crowquill (Alfred Henry Forrester) (British, 1804-1872) Printed by Samuel Bentley. Satirical print of a Monkey dressed as a Man, 1844. Glyphography: 120 cm. (height) x 105 cm. (width) British Museum Reg. # 1866,0407.146

Unknown artist, Solomon Islands, Pacific Ocean. Found at Makira. Sea spirit wooden figure with fish attributes and with collar of white feathers, pre-1893. Carved wood, with feathers: 72 cm. (height) British Museum Reg. # Oc1904,0621.14

A World of Emotions: Ancient Greece 700 BC – 200 AD at the Onassis Cultural Center New York City

A World of Emotions: Ancient Greece 700 BC – 200 AD 

 

Onassis Cultural Center New York City

March 9 – June 24, 2017 

Reviewed by Ed Voves

"Know thyself." "Gnothi seauton" (γνῶθι σεαυτόν).  This maxim, inscribed in the forecourt of the Temple of Delphi, proclaims the philosophical aspirations of the ancient Greeks.
Intellectual exploration did not entirely define the lives of the Greeks - any more than it does the lives of modern-day individuals. A fascinating exhibition at the Onassis Cultural Center in New York City examines Greek civilization from a different vantage point: emotion. 
    
A World of Emotions: Ancient Greece 700 BC – 200 AD brings a wide-ranging array of works of art and artifacts to the mid-town Manhattan gallery of the Onassis Center. 

                Installation view of A World of Emotions: Ancient Greece, 700 BC – 200 AD       Photograph © Joseph Coscia, Jr.

Most of the exhibition objects are loans from Greek museums and chart the evolving attitudes of the ancient Greeks to the interplay of emotions. Other works come from Greek-speaking cities in southern Italy or are Roman-era copies of statues made by famous artists of the Greek past.

In a brilliant move, the curators of A World of Emotions created a grouping of statues as was often done in antiquity. The statue in the foreground, Pothos, is the daimone or spirit of yearning. Pothos is about to be hit by an arrow from the bow of Eros, the god of love.

Ed Voves Photo (2017), Roman-era Statues of Pothos (left) and Eros, 2nd century AD

This splendid representation of Eros is believed to be a copy, made about 70 years after Christ, of a bronze by the master sculptor, Lysippos who lived in fourth century BC. It was found at a different site in Rome than the place where Pothos was unearthed. Yet, the grouping of these two works is a masterful interpretation of the more playful aspects of emotion in the Greek world.

Emotion among the Greek, or Hellenes as they called themselves, was more often blood-chilling than heart-warming. Indeed, the most significant work in all of Greek literature begins with an evocation of unrestrained anger.

The first word of Homer's Iliad is menin, rage. This uncontrollable anger, the wraith of Achilles, resounded throughout antiquity. From Alexander the Great's heedless murder of his friend, Cleitus, who had saved his life in battle, to curse tablets which were commonly used in ancient vendettas, the Greeks often strayed from the path of reason.

Fortunately, Greek life and art was  balanced  by the practice of more positive traits and virtues.  Upon entering the A World of Emotions exhibit, visitors are greeted two marble statues from the sixth century B.C. known as Kourai. These two sculptures from the Archaic era preceding the Persian Wars exude emotional well-being.

Ed Voves Photo (2017), Gallery view of A World of Emotions

For me, it was like meeting old friends. Last autumn, I had seen the heroically nude kouros and the kore, with her dangling braids, at a spectacular exhibit at the National Geographic Museum in Washington D.C. I had visited The Greeks: Agamemnon to Alexander the Great too late in the exhibit's run to post a review. Yet, here were the kouros and kore to welcome me to A World of Emotions!

Greek sculpture was influenced by the statues which Greek merchants and mercenary soldiers saw in Egypt, beginning around 850 BC. The enigmatic smile of the kourai has counterparts in Egyptian sculpture and amazingly appears on statues at medieval cathedrals like Chartres in France and Magdeburg in Germany.

For the Greeks, the "Archaic" smile denotes self-awareness and a sense of connection with the gods. We can see a growing confidence on the face of this kouros, which dates to 510 to 500 BC, exactly the years when democracy in Athens was gaining political favor. By contrast, the great kouros in the Metropolitan Museum presents a more determined, yet more fearful, visage. The Met's kouros dates to 580 BC and was used as a monument for a young aristocrat's grave. That era, the early sixth century,was a time when ruthless oligarchic power and debt-slavery were ripping Athenian society apart. 

Statue of a Kouros, ca. 500 BC, © Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports,   

Photo by Kostas Xenikakis

By the time that this beaming, confident kouros was created, Greek democracy was on the rise.

Maybe I am just old-fashioned but I favor Archaic-era statues over the later Classical period. I especially love the fact that they were painted with garish colors, thereby confounding the theories of Age of Reason scholars who praised them for their "pure" natural color. Traces of dark red can easily be seen in the hair of the kore on view in the exhibition. The kore's necklace, bracelet and earrings were painted blue and a crown of gilded copper-alloy flowers once graced her head.

Placed on a pedestal on the Acropolis, the beautiful, decorative kore assumed the "proper" place for women ordained by the aggressively male society of ancient Greece. A women who ventured beyond the role of homemaker or hetaerae prostitute risked being viewed as a latter-day Medea, the mythological character who rebelled against male oppression and betrayal. 

Many of the most fascinating works of art in the exhibit relate to women, so often excluded from a political role or even an artistic career in Greek society. A brilliant fresco from the House of the Tragic Poet in Pompeii illustrates depicts the Sacrifice of Iphigeneia. In this story from the Trojan War cycle. Agamemnon must sacrifice his beloved daughter, Iphigeneia, to placate the gods or his stalled armada will not be able to sail to attack Troy.

                              

Wall Painting with Scene from the Sacrifice of Iphigeneia, ca. 62 AD 

© Archeological Museum of Naples

Evidently, this outrageously unjust act was too much for even the Greeks to tolerate. Later versions of the story changed the ending, with the goddess Artemis bringing a deer to be slaughtered in place of the innocent Iphigeneia. This recalls the similar, happy, conclusion of the story of Abraham and Isaac in the Old Testament. 

It is doubtful that the change in the story of Iphigeneia was influenced by the Hebrew scriptures. More likely, it reflected the effect of the endless wars which plagued the Greek world. By the time that this fresco was painted in Pompeii, only a few short years before the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD, peace had been imposed by the Romans. Most Greeks were glad of it. The reprieve of Iphigeneia, pictured here, is in keeping with the Pax Romana but not of the blood-thirsty spirit of the Greeks earlier in their history.

To mourn for those slain in warfare was in fact one of the few public roles of women in Greek society. They certainly had plenty of occasion to do so. 

Amphora with Mourning Scene, ca. 530 BC, © Vatican Museum  

The poignant and timeless image on this black-figure painted Amphora was painted around 530 BC. This was the era when Sparta gained military ascendancy over much of Greece. The woman mourning the dead warrior is most likely Eos, or Dawn, grabbing a hank of her hair as she grieves for her son, a victim of the wrathful Achilles at Troy. 

But separating mythology from human actions in Greek history is not always easy. The woman shown here might well have symbolized a mother from Argos convulsed in grief after the Spartan victory in the Battle of Champions in 546 BC. Or the scene could have occurred two centuries later following the Battle of Chaeronea in 338 BC when the armies of Athens and Thebes were decimated by King Philip of Macedon and his Achilles-like son, Alexander. There were lots of battles, plenty of sons to mourn.

The motivations that impelled the Greeks to engage in self-destructive wars and other (to us) irrational acts were actually based on a strict code of ethical conduct. The catalog to A World of Emotions has several compelling essays which provide crucial insights into the psychology and social factors that governed Greek behavior. Professor Angelos Chaniotis, the lead scholar of the curatorial team, summarizes these insights.  

A public life free of emotions has never existed, in any past society... As regards ancient Greece, certain features of Greek society and culture enhanced the part played by emotions in public life: the spirit of competition (agon) that characterized Greek culture, the importance of family and the duties connected with it - especially the duty to avenge an act of injustice or an insult against a relative or an ancestor - social values, such as an advanced sense of honor and shame, and the obligation to show gratitude for a favor and repay it (charis).

Along with place of emotion in public life, there was what another of the exhibit scholars, Anthi Dipla, calls the "private spaces of emotions." Here the differences between ancient and modern world views largely disappear. For in these personal, interior realms, care, concern and grief for spouses, children, soul mates, even pets were addressed. 

Greek parents often erected a statue to a child, happily saved from disease, to thank the gods for the young one's preservation. There is one of these in the exhibition, dating to the third century BC. The statue of a little boy holding a goose was dedicated in the sanctuary of the river god, Kephisos, in central Greece. 

Ed Voves Photo (2017), Statue of a Boy with a Goose, 3rd century BC (detail) 

Perhaps the boy was saved from drowning. Whatever the case, the ability with which the sculptor has captured the smiling boy's sense of well-being is little short of a miracle of art.

More often, parents would have to erect funeral stele with heartbroken inscriptions. A particularly poignant one is on view in World of Emotions, which records the devastated feelings of parents when their only daughter, named Zoe (the Greek word for life), died,while delivering a still-born baby around 200 AD.

Ed Voves Photo (2017), Gallery view showing steles of Kalliteles (left) and Polyeuktos

Not far from the monument to Zoe are other memorial steles, this time with sculpted depictions of deceased young boys. At the foot of each is a leaping, playful dog. I stood before these statues, of Kalliteles and Polyeuktos, and briefly lost track of time. I was still grappling with the impact of reading the translation of Zoe's memorial. Trying 

to focus on the historical and aesthetic details of these poignant monuments was difficult, if not impossible.

The emotions, the raw feelings displayed in the Onassis Center gallery, are what matter. 

It is with a lingering sense of shock that one realizes that these ancient emotions still resonate today. We observe the skillful ways that Greek artists evoked a feeling or depicted a sentiment. But such technical details are only a part of the World of Emotions exhibit.

What is really occurring at the Onassis Center, I believe, is a psychic or spiritual "event."  The emotions sculpted in marble or painted on clay have passed beyond the sphere of art criticism and have attained a form of immortality. This is what is displayed on the walls of the Onassis Center, ingrained into something harder and more lasting than stone.

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Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved 

Introductory Image:   

Head of Penthesilea Marble, Roman copy of a Hellenistic original. Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig, inv. no. BS 214 © Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig. Courtesy of Onassis Cultural Center, New York.

Installation view of A World of Emotions: Ancient Greece, 700 BC – 200 AD. Photograph © Joseph Coscia, Jr., 2017 Courtesy of Onassis Cultural Center, New York.

Ed Voves, Photo (2017),  Roman-era Statues of Pothos and Eros, 2^nd century AD. Exhibit at the Onassis Cultural Center, New York City, March 9 to June 24, 2017.

Ed Voves, Photo (2017),  Gallery View of the A World of Emotions Exhibit at the Onassis Cultural Center, New York City, March 9 to June 24, 2017.

Statue of a Kouros, Marble, ca. 500 BC, from the Sanctuary of Apollo at Ptoos. National Archaeological Museum, Athens, inv. no. 20 © Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports–Archaeological Receipts Fund, Photography Kostas Xenikakis  Courtesy of Onassis Cultural Center, New York.

Painting with Scene from the Sacrifice of Iphigeneia Fresco on plaster, ca. 62 AD, from Pompeii. Casa del Poeta Tragico Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. no. 9112 © Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli / Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo Courtesy of Onassis Cultural Center, New York.

Amphora with Mourning Scene Terracotta, black-figure, ca. 530 BC, from Vulci. Musei Vaticani, inv. no. 16589, © Foto Musei Vaticani  Courtesy of Onassis Cultural Center, New York.

Ed Voves, Photo (2017), Statue of a Boy with a Goose, 3^rd Century BC (detail) from the collection of the National Archeological Museum, Athens. Exhibit at the Onassis Cultural Center, New York City, March 9 to June 24, 2017.

Ed Voves, Photo (2017), Gallery view of World of Emotion, showing steles of Kalliteles and Polyeuktos. Exhibit at the Onassis Cultural Center, New York City, March 9 to June 24, 2017.