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Sculpture and Movement |
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written
by ninamil7 / 10.24.2005 |
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| Sculpture and movement |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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How nice. Pluto and Persephone are playing a fun game of chase and capture in the park with their little puppy dog tagging along. What a sweet moment in time to be immortalized in this white marble. At least that’s what I thought. At the onset of Bernini’s sculpture, it’s difficult to determine the whole story behind the piece. From one angle it appears to be nothing more than a cheerful work of a man and a woman having a good time. As I stepped around the sculpture, however, things changed. A smug look of defeat consumed Pluto’s face as his hand clenched Persephone’s soft thigh. In another step I could see a tear running down Persephone’s cheek as her eyes screamed for help in terror and dismay. And remember the puppy dog that was tagging along? More like a three-headed beast ready to sink its teeth into Persephone’s ankle. Bernini’s sculpture never stops telling its story from one side all the way around to the other. As a viewer, I was consumed in every detail that each step unfolded. As I turned the corner to see Apollo’s haughty face and Persephone’s panic, I was suddenly filled with anger and sorrow. I was drawn into this moment as if it had just been frozen before my very own eyes. I wanted to help Persephone and vilify Pluto. At the end of my circumambulation, I tried to shake it off as I left the room. I walked out of the moment, unknowing that shortly thereafter I would be stepping into an entirely different story.
A couple rooms away from Bernini’s sculpture laid another piece of art-- literally, it was lying down. Who is this half-naked lady with an apple in her hand? Why it’s Pauline Bonaparte. Pauline clearly was not a modest person. She commissioned Canova to sculpt this revealing piece which was then displayed in the light of a single candle. Pauline essentially invited all the viewers of the statue to share an intimate moment with her. I can only imagine the reactions of contemporaneous visitors to Pauline’s statue. I don’t know what I would do if I walked into someone’s living room and saw a half-naked statue of the lady of the house lit by a single candle. The thought is both disturbing and perplexing at the same time. Who does that? And why? I mused myself with these kinds of questions as I made my way around Pauline’s sculpture. The story she was telling was not nearly as straightforward as Bernini’s Rape of Persephone. Pauline wasn’t acting out any sort of narrative; rather she was just lying there – perhaps inviting you to come join her. Of course, I had no desire to join this creepy lady and her apple. I left the room somewhat disturbed and slightly unimpressed with what I had just seen.
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