This time I want to turn to a lighter, more airy subject: bubbles! I have always been intrigued by the details that painters choose to include; why a flower, a skull, a candle, or something as fleeting as a bubble? In seventeenth-century Dutch painting, bubbles are surprisingly common: sometimes drifting alone, sometimes blown by a child at play. Much has been written about them, and in recent decades there has been a lively debate about the deeper meaning of a child blowing bubbles.
Let us look at this painting by Cornelis de Vos in Braunschweig. The scene is a room overflowing with treasures — gold, silver, coins, glittering jewels. We see a richly dressed lady in her prime, proudly displaying a string of pearls. Yet beside her, two children offer a silent commentary. They blow soap bubbles: fragile, transparent, gleaming for a moment before they vanish. Their message is unmistakable, all earthly riches and beauty are as fleeting as these bubbles. What dazzles us now will soon be gone. The painting leaves no doubt: it is a moral lesson. All is vanity. Life itself is a bubble.
But how did this fragile image of the bubble come to carry such weight? Here are the topics we’ll explore:
Where is this bubble symbol coming from? Fortunately, the inscriptions on certain prints from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries give us a clearer sense of the associations they carried in their own day. Yet at the same time, we should be cautious; not every bubble hides a heavy moral lesson. Sometimes, a bubble is just a bubble. Still, let us give it a try, and start at the very beginning.
If we want to trace the roots of the bubble as a symbol, we should begin with prints. The Dutch engraver Hendrick Goltzius gave us one of the earliest and most striking examples in 1594. His engraving Homo Bulla presents a small boy, his arm resting on a skull, as he blows soap bubbles into the air. At his feet grows a freshly opened lily, beautiful yet already marked for decay. To the side, a small pot smoulders, its smoke curling upward and vanishing into the sky. Beneath the image runs the chilling motto QVIS EVADET? — “Who can escape?” followed by a verse that speaks of flowers that fade, of beauty that perishes, of life that vanishes like a bubble or dissolves like smoke.
Flos novus, et verna fragrans argenteus aura, Marcescit subito, perit, heu perit illa venustas. Sic et vita hominum, iam nunc nascentibus, eheu, Instar abit bullae, vani et elapsa vaporis.
In smoother words:
A fresh flower, silver-bright in the spring breeze, suddenly withers — alas, that beauty perishes! So too with human life, even as it is born: it slips away like a bubble, like smoke dissolving into air.
The poem ties everything together: the lily at the boy’s feet, the shining bubbles that burst as soon as they appear, the smoke rising from the little pot. Text and image together form a powerful meditation, confronting the viewer with the inevitability of death and the transience of all earthly beauty.
This was not an invention of Goltzius alone. The phrase homo bulla est — “man is a bubble” — was already a proverb in antiquity, attributed to the Roman polymath Marcus Terentius Varro (116 – 27 BCE). In the early sixteenth century, Desiderius Erasmus (1466 – 1536) included homo bulla est in his Adagia, a collection of over 4000 Greek and Latin proverbs. Erasmus explained that human life is like a bubble under water: it rises, glistens for a moment, and disappears as soon as it reaches the surface. An underwater bubble, however, is not very easy to paint — which may explain why artists transformed the idea into a soap bubble, delicate, luminous, and instantly legible to the eye.
Half a century before Goltzius turned Varro’s proverb into a boy blowing bubbles, Joos van Cleve had used the phrase in a painting of Saint Jerome (Hieronymus), the Church Father who translated the Bible into Latin. In Van Cleve’s panel, the words homo bvlla are written on the wall behind the saint, linking it to imagery of a skull and a candle of which the flame just went out. Van Cleve is anchoring the concept of homo bulla in the language of vanitas, paintings with symbolic representations of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure and worldly possessions, and the inevitability of death.
Placed side by side, Joos van Cleve’s Jerome and Holbein’s Erasmus invite comparison. Both men are shown as scholars, immersed in books, surrounded by the signs of learning. Erasmus devoted his life to gathering and preserving the wisdom of antiquity, collecting and translating old proverbs and texts into a language his age could understand. Jerome, more than a thousand years earlier, had done the same with sacred scripture, rendering the Bible into the Latin of his day. Erasmus himself took part in the first major edition of Jerome’s collected works, published in 1516, just a decade before Van Cleve painted his Jerome. Each, in his own way, was a bridge between past and present, and both confronted the brevity of life and the vanity of earthly existence. Van Cleve makes the lesson explicit: Jerome points to a skull, a candle that went out, and HOMO BVLLA inscribed on the wall. The saint seems to confirm Erasmus’s proverb: human life is as fragile as a bubble.
Karel Dujardin’s large canvas gives us one of the most elaborate interpretations of the homo bulla theme. At first glance we see a boy in a blue tunic, just lowering his pipe and watching with satisfaction the bubbles he has set afloat. But the scene quickly shifts from everyday reality into allegory: the boy himself stands precariously on a giant bubble, balanced on a shell that rides the waves like a fragile vessel.
The image also borrows from an older motif: Fortuna, the goddess of fortune, was often shown standing on a ball or tossed upon the sea. The ball symbolized the instability of luck, always rolling, never fixed, on waves of unpredictable currents. By placing the bubble-blowing figure on a bubble adrift on the water, Dujardin fuses this classical image of Fortuna with the homo bulla theme, doubling the sense of fragility and uncertainty. In the background, the ruins of a once-proud city add a final touch of melancholy: not only bubbles and beauty vanish, but whole civilizations too.
The painting combines various classical traditions into one striking allegory. What began as the learned homo bulla of sixteenth-century prints — a child blowing bubbles as a reminder that man is but a bubble — has here been transformed into a monumental and almost theatrical scene. Dujardin makes the message clear: fortune, beauty, and cities themselves vanish as quickly as soap bubbles on the wind.
Jan Miense Molenaer here turns everyday domestic life into a grand allegory. At the center sits a young woman in a sumptuous gown of pink and gold, her blonde hair being combed by an older attendant. She gazes into a small hand mirror, which is just a reflection of her beauty. Yet around her the signs of vanity and mortality crowd in. Her slippered foot rests on a skull, a blunt reminder of where earthly beauty must end.
On the left, a small boy in bright blue and red quietly blows soap bubbles. The bubbles are a bit difficult to see, just to the left of the violins hanging on the wall. The homo bulla figure has been transformed into a playful child, but carrying the same heavy message. On the table nearby glitter jewels and trinkets; musical instruments hang on the wall, promising entertainment but also evoking the fleeting nature of sound. Each detail is drawn from the familiar vocabulary of Dutch interiors, but here they are gathered together into a tightly woven vanitas lesson.
Rembrandt gives the soap bubble a new twist by placing it in the hands of Cupid, the little god of love. With his bow resting at his side and his arrows slung across his back, the winged boy bends over his pipe, intent on blowing fragile bubbles into the air. It is an unusual, playful image for the young Rembrandt, who painted the scene in 1634. Today the work belongs to the Princely Collections of Liechtenstein.
Cupid’s arrows strike suddenly and make hearts fall and love appear without warning. But just as quickly it may vanish: bright and beautiful one moment, gone in a splash the next. The bubble becomes a metaphor for the brevity of passion, reminding the viewer that desire itself is as fragile as human life.
Not all bubble-blowing children carry a playful warning. Sometimes, as in this portrait of Mademoiselle de Tours from the Chateau de Versailles, the motif takes on heartbreaking intimacy. Louise-Marie-Anne de Bourbon, the daughter of Louis XIV and Madame de Montespan, died in 1681 at the age of just six. This portrait was painted in the wake of her death, transforming the familiar homo bulla allegory into a personal memorial.
At a table beside the child rests a watch, emblem of passing time. In her hand she holds a delicate bubble, shimmering yet about to vanish. Together these symbols speak to the fragility of life, especially that of a child taken too soon. Mignard’s painting is not only vanitas but also elegy, a royal family’s grief expressed through the language of art. Here the soap bubble is no longer a generalized symbol of human mortality but a direct reminder of one short life: bright and beautiful, like the bubble itself.
Chardin takes the well-worn vanitas motif of soap bubbles and turns it into something personal and moving. At first glance we see a boy, perhaps a student, carefully blowing a bubble while staring at it with concentration. Behind him, peeping out of the window, is his much younger brother, still in the carefree stage of childhood. The contrast between the two is striking: one on the cusp of adulthood, already contemplative and aware of the fragility of time; the other still playful and innocent.
What might otherwise be a simple memento mori becomes in Chardin’s hands an image of melancholy, a quiet farewell to youth, gone in a flash like the bubble itself.
On this small panel, scarcely larger than a sheet of paper, Frans van Mieris painted a boy absorbed in the simple game of blowing bubbles. From the shadows behind him, a smiling woman holding a small dog looks on and outside of the painting to us viewers, as if sharing both in his amusement and in ours. Each detail is rendered with the precision for which Van Mieris and his fellow “fine painters” (fijnschilders) from Leiden were celebrated. Although the motif of a child blowing bubbles carried a long tradition of reminding viewers of life’s brevity, here that moral message seems muted. Van Mieris may well have intended something more playful: a display piece of painterly refinement, a scene pleasant to look at and rich with surface effects. By the eighteenth century, when the allegorical resonance of homo bulla was already fading, such an image still charmed viewers, now for its sheer visual delight.
Conclusion
When I began writing about Homo Bulla, I imagined it would be a light and playful subject. But as I traced its history, I encountered the Roman author Marcus Terentius Varro, the humanist Desiderius Erasmus, and even Saint Jerome. Alongside Homo Bulla, Fortuna herself appeared. What began as a fragile bubble became surprisingly weighty, with roots in antiquity and a revival in the humanist sixteenth century. Bubbles and bubble-blowing children remind us that life is brief. That moral element, with its long pedigree, cannot be ignored. Yet at the same time, a bubble is simply a beautiful thing: round, transparent, glistening; a playful touch in a painting. Not every image should be forced into solemn allegory. Sometimes a bubble is just a bubble, and lovely in its own right.
To conclude and as a bonus, we return to that lighter note. In this watercolor from around 1880, Jacob Maris shows his two daughters in playful interaction, blowing soap bubbles and admiring their magic. From a painter’s perspective, the subdued greys of the watercolor are gently interrupted by the blue of the soap dish, its color elegantly echoed in the bubble itself. Here, at last, a bubble is nothing more — and nothing less — than a bubble, and a beauty for sure.
Meet Hercules! After writing about Perseus, I now turn to Hercules, another legendary son of Zeus, also born of a mortal mother. Like Perseus, Hercules belongs to the pantheon of Greek mythological heroes, but where Perseus is celebrated for his wit and cunning, Hercules is all about brute strength and unstoppable physical power. How can you recognise him in art? Look for bulging muscles, a hefty club, and the skin of the Nemean Lion; more on that last detail later.
Hercules is his Greek name; in Roman mythology, he’s known as Heracles. He’s most famous for the epic series of challenges known as the Twelve Labors, a set of nearly impossible tasks, each involving a monstrous creature or a supernatural trial. In this TAB: The Art Bard story, I’ll focus on three of his Labors: his battle with the Nemean Lion, his wrestling match with Antaeus, and his descent into the underworld to capture Cerberus, the terrifying three-headed hound of Hades.
But before we get to those heroic feats, let’s take a moment to look at Hercules’ extraordinary infancy, a childhood that already hinted at the hero he would become. It’s also the story behind nothing less than the creation of the Milky Way!
Consider this post both an introduction to Hercules and another crash course in Greek mythology. Let’s begin!
The Baby Who Bit a Goddess: Hercules and the Milky Way
According to Greek myth, Heracles was the illegitimate son of Zeus, king of the gods, and the mortal woman Alcmene. Zeus was married to Hera, queen of the gods, and his countless affairs with mortals enraged her. Heracles, born of one such affair, became a particular target of Hera’s wrath.
Yet Zeus had a bold plan to make his mortal son invincible: he secretly placed the baby at Hera’s breast while she slept, hoping the divine milk would grant him immortality.
But Hera awoke. The infant Heracles bit her nipple with such force that she screamed and pushed him away. As the baby tumbled back, her milk sprayed across the heavens, creating what we now see in the night sky as the Milky Way.
In Rubens’ painting, Zeus watches the scene unfold, his thunderbolts symbols resting at his feet.
The Baby Hercules vs. the Snakes
Another famous story tells of the night when two snakes slithered into Hercules’ cradle. They weren’t there by accident. They were sent by Hera, Zeus’s long-suffering wife, still furious about her husband’s affair with the mortal woman Alcmene, which had produced the illegitimate child Hercules.
Hera’s plan was simple: let the snakes do the dirty work and get rid of the child once and for all. But things didn’t go as she hoped. Hercules, still just a baby, grabbed the snakes with his bare hands and strangled them effortlessly, treating the deadly serpents like harmless toys.
According to Greek myth, Heracles was condemned to perform twelve nearly impossible tasks, known as the Twelve Labors, as a form of penance. Driven mad by Hera, he had killed his wife and children. Overcome with grief, he sought purification and consulted the Oracle of Delphi, who instructed him to serve King Eurystheus for twelve years. It was Eurystheus who assigned him the twelve labors, each one more dangerous and degrading than the last.
This punishment was part of Hera’s ongoing vendetta. Not only had she caused his madness, but the labors themselves were designed to humiliate and destroy him. Yet instead of breaking him, these trials became the very deeds that secured Hercules’ fame and turned him into a legend.
Hercules’ first task sent him to the hills of Nemea to slay a monstrous lion that had been terrorizing the region. But this was no ordinary beast. The Nemean Lion’s golden coat was invulnerable to weapons; neither sword nor arrow could pierce it. When Hercules discovered this, he did something only he could do. He trapped the lion inside its cave and wrestled it bare-handed. After a brutal struggle, he choked it to death with his immense strength. When the battle was over, he tried to skin the lion. But even in death, its pelt resisted every blade.
Unable to cut through the pelt with his knife, Hercules used the lion’s own claw to flay the beast. Razor sharp, the claw was said to pierce any soldier’s helm or shield. He then draped the invulnerable pelt over his shoulders, wearing the gaping lion’s head like a hood. From that moment on, the lion skin became part of his iconography and a lasting symbol of Hercules’ brute strength.
The Eleventh Labor: wrestling with Antaeus on the way to the Garden of the Hesperides
The wrestling match between Hercules and Antaeus became a legendary detour on his way to the Garden of the Hesperides, where he had to steal the golden apples.
Antaeus, a giant son of Gaia, the Earth goddess, had an unfortunate habit of challenging every traveler to a wrestling match. And winning! His secret was simple: as long as he remained in contact with the ground, and thus with Gaia his mother, the earth itself renewed his strength. Wrestling, after all, is about pinning your opponent down. But Hercules, no stranger to thinking as well as fighting, realized where Antaeus drew his power from. So he did the opposite. He lifted the giant high into the air, breaking his bond with the earth, and crushed him in a powerful embrace.
This scene became a favorite among artists in the Renaissance and Baroque periods. It gave them the perfect excuse to show off: two muscular bodies intertwined in violent motion. The struggle between Hercules and Antaeus offered not just a tale of brute strength, but also a clever mythological riddle and a glorious opportunity to turn male anatomy into art.
The Twelfth Labor was the most terrifying of all. Hercules had to descend into Hades, the Greek underworld, and bring back its guardian beast, the fearsome three-headed dog Cerberus.
Cerberus was the creature Hercules was sent to capture, not to kill, but simply to borrow and display. Like a mythical dog-walker, he descended into Hades, wrestled the beast into submission with his bare hands, and dragged it up into the land of the living. For a brief moment, Cerberus was paraded through the court of King Eurystheus as living proof of Hercules’ impossible strength, before being politely returned to his post in the land of the dead.
In the old Greek mythological days, one might have pictured Hercules standing at the brink of the underworld, just like the lone soul in the boat in Joachim Patinir’s haunting painting Charon Crossing the Styx (c. 1520, Prado, Madrid). Charon, the ferryman, guides his boat across the dark waters of the river Styx, the shadowy boundary between life and death. On one side of the river, a narrow, rocky side stream winds upward toward a glowing paradise, guarded by angels. On the other, a broad and inviting channel leads straight into what looks like a pleasant place but is, in fact, the gaping mouth of Hell, or Hades in the Greek tradition.
Charon, the grim ferryman of myth, rows his silent passenger toward a final judgment. But look closely at the right bank. Just before the gate of the underworld crouches a monstrous figure. This is Cerberus, part bulldog, part nightmare. The three-headed hound of Hades sits at the infernal threshold, ensuring that no soul may ever escape. In this Christianized vision of a Greek myth, Cerberus appears like a devil’s watch-dog, trapped in a kind of kennel at the entrance to eternal darkness.
The question of who pays the ferryman has echoed far beyond ancient myth. In Greek tradition, Charon demands a coin from each soul before granting passage across the river Styx. Without payment, there is no crossing, only a restless afterlife on the shadowy banks. The phrase found new life in the 1977 BBC series Who Pays the Ferryman?, set in Crete and centered on Alan Haldane, a British former soldier haunted by the moral debts of war and love. Just as Charon rows through the waters of Patinir’s painting, ferrying a soul toward judgment, the title reminds us that no crossing, whether into Hades or into memory, comes without its price.
Who Pays the Ferryman? BBC television series, 1977, theme composed by Yannis Markopoulos (Greek, 1939 – 2023).
The myth of Antaeus did not just inspire Renaissance painters and sculptors. It also found its way into the world of modern fragrance. In 1981, Chanel launched Antaeus, one of its first perfumes created specifically for men. In Chanel’s words: “Named after the mythological Greek giant who was invincible only as long as his feet remained on the ground, Antaeus is an intense yet subtle, smooth and rich fragrance that tells the story of a hero both virile and vulnerable.”
Antaeus, Pour Homme, Chanel, 1981.
A personal note. This was my very first perfume. I still remember the iconic 1980s advertisement: a sculpted male torso, arms raised in triumph, lifting the Antaeus bottle like a trophy or sacred object.
And it is only now, while writing this story about Hercules and Antaeus, that I realise the Chanel perfume was indeed named after the mythological giant, and that the visual imagery of the advertisement is a direct contemporary echo of the ancient tale. Learning by going.
After exploring prophets, sinners, and saints from the Biblical tradition, it’s time to turn back to the world of Greek mythology. Let’s start with two of its most iconic figures: Perseus and Medusa. Her story resonates today as a #MeToo narrative; his tale reads like the script of a modern superhero film. Greek myths may be older than the Bible, but the themes they carry, such as good versus evil, justice for the wronged, and the quest for hope, are timeless. So let’s dive in.
To give some context, I’ll introduce the two main characters, Perseus and Medusa, before following Perseus through his adventures, from his miraculous birth as the child of one of Zeus’ escapades to his dramatic wedding with Andromeda. The topics we’ll explore are:
The recurring theme: a busy life for our superhero and the eternal struggle between good and evil.
The Main Characters: Perseus and Medusa
Perseus is one of the prominent heroes in Greek mythology. Unlike some other Greek heroes, his strength did not rely solely on brute force but also on inner qualities like courage and determination. He was the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and Danaë, a mortal princess. Perseus is best remembered for slaying Medusa and for rescuing Andromeda from a sea monster.
Medusa, once a beautiful priestess in the temple of Athena, is one of the tragic figures in mythology. She was raped by Poseidon in Athena’s sacred temple. Because the act defiled a holy space, and possibly because Medusa had boasted of her beauty, Athena punished her by transforming her flowing hair into venomous snakes. And from that moment on, anyone who looked directly at Medusa would be turned to stone.
Poseidon, the rapist, went unpunished. It was the victim who bore the consequences. We do not know if Poseidon felt guilt or ever faced the weight of what he had done. What we do know is that Medusa became the embodiment of female suffering, even labeled a monster. Her transformation has come to symbolize the way women are punished or demonized. In today’s world, Medusa’s story is often reinterpreted through the lens of the #MeToo movement, challenging us to consider who the real monster truly was.
Perseus was born under remarkable and mysterious circumstances. His mother was Danaë, a mortal princess and daughter of Acrisius, the king of Argos. Acrisius, obsessed with control and fearful of fate, had received a chilling prophecy: one day, he would be killed by his own grandson. To stop this from happening, he locked Danaë in a bronze chamber, isolated high in a tower, where no man could reach her.
But the gods, as always in Greek myth, find a way. Zeus, king of the gods, saw Danaë and desired her. Taking the form of a shower of gold, he entered her prison and impregnated her. In time, Danaë gave birth to a son, whom she named Perseus.
When Acrisius discovered the child, he was furious and terrified. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own daughter and her infant directly. Instead, he sealed them in a wooden chest and cast them out to sea, leaving their survival to fate. But Zeus watched over them!
The sea carried Danaë and Perseus safely to the island of Seriphos, where a kind fisherman named Dictys took them in. Dictys raised Perseus as his own, and the boy grew into a brave and spirited young man.
(A note from the future: many years later, when Perseus had grown into a man, he took part in the Olympic Games. During a discus throw, his aim went astray and struck down a spectator. That man was none other than King Acrisius, his own grandfather. The prophecy Acrisius was so afraid of was fulfilled, by a tragic accident. But that lies far ahead in the story. For now, we return to the adventures of Perseus as a youth.)
As Perseus matured, he became fiercely protective of his mother. Her beauty had not faded, and it attracted the unwanted attention of many men, including the island’s ruler, King Polydectes. Polydectes was aggressive and arrogant, and he was determined to marry Danaë, whether she agreed or not. Perseus saw through him immediately and did everything he could to protect his mother.
Frustrated, Polydectes devised a plan to get Perseus out of the way. He announced he was marrying someone else and demanded that all his subjects bring him wedding gifts. Perseus, relieved that his mother wasn’t the bride, promised to give Polydectes whatever he wanted. The king seized the opportunity and asked for something outrageous: the head of Medusa, whose gaze could turn anyone to stone.
Perseus agreed, though he had no idea how he would complete such an impossible task.
Help from Athena and Hermes
To carry out the impossible task of killing Medusa, Perseus received crucial help from two gods: Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hermes, the swift messenger of the gods.
Athena gave Perseus a highly polished bronze shield. It would allow him to see Medusa’s reflection without looking directly at her. A pretty vital move, since anyone who met her gaze would instantly turn to stone. Hermes provided him with winged sandals, enabling him to fly, and a sharp curved sword.
With Athena’s guidance and Hermes’s gifts, Perseus was ready to face the deadly Medusa. He flew to her, used the mirror-like shield to watch her movements, and without ever meeting her eyes, struck with precision. In one swift motion, he cut off her head, snakes and all.
As Perseus struck off Medusa’s head, something extraordinary happened. From the blood that poured from her neck, a winged horse sprang forth. This was Pegasus, who became Perseus’s loyal companion.
Perseus now carried two powerful tools. One was the head of Medusa, which still had the power to turn anyone who looked at it into stone. The other was Pegasus, the magical horse who could fly. With these, Perseus began his journey home. He planned to return to Seriphos, confront King Polydectes, and reunite with his mother Danaë.
But the way back would not be simple. Like many heroes, Perseus would face new challenges on the road. Each test would reveal more of his courage, his cleverness, and his sense of justice.
Atlas becomes a mountain
On his journey home, Perseus grew tired and stopped to rest in a distant land. This place was ruled by Atlas, a mighty giant who stood guard over a sacred garden. Perseus asked for shelter, explaining that he was the son of Zeus. But Atlas remembered a prophecy that warned him a son of Zeus would one day steal the golden apples from his garden. Fearing the prophecy, Atlas refused to let Perseus stay.
Perseus did not argue. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the head of Medusa. When Atlas looked upon it, he was instantly turned to stone. His great body became part of the earth. His beard and hair turned into forests. His shoulders and arms became ridges and cliffs. His head rose into the sky as a high mountain. This, according to legend, is how the Atlas Mountains in Morocco originated and came to be named after the giant Atlas.
Perseus and Andromeda
As Perseus traveled home, riding the winged horse Pegasus, he flew over the coastline of ancient Ethiopia. There, he saw a young woman chained to the rocks at the edge of the sea. Her name was Andromeda. She had been left as a sacrifice to a sea monster, sent to punish the land for her mother’s pride. Her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, had once claimed that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea spirits. This angered Poseidon, god of the sea. In revenge, he sent a terrifying monster to attack the coast. The only way to stop the destruction, the people believed, was to offer Andromeda to the creature.
Perseus was struck by Andromeda’s beauty, and he made a promise to save her. As the sea monster rose from the waves, Perseus flew into action. Riding Pegasus, he waited for the perfect moment. Then, at just the right time, he pulled Medusa’s head from his bag. The monster looked…, and instantly turned to stone.
Andromeda’s parents, the king and queen, were filled with gratitude. Perseus asked for Andromeda’s hand in marriage, and she agreed. Together, they would set off for his homeland. But their story was not over yet.
Wedding of Perseus and Andromeda, and Phineas as unwanted guest
After rescuing Andromeda, Perseus was welcomed as a hero. The wedding was quickly arranged, and the royal palace filled with celebration. But not everyone was pleased. At the height of the feast, an angry voice echoed through the hall. It was Phineus, Andromeda’s former fiancé. He stormed in with a group of armed men, furious that the bride had been given to another. He shouted that Andromeda had been promised to him, and that Perseus had stolen her. Tension rose. The joyful feast turned into chaos. Phineus and his followers attacked. Perseus tried to fight them off, but he was badly outnumbered.
Then, as a last resort, Perseus reached for the most fearsome weapon he had: the severed head of Medusa. Holding it aloft, he turned his gaze away. The attackers, caught mid-charge, had no time to look away. One by one, their bodies froze in place. Faces twisted in rage, weapons raised, they turned to cold, silent stone. The room fell quiet. Phineus was no more. The threat was over. The marriage of Perseus and Andromeda could finally begin in peace.
Saving his mother Danaë, and confronting Polydectes
After his adventures abroad, Perseus returned home to the island where he had grown up. But all was not well there. His mother, Danaë, was still being harassed by King Polydectes, who had never given up his attempts to force her into marriage. She had taken refuge in the temple of Athena, hiding from the king’s relentless advances.
Perseus went straight to the palace and confronted Polydectes. Without a word, Perseus pulled the head of Medusa from his bag. Polydectes and his supporters, unprepared and arrogant, looked straight at it and turned to stone. With justice served and his mother finally safe, Perseus restored peace to the island.
Medusa’s head on Athena’s shield
After the sea monster was killed, Andromeda and his mother Danaë saved, and justice delivered, Perseus fulfilled one last promise. He returned the head of Medusa to Athena, the goddess who had guided him on his quest.
Athena took the powerful object and placed it at the center of her shield. From then on, Medusa’s stony gaze would serve to protect. It would turn away evil, and remind all who saw it of the strength found in wisdom and courage.
So what do we make of Perseus? Like Daniel from the biblical tradition, he is not a hero of brute force but of cleverness, courage, and integrity. Both are young men who rise to great challenges with the help of higher powers, whether divine faith or Olympian favor. They confront arrogant rulers, monsters in both human and mythic form, and they stand up for those who cannot protect themselves.
The stories of Perseus are older than the Bible, mythological in form, but in essence they tell the same tale: that justice can prevail, and that even in dark times, there is hope for the oppressed. Daniel’s story, though biblical in origin, mirrors these ancient myths in spirit. Both narratives teach us that the powerful who act with pride and hubris will be humbled. Both reveal a world where integrity matters more than might. And both reassure us that in the end, with the help of God or the gods, peace can be restored.
Bonus: Versace!
Now from myth to Milan! The famous fashion house Versace uses the head of Medusa as its logo, a direct nod to Greek mythology. The choice wasn’t random. As children, the Versace siblings played among ancient ruins near Reggio Calabria in southern Italy. There, on an old mosaic floor, they encountered the image of Medusa.
Gianni Versace chose Medusa as the brand’s emblem. In myth, those who looked at her were turned to stone. In fashion, he hoped those who looked at his designs would be equally spellbound and captivated. Unlike Perseus, who avoided her gaze, we are drawn to it willingly, mesmerized. Carefully of course, because style and beauty can petrify!
Wives of the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac and Jacob).
In the context of the Jewish and Christian Bible, the term “matriarchs” refers to a group of prominent women who are considered the female founders or ancestral mothers of the Israelite people.
Sarah: wife of Abraham and considered the first matriarch. She is known for her faith and trust in God, as well as her role in the birth of Isaac, her son with Abraham.
Rebecca: wife of Isaac and the mother of Jacob and Esau. She played a crucial role in facilitating Jacob’s reception of his father’s blessing. Rebecca is remembered for her beauty, kindness, and her participation in God’s plan for the chosen lineage.
Leah: the older daughter of Laban and the first wife of Jacob. Though initially unloved by Jacob, she bore him many children. Leah is recognised for her perseverance and her significant role in the establishment, through her sons, of the twelve tribes of Israel.
Rachel: the younger daughter of Laban and the beloved wife of Jacob. She is known for her beauty and her deep love for Jacob. Rachel gave birth to Joseph and Benjamin, two significant figures in the biblical narrative. Her tragic death during Benjamin’s childbirth is also a notable event.
Judaism, Christianity, and Islam hold that the patriarchs, along with their primary wives, the matriarchs Sarah, Rebekah and Leah, are entombed at the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron, a site held holy by the three religions. Rachel, Jacob’s other wife, is said to be buried separately at what is known as Rachel’s Tomb, near Bethlehem, at the site where she is believed to have died in childbirth.
Sarah (wife of Abraham)
Sarah, Abraham’s wife, cooking a meal for the three angel-guests and laughing about the conversation between her husband Abraham and the three angels outside in top right corner. The angels just told Abraham that Sarah (101 years old) will get a son next year. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611): “Effoeto sterilis quanvis sit corpore Sara, Concipit illa tamen divino numine natum.” (Although the barren Sarah is aged in body, by divine will she shall conceive a son).
Sarah is a biblical figure and the wife of Abraham. She is an important figure in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Sarah and Abraham faced challenges in conceiving a child, but according to the biblical account, God promised them a son. In their old age when Sarah was 101, she miraculously gave birth to Isaac, who became a significant figure in the religious traditions that followed. Sarah is celebrated for her faithfulness, loyalty, and resilience. Her story emphasizes the importance of trust in God’s promises and the strength of the family lineage that descended from her and Abraham. On the Goltzius engraving we see the very old Sarah laughing when she hears the angels on the background tell Abraham that they will get a son. Sarah cannot believe what she is hearing. It’s the background narrative on te print that depicts the encounter between Abraham and three angelic visitors who deliver this important message.
According to the story, Abraham saw three men standing near him. Recognising their divine nature, he hurriedly approached them and offered them hospitality, inviting them to rest and partake in a meal. Abraham and his wife Sarah quickly prepared a generous meal for their guests, consisting of freshly baked bread and cooked meat. As the guests enjoyed the meal, they engaged in conversation with Abraham. During the conversation, the visitors revealed that they were messengers from God and brought a message of great significance. They informed Abraham and Sarah that they would soon have a son, despite their old age and Sarah’s previous inability to conceive. Sarah overheard the conversation from inside the house and laughed incredulously, as she found it hard to believe such news. In response to Sarah’s laughter, one of the visitors questioned Abraham about her disbelief, asking, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” This emphasized the divine power and ability to fulfill their promise. It also served as a reminder that God’s plans can exceed human expectations and limitations.
The story of Abraham and the three angels highlights themes of hospitality, faith, and divine intervention. Abraham’s generous and welcoming nature, serves as an example of righteousness and compassion. The announcement of Sarah’s impending pregnancy, despite her age, showcases the fulfilment of God’s promises and the possibility of miracles. And indeed, Sarah gave birth to Isaac.
Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Abraham Entertaining the Angels (1646), 16x21cm, Private Collection, USA.
Rembrandt’s Abraham Entertaining the Angels of 1646 depicts the foretelling of the birth of Isaac to the elderly Abraham and his wife, Sarah. This episode, from chapter 18 of Genesis, begins with the visit of three travelers, to whom Abraham offers a meal and water with which to wash their tired feet. While eating, the guests ask about Sarah, and one of them announces that she will give birth to a son in a year’s time. Hearing this, the old Sarah, on the painting standing in the doorway on the right, laughs in disbelief, prompting the speaker – now identified in the text as God – to chastise her, asking, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” He thus reveals to the couple the divine and providential nature of his announcement.
Abraham (as Ibrahim) is also one of the most important prophets in Islam and is seen as a father of the Muslim people through his first child, Ishmael.
Here the angel tells Abraham and Sarah (101 years old!) that they will get a son next year. Abraham points at the super old Sarah as if he says: “She?” Sarah’s reaction: “LOL”. And that son will be Isaac. A sort of annunciation from the Old Testament. Jan Provost (Flemish, c.1464 – 1529), Abraham, Sarah and the Angel (c.1500), 71x58cm, Louvre, Paris.
A Son Is Promised to Sarah, Genesis 18: 1-151One day Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent during the hottest part of the day. 2He looked up and noticed three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he ran to meet them and welcomed them, bowing low to the ground. 3Abraham said, “if it pleases you, stop here for a while. 4Rest in the shade of this tree while water is brought to wash your feet. 5And since you’ve honored your servant with this visit, let me prepare some food to refresh you before you continue on your journey.”
“All right,” they said. “Do as you have said.” 6So Abraham ran back to the tent and said to Sarah, “Hurry! Get three large measures of your best flour, knead it into dough, and bake some bread.” 7Then Abraham ran out to the herd and chose a tender calf and gave it to his servant, who quickly prepared it. 8When the food was ready, Abraham took some yogurt and milk and the roasted meat, and he served it to the men. As they ate, Abraham waited on them in the shade of the trees.
9“Where is Sarah, your wife?” the visitors asked. “She’s inside the tent,” Abraham replied. 10Then one of them said, “I will return to you about this time next year, and your wife, Sarah, will have a son!”
Sarah was listening to this conversation from the tent. 11Abraham and Sarah were both very old by this time, and Sarah was long past the age of having children. 12So she laughed silently to herself and said, “How could a worn-out woman like me enjoy such pleasure, especially when my my husband is also so old?”
13Then the visitor (who in meantime revealed himself as God) said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh? Why did she say, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’ 14Is anything too hard for the Lord? I will return about this time next year, and Sarah will have a son.” 15Sarah was afraid, so she denied it, saying, “I didn’t laugh.” But the Lord said, “No, you did laugh.”
Rebecca (wife of Isaac)
Rebecca, Isaac’s wife to be, at the well; beyond is a landscape with camels and travellers taking refreshment, the convoy sent by Abraham to find a wife for Isaac. As these are camels, this is Rebecca at the well, and not Rachel, as that would be a well with a flock of sheep. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611): “Morigeram dum se praebet Rebecca Tonanti, Accipit obsequio praemiae digna sculptor.” (As long as Rebecca is obedient to God’s will, she will receive blessings worthy of her obedience).
Rebecca is a biblical figure, also mentioned in the Book of Genesis. She is one of the matriarchs and the wife of Isaac and the mother of Jacob and Esau. According to the biblical narrative, the patriarch Abraham wanted to find a suitable wife for his son Isaac. He sent his servant with a convoy of camels to his homeland to find a wife and there the servant encountered Rebecca near a well. He approached Rebecca and asked for a drink of water. In a remarkable display of hospitality, Rebecca not only gave him water but also volunteered to draw water for his camels until they were satisfied. He was impressed by her kindness and hospitality and believed she was the chosen woman. The servant gave her gifts of jewellery and asked for her hand in marriage on behalf of Isaac, and Rebecca agreed to go with him.
Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini (Venetian, 1675 – 1741), Rebecca at the Well (c.1710), 127×105, National Gallery, London.
Rebecca married Isaac and became the mother of their two sons, Jacob and Esau. She played a significant role in the story of the deception that led to Jacob receiving Isaac’s blessing instead of Esau. The story of Rebecca at the well highlights themes of divine guidance, hospitality, and faith. It is regarded as a pivotal event in the biblical narrative, shaping through Jacob the future of the Israelite people.
Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Isaac and Rebecca, also known as The Jewish Bride (c.1667), 122×167cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Nowadays the subject of this painting is considered to be Isaac and Rebecca; for centuries it was simply known as “The Jewish Bride”.
A Wife For Isaac, Genesis 24: 1-67
1Abraham was now a very old man, and the Lord had blessed him in every way. 2One day Abraham said to his oldest servant, the man in charge of his household, 4"Go to my homeland, to my relatives, and find a wife there for my son Isaac. 9So the servant took swore to follow Abraham’s instructions. 10Then he loaded ten of Abraham’s camels with all kinds of expensive gifts from his master, and he traveled to the distant land. 11He made the camels kneel beside a well just outside the town. It was evening, and the women were coming out to draw water.
12“O Lord, God of my master, Abraham,” he prayed. “Please give me success today, and show unfailing love to my master, Abraham. 13See, I am standing here beside this spring, and the young women of the town are coming out to draw water. 14This is my request. I will ask one of them, ‘Please give me a drink from your jug.’ If she says, ‘Yes, have a drink, and I will water your camels, too!’—let her be the one you have selected as Isaac’s wife.” 15Before he had finished praying, he saw a young woman named Rebecca coming out with her water jug on her shoulder. 16Rebecca was very beautiful and old enough to be married, but she was still a virgin. She went down to the spring, filled her jug, and came up again.17Running over to her, the servant said, “Please give me a little drink of water from your jug.”
18“Yes,” she answered, “have a drink.” And she quickly lowered her jug from her shoulder and gave him a drink. 19When she had given him a drink, she said, “I’ll draw water for your camels, too, until they have had enough to drink.” 20So she quickly emptied her jug into the watering trough and ran back to the well to draw water for all his camels. 21The servant watched her in silence, wondering whether or not the Lord had given him success in his mission. 22Then at last, when the camels had finished drinking, he took out a gold ring for her nose and two large gold bracelets for her wrists.
50Then later Rebecca's brother said 51"Here is Rebecca; take her and go. Yes, let her be the wife of your master’s son, as the Lord has directed.” 52When Abraham’s servant heard their answer, he bowed down to the ground and 53then he brought out silver and gold jewellery and clothing and presented them to Rebecca. He also gave expensive presents to her brother and mother. 54Then they ate their meal, and the servant and the men with him stayed there overnight.But early the next morning, Abraham’s servant said, “Send me back to my master.” 55“But we want Rebecca to stay with us at least ten days,” her brother and mother said. “Then she can go.” 56But he said, “Don’t delay me. The Lord has made my mission successful; now send me back so I can return to my master.”
“Well,” they said, “we’ll call Rebecca and ask her what she thinks.” So they called Rebecca. “Are you willing to go with this man?” they asked her. And she replied, “Yes, I will go.” 59So they said good-bye to Rebecca and sent her away with Abraham’s servant and his men. The woman who had been Rebcca’s childhood nurse went along with her. 61Then Rebecca and her servant girls mounted the camels and followed the man. So Abraham’s servant took Rebcca and went on his way.
62Meanwhile, Isaac, when one evening as he was walking and meditating in the fields, he looked up and saw the camels coming. 64When Rebecca looked up and saw Isaac, she quickly dismounted from her camel. 65“Who is that man walking through the fields to meet us?” she asked the servant. And he replied, “It is my master.” So Rebecca covered her face with her veil. 66Then the servant told Isaac everything he had done.
67And Isaac brought Rebecca into his mother Sarah’s tent, and she became his wife. He loved her deeply, and she was a special comfort to him after the death of his mother.
Leah and Rachel (wives of Jacob)
Rachel and Leah, wives of Jacob, at the well with in the distance at left a shepherd and his flock of sheep, most likely Jacob who put the peeled rods in front of the sheep to produce speckled and striped sheep, which he may keep as his own. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611):) “Prodijt ex nobis sacra, et divina propago, Quae totam largo complevit semine terram.” (From us has sprung a sacred and chosen line, that has filled the whole earth with abundant seed).
Leah and Rachel are prominent figures in the biblical narrative, specifically in the Book of Genesis. They are sisters and the daughters of Laban, who is Rebecca’s brother. They become the wives of Jacoband play significant roles in the story of the patriarchs.
Jacob, the son of Isaac and grandson of Abraham, traveled to the land of his uncle Laban in search of a wife. Jacob encountered the beautiful Rachel at a well, where she was going to water her sheep. Jacob fell in love with Rachel at first sight and desired to marry her. In exchange for marrying Rachel, Laban asked Jacob to work for him for seven years. However, on the wedding night, Laban deceived Jacob by giving him Leah instead of Rachel. Upon discovering the deception, Jacob confronted Laban, who explained that it was not their custom to give the younger daughter in marriage before the elder daughter. Laban offered Rachel to Jacob as well but required him to work for an additional seven years. As a result, Jacob married both Leah and Rachel, becoming polygamous according to the customs of that time. Leah, who was described as having “weak eyes,” became Jacob’s first wife, while Rachel, whom Jacob loved more, became his second wife.
The story of Leah and Rachel portrays a complex and often troubled relationship between the two sisters. Leah, feeling unloved by Jacob, yearned for his affection. She gave birth to several sons, including Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah. Rachel, on the other hand, initially faced infertility and struggled with jealousy over Leah’s ability to bear children. Eventually, Rachel conceived and gave birth to two sons, Joseph and Benjamin. Tragically, Rachel died while giving birth to Benjamin.
The story of Leah and Rachel encompasses themes of love, rivalry, fertility, and the complexities of family relationships. Their roles as the wives of Jacob and the mothers of the twelve tribes of Israel make them significant figures in the biblical narrative.
Jacob meets the two sisters Leah and Rachel at the well; in the story it’s more Rachel he meets, but Raffaello includes Leah. On the left the heavy piece of stone that covers the well and that Jacob removed singlehandedly. Raffaello Sanzio (Italian, 1483 – 1520), Jacob’s Encounter with Rachel and Leah (c.1519) Fresco, Loggia di Raffaello, Vatican.
At the well, Jacob noticed a large stone covering its mouth. He asked the shepherds about the well and the people of the area. They informed him that they were waiting for all the shepherds to gather before they could remove the stone and water their flocks. While they were conversing, Jacob saw Rachel, Laban’s daughter, approaching the well with her father’s sheep. Overwhelmed by Rachel’s beauty, Jacob was immediately drawn to her. Filled with excitement, he approached the shepherds and asked them to remove the stone so that Rachel’s sheep could drink.
As Jacob helped Rachel water her flock, he was overcome with emotion. Without hesitation, he kissed Rachel and wept aloud. Jacob’s meeting with Rachel at the well is often romanticized as a moment of love at first sight. The story serves as a turning point in Jacob’s life, as it leads to his eventual marriage to Rachel and marks the beginning of his years of service to Laban in order to earn Rachel’s hand in marriage.
Jacob jumps up when he discovers that it’s Leah in the marriage bed and not Rachel; he confronts their father Laban and says: “you cheated me by putting the wrong daughter in the bed; it’s Leah and you promised me Rachel” and Laban answers: “well, what can I do, first the eldest sister needs to marry”. Leah in the bed on the right, the half-dresses Jacob reproaches their father in the center and the beautiful Rachel on the left. Jan Steen (Dutch, c.1626 – 1679), Jacob Confronting Laban; with Leah and Rachel (c.1667), 48x59cm, The Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, CA.
Jacob fell in love with Rachel and to earn her hand in marriage agreed to work as a shepherd for her father, Laban, for seven years. But, presumably under cover of the marriage veil, Laban substituted his elder daughter Leah for Rachel. When Jacob discovered the deceit the morning after the marriage, he was bitterly disappointed. He reproached his new father-in-law, but Laban argued that the elder daughter must be married first. He compromised by offering to allow him to marry Rachel as well – in return for another seven years work. The determined Jacob agreed, and was eventually simultaneously married to both sisters, and had 12 children.
Jan Steen in the painting above, portrays the dramatic moment of surprise when Jacob discovers the Laban has deceived him. The younger woman in the bed is Leah whom Jacob married the night before. Her handmaid kneels before her offering a bowl of water. To the left stands Rachel, while Laban is obliged to explain the deceit to a beseeching and agitated Jacob. Celebrants from the wedding night’s festivities give context and a bit of levity to the scene. The rich, theatrical setting and lush appointments of the bedroom set the scene in the historical past, a device that Steen may have adopted from contemporary Dutch theatre.
Jacob putting the peeled rods in front of the sheep, creating speckled and striped offspring; and those lambs he could keep as his own; as such enhancing his flock. Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (Spanish, 1617 – 1682), Jacob Laying Peeled Rods before the Flock of Laban (c.1665), 223x361cm, Meadows Museum, Dallas, TX.
The story of Jacob and the speckled lambs depicts a scheme devised by Jacob to increase his own wealth while working for his father-in-law, Laban. After Jacob’s marriage to Laban’s daughters, Leah and Rachel, he agreed to work for Laban for a total of 14 years in exchange for marrying Rachel. During his service, Jacob became a skilled shepherd and developed a keen understanding of animal husbandry, although more relying on the hand of God than on Mendel’s Laws of Genetics.
Jacob noticed that Laban’s flock consisted mainly of solid-colored sheep and goats. He proposed a deal to Laban, suggesting that he would continue to work for him but requested a specific arrangement regarding the offspring of the flock. Jacob proposed that he would keep any lambs that were speckled, spotted, or otherwise marked differently from the rest of the flock as his own.
Laban agreed to this arrangement, likely thinking that the chances of such offspring were slim. However, Jacob had a plan. He took rods of poplar, almond, and plane trees and peeled off strips of bark to create striped patterns on them. He placed these rods in the watering troughs where the flock would come to drink. When the flock mated, Jacob strategically positioned the rods in the watering troughs so that the sight of the striped patterns would be imprinted in the minds of the animals during conception. As a result, many of the offspring were born with speckled, spotted, or striped markings.
Over time, Jacob’s flock began to grow, and Laban’s flock dwindled in comparison. Jacob’s understanding of animal breeding and the use of selective breeding techniques allowed him to increase his own wealth while Laban’s flock decreased. The story of Jacob and the speckled lambs demonstrates Jacob’s resourcefulness and cunning in outwitting Laban and increasing his own wealth. It also highlights the theme of divine intervention, as Jacob attributes his success to God’s guidance and favor.
Jacob arrives at the well, Genesis 29: 1-141Then Jacob hurried on, finally arriving in the land of the east. 2He saw a well in the distance. Three flocks of sheep and goats lay in an open field beside it, waiting to be watered. But a heavy stone covered the mouth of the well. 3It was the custom there to wait for all the flocks to arrive before removing the stone and watering the animals. Afterward the stone would be placed back over the mouth of the well.
7Jacob said, “Look, it’s still broad daylight, too early to round up the animals. Why don’t you water the sheep and goats so they can get back out to pasture?” 8“We can’t water the animals until all the flocks have arrived,” they replied. “Then the shepherds move the stone from the mouth of the well, and we water all the sheep and goats.”
9Jacob was still talking with them when Rachel arrived with her father’s flock, for she was a shepherd. 10And because Rachel was his cousin, the daughter of Laban, his mother’s brother, and because the sheep and goats belonged to his uncle Laban, Jacob went over to the well and moved the stone from its mouth and watered his uncle’s flock. 11Then Jacob kissed Rachel, and he wept aloud. 12He explained to Rachel that he was her cousin on her father’s side, the son of her aunt Rebecca. So Rachel quickly ran and told her father, Laban.
13As soon as Laban heard that his nephew Jacob had arrived, he ran out to meet him. He embraced and kissed him and brought him home. When Jacob had told him his story, 14Laban exclaimed, “You really are my own flesh and blood!”
Jacob Marries Leah and Rachel, Genesis 29: 14-30
14After Jacob had stayed with Laban for about a month, 15Laban said to him, “You shouldn’t work for me without pay just because we are relatives. Tell me how much your wages should be.”
16Now Laban had two daughters. The older daughter was named Leah, and the younger one was Rachel. 17There was no sparkle in Leah’s eyes, but Rachel had a beautiful figure and a lovely face. 18Since Jacob was in love with Rachel, he told her father, “I’ll work for you for seven years if you’ll give me Rachel, your younger daughter, as my wife.”
19“Agreed!” Laban replied. “I’d rather give her to you than to anyone else. Stay and work with me.” 20So Jacob worked seven years to pay for Rachel. But his love for her was so strong that it seemed to him but a few days.
21Finally, the time came for him to marry her. “I have fulfilled my agreement,” Jacob said to Laban. “Now give me my wife so I can sleep with her.” 22So Laban invited everyone in the neighborhood and prepared a wedding feast.
23But that night, when it was dark, Laban took Leah to Jacob, and he slept with her. 25But when Jacob woke up in the morning—it was Leah! “What have you done to me?” Jacob raged at Laban. “I worked seven years for Rachel! Why have you tricked me?” 26“It’s not our custom here to marry off a younger daughter ahead of the firstborn,” Laban replied. 27“But wait until the bridal week is over; then we’ll give you Rachel, too—provided you promise to work another seven years for me.”
28So Jacob agreed to work seven more years. A week after Jacob had married Leah, Laban gave him Rachel, too. 30So Jacob slept with Rachel, too, and he loved her much more than Leah. He then stayed and worked for Laban the additional seven years.
Jacob’s Wealth Increases, Genesis 30:25-4325Soon after Rachel had given birth to Joseph, Jacob said to Laban, “Please release me so I can go home to my own country. 26Let me take my wives and children, for I have earned them by serving you, and let me be on my way. You certainly know how hard I have worked for you.”
27“Please listen to me,” Laban replied. “I have become wealthy, for the Lord has blessed me because of you. 28Tell me how much I owe you. Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.” 29Jacob replied, “You know how hard I’ve worked for you, and how your flocks and herds have grown under my care. 30You had little indeed before I came, but your wealth has increased enormously. The Lord has blessed you through everything I’ve done. But now, what about me? When can I start providing for my own family?” 31“What wages do you want?” Laban asked again.
Jacob replied, “Don’t give me anything. Just do this one thing, and I’ll continue to tend and watch over your flocks. 32Let me inspect your flocks today and remove all the sheep and goats that are speckled or spotted, along with all the black sheep. Give these to me as my wages. 33In the future, when you check on the animals you have given me as my wages, you’ll see that I have been honest. If you find in my flock any goats without speckles or spots, or any sheep that are not black, you will know that I have stolen them from you.” 34“All right,” Laban replied. “It will be as you say.” 35But that very day Laban went out and removed the male goats that were streaked and spotted, all the female goats that were speckled and spotted or had white patches, and all the black sheep. He placed them in the care of his own sons, 36who took them a three-days’ journey from where Jacob was. Meanwhile, Jacob stayed and cared for the rest of Laban’s flock.
37Then Jacob took some fresh branches from poplar, almond, and plane trees and peeled off strips of bark, making white streaks on them. 38Then he placed these peeled branches in the watering troughs where the flocks came to drink, for that was where they mated. 39And when they mated in front of the white-streaked branches, they gave birth to young that were streaked, speckled, and spotted. 40Jacob separated those lambs from Laban’s flock. And at mating time he turned the flock to face Laban’s animals that were streaked or black. This is how he built his own flock instead of increasing Laban’s.
41Whenever the stronger females were ready to mate, Jacob would place the peeled branches in the watering troughs in front of them. Then they would mate in front of the branches. 42But he didn’t do this with the weaker ones, so the weaker lambs belonged to Laban, and the stronger ones were Jacob’s. 43As a result, Jacob became very wealthy, with large flocks of sheep and goats, female and male servants, and many camels and donkeys.
Abraham & Sarah
Two sons: Isaac (with Sarah) and Ismael (with Hagar).
Isaac & Rebecca
Two sons: Jacob and Esau
Jacob & Leah
Six sons and one daughter: Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulun and Dinah
Jael, Samson, Judith and David are heroes from the Hebrew Bible and the Old Testament who risked their own lives to save their people from the enemy. They are unlikely but true heroes, charming, clever and cunning, and in the case of Samson fighting with physical strength. Paintings with these true heroes had often a political or moralising message. Their stories were associated with the underdog defeating an oppressor; a small country fighting victoriously against the big enemy. The four are commonly depicted as follows: Jael holds the hammer and peg with which she killed Sisera (Judges 4:17-23), Judith displays the head of Holofernes and holds the sword with which she decapitated him (Judith 13:6-10), David leans on the gigantic sword with which he cut off the head of Goliath (I Sam.17: 51), and finally Samson who holds the jawbone with which he slew a thousand Philistines (Judges 15:15-20).
Artemisia Gentileschi (Italian, 1593 – 1654), Jael and Sisera (1620), 93×128cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest.
The topic of the canvas is the moment in which Jael is about to kill Sisera, a general of the enemy. Jael welcomed Sisera into her tent and covered him with a blanket. Sisera asked Jael for a drink of water; she gave him milk instead and comforted him so that he fell asleep in her lap. Quietly, Jael took a hammer and drove a tent peg through Sisera’s skull while he was sleeping, killing him instantly. Jael was the woman with the honour of defeating the enemy and their army.
Andrea Mantegna (Italian, c.1431 – 1506), Judith with the Head of Holofernes (c.1497), Tempera on Panel, 30x18cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Besieged by the Assyrians, the beautiful Israelite widow Judith went into the enemy camp of Holofernes to win his confidence. During a great banquet Holofernes became drunk, and later in his tent Judith seized his sword and cut off his head. Often an elderly female servant is depicted taking away the head in a bag or basket. Look at the Mantegna painting, you can see Holofernes on the bed, just by way of one of his feet! Their leader gone; the enemy was soon defeated by the Israelites. This ancient heroine was understood in the Renaissance as a symbol of civic virtue, of intolerance of tyranny, and of a just cause triumphing over evil. The story of Judith and Holofernes comes from the “Book of Judith”, a text that’s part of the Old Testament of the Catholic Bible. The Book of Judith is excluded from the Hebrew and Protestant Bible, but still considered an important additional historical text.
Donatello or Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi (Italian, c.1386 – 1466), David (c.1440), bronze, 158cm, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, Italy.
This is the story of the Israelite boy David and the Philistine giant Goliath. The Israelites are fighting the Philistines, whose champion – Goliath – repeatedly offers to meet the Israelites’ best warrior in single combat to decide the whole battle. None of the trained Israelite soldiers is brave enough to fight Goliath, until David – a shepherd boy who is too young to be a soldier – accepts the challenge. The Israelite leader offers David armor and weapons, but the boy is untrained and refuses them. Instead, he goes out with his sling, and confronts the enemy. He hits Goliath in the head with a stone from his sling, knocking the giant down, and then grabs Goliath’s sword and cuts off his head. The Philistines withdraw and the Israelites are saved. David’s courage and faith illustrates the triumph of good over evil. Donatello’s bronze statue is famous as the first unsupported standing work of bronze cast during the Renaissance, and the first freestanding nude male sculpture made since antiquity. It depicts David with an enigmatic smile, posed with his foot on Goliath’s severed head just after defeating the giant. The youth is completely naked, apart from a laurel-topped hat and boots, and bears the sword of Goliath. The phrase “David and Goliath” has taken on a more popular meaning denoting an underdog situation, a contest wherein a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger, stronger adversary.
Salomon de Bray (Dutch, 1597 – 1664), Samson with the Jawbone (1636), 64x52cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
The biblical account states that Samson was a Nazirite, and that he was given immense strength to aid him against his enemies and allow him to perform superhuman feats, including slaying a lion with his bare hands and massacring an entire enemy army of Philistines using only the jawbone of a donkey. Holding the jawbone as his attribute, Samson looks upward, perhaps to God. The great strongman just slew a thousand Philistines with that jawbone. Overcome by thirst, he then drank from the rock at Lechi, a name that also means “jawbone” in Hebrew. Due to a mistaken translation in the Dutch Bible, some artists, like Salomon de Bray on the paining above, depicted Samson with a jawbone and water dripping out of the bone, rather than the rock issuing water.
Jael, Judith, David and Samson are just a few of the many heroes depicted in art. These four are exceptionally brave. Through their courage their people found victory and freedom. The message these four send, is to be brave in difficult times. Keep hope, keep faith, and set a step when there is the opportunity. It can change history, for oneself, and maybe for the world!
Jael, Judith, David and Samson; a print series.
In 1588 Hendrick Goltzius designed a series of four Heroes and Heroines from the Old Testament, after which Jacob Matham made the engravings. The print series could refer to events during the Dutch Revolt or The Eighty Years’ War (1568 – 1648), an armed conflict between The Netherlands under the leadership of William of Orange (“The Silent”) and Spain under King Philips II, the sovereign of The Netherlands. An end was reached in 1648 with the Peace of Münster when Spain recognised the Dutch Republic as an independent country. It’s the unlikely hero and heroine fighting and defeating the enemy; a print series with stories from the old bible books, translated into a contemporary political message.
On the drawings and the corresponding prints Jael, Judit, David and Samson are all portrayed full-length, in the foreground, with their characteristic attributes, while in the background their heroic deed is depicted. Jael holds the hammer and peg with which she killed Sisera, Judith displays the head of Holofernes and holds the sword with which she decapitated him, David leans on the gigantic sword with which he cut off the head of Goliath, that he carries in his left hand, finally Samson who holds the jawbone with which he slew a thoudanss Philistines. The preparatory drawings all still exist and are in the collection of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Hereunder on the left the drawings by Goltzius and on the right the prints as engraved by Matham. Once engraved into a copper plate and after printing, the print becomes a “negative” of the original drawing.
Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Jael (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Jael with hammer and tent peg (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Judith (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Judith with Holofernes’ head and the sword (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), David (c.1588), drawing, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), David with Goliath’s head (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Samson (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Samson with the jawbone (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Spring is in the air! I wrote about Winter in Art not so long ago. The pictures in that story were all about keeping ourselves warm in the cold season. It made me so much longing for Spring and Summer, even Autumn would be fine. Can the dark winter days be gone please, and will we soon see some spring flowers and sunshine! To get in the mood for the warmer weather, here are two series of the Four Seasons, both starting with Spring: a cute series of paintings by David Teniers (made around 1644) with seasonal activities, and four prints by Hendrick Goltzius (from 1601) with the seasons represented by children growing up and falling in love. These pictures are all to get you in the mood for the warmer seasons. Stay warm for now and enjoy!
Four Seasons by David Teniers (1610 – 1690)
The series of four small paintings by David Teniers is an allegory of the seasons where Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter have been given human forms that embody the essence of each. Teniers placed his characters, of an appropriate age and dressed accordingly, in the foreground with a symbolic seasonal object. In the background figures doing work associated with each season. The paintings are from c.1644 and pretty small, about 22x16cm.
Spring is personified as a gardener heaving a large pot containing a young tree, kept during winter in the orangery and now back outside as weather is getting milder. There is still a chilly background; it seems as if April showers are approaching. Other gardeners dig the soil, making a formal garden in the fashionable style set by French designers and followed with keen interest in Flanders.
David Teniers the Younger (Antwerp 1610 – Brussels 1690) is one of the most famous 17th-century Flemish painters and particularly known for developing the peasant genre and tavern scenes. He was working for the King of Spain, as well as for Prince William of Orange and the Governor of the Netherlands, the Archduke Leopold. Teniers moved to Brussels where Archduke Leopold became his main employer. One of Teniers’ key tasks was to look after and enlarge the Archducal collection, which grew to incorporate about 1300 works. The archduke’s collection became the nucleus of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.
Summer is a young peasant with a sheaf of wheat he has just finished binding together with straw. The peasants behind him are working hard. The man wields a scythe to cut the wheat, while the woman bends to heap it into sheaves, ready to be tied. Behind them the trees are in full leaf and the distance is hazy with the summer heat.Autumn is a jolly wine drinker – a stout fellow with a handsome moustach and a comfortable belly. In the background, a man raises a hammer to fasten down the lid of a barrel of wine. Another guy attends to a barrel that has spilled grapes onto the ground. It’s the grape harvesting season. Autumn holds a flagon in one hand and raises a glass with a fancy stem in the other, like tasting Beaujolais Primeur, and seemingly happily ignorant of the grey autumn clouds piling up behind him.Winter brings the cycle of the seasons (and life!) full circle with an old man representation the coldest of the four seasons. Wrapped in velvet and fur, he hunches over to warm his hands at a brazier. In the background a skating scene with some misty figures.
Fours Seasons by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617)
The Four Seasons (1601), designed and drawn by Hendrick Goltzius and engraved by his pupil Jan Saenredam, offer lush depictions of flora and fauna through changing times of the year. The prints simultaneously follow a young girl and boy’s journey into adulthood. The discovery of the bird’s nest of Spring passes seamlessly into the harvesting of Summer’s ripe crops. Autumn’s root vegetables and fruits attract the interest of a full-grown goat and a pig, while the adults and their loyal hound skate the Winter away on a frozen river. On Spring and Summer an Amor figure is shooting his arrows of love towards the boy and girl, and in all four prints the warm or cold wind is blowing from the mouth of a child’s head high in the sky. This is a series about the four seasons, about falling in love, and about growing up.
Two young children, a boy and a girl, study a bird’s nest containing chicks. A kid goat and a young deer are in foreground. And Amor, God of Passion and Desire, flies around; ready to shoot his arrow. Love is in the air. “Humanas recreo mentes, volucresque ferasque: Omnia floriferi laetantur tempore veris.” or “I am enlightening every man’s heart, and the birds and the wild animals; everything is happy and in full flower in the season of Spring.”
Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558–1617), draftsman, engraver, print publisher, and painter, was one of the most important engravers and print publishers of his time. He lived and worked in Haarlem, close to Amsterdam, and established his own print publishing business. He trained a number of engravers to work in his distinctive style. Goltzius and his workshop were internationally acclaimed; his patrons included sovereigns from all parts of Europe, most notably the art-loving Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II who also granted Goltzius copyright protection, which can be seen on the Spring engraving. It mentions “Cum Privil Sa Cae M” which means Cum Privilegio Sacrae Caesarea Majestatis or With Privilege of his Holy Imperial Majesty, and with the date Anno – in the year – 1601. This should prevent other engravers from copying Goltzius’ design and prints. Once such privilege was granted, artists indeed went to court and took action against illegal copying of their works of art.
An encounter between a boy and a girl: the boy at left holding a sheaf of wheat and a rake over his shoulder while she has a yoke and two water buckets. A cock and hen are in the foreground. And Amor still flying around! In the background farmers are harvesting wheat, a typical summer activity. “Per me larga Ceres densis canescit aristis, Agricolasque beo foecundi frugibus anni.” or “Through me, the wheat fields are full and golden shiny; I make the farmers happy with gifts in this fruitful year.”
Jan Pieterszoon Saenredam (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) was a printmaker in engraving, born in Zaandam (hence his name). He showed great artistic talent and the young Saenredam was sent to learn drawing and engraving from Hendrick Goltzius in Haarlem, where he became a master at the age of 24. After working for some time with Goltzius, he encountered the almost inevitable professional rivalry and jealousy, prompting his departure and set up his own workshop in Assendelft (just north of Amsterdam and Zaandam). He died of typhus at the age of 41, and was buried in the Saint Adolphus church at Assendelft. Jan left his wife a sizeable estate as a result of lucrative investments in the Dutch East India Company.
A boy and a girl, now young adults, are picking grapes and carrying a basket with freshly picked pears. Vegetables in the foreground and a goat chewing one a branch with vine leaves. Is this the goat from Spring, but older? “En ego maturos Autumnus profero fructus, Efficioque mei ne sit spes vana coloni.” or “Look at me Autumn, who gives fruits that are ripe and takes care that the hope of my farmer is not in vain.”A young woman and a young man in rich clothes, are holding hands and skating, oblivious of the deer beset by a wolf in the background, or any of the season’s dangers. Is this poor deer the same one from Spring? A dog in lower right corner is the couple’s companion and a symbol of loyalty in love. “Accumulant homines totum quaecunque per annum, Haec ego consumo, soli haec mihi cuncta parantur.” or “All that has been gathered and collected throughout the year, that’s consumed by me, it’s all prepared for just me alone.”
David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), Spring, The Four Seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, c.1644, Oil on Copper, 22x16cm, National Gallery, London.
Jan Saenredam, printmaker (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) after design by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), The Four Seasons represented by four pairs of children: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, 1601, with Latin text by C. Schonaeus (Dutch, 1540 – 1611), Engraving on cream laid paper, 22×16 cm, The Art Institute of Chicago.
About the annotations on the prints:
H. Goltzius Invent. or HG Inve. This means that Hendrick Goltzius is the “inventor” or “drawer” of the design of the print.
I. Sanredam Sculpt or I.S Sculp. This means that Jan Saenredam is the “sculptor” or the “engraver” of the print.
Cum Privil Sa Cae M,. This means that the print was protected “Cum privilegio Sacrae Caesarea Majestatis” or “With imperial privilege from the Holy Roman Emperor”, as protection against illegal copies.
A° 1601 means “Anno 1601” or “in the year 1601”
C.S. means “Cornelis Schonaeus”, a scholar from Haarlem who wrote many Latin lines and verses that are found on prints of the Haarlem circle of print designers and engravers.
Now that we are in the middle of the winter, I’ve started thinking about how this “winter” concept has been represented in art. It’s the harshest season of the year, certainly when there was no electricity or gas, but some touching images have been produced over the centuries.
It was not just landscape painters who gave us winter scenes with frozen rivers and skaters. Painters also personified winter as an old man with a fur coat and warming his hands at a brazier. And from the the 18th century, artists depicted winter as a young woman, adding a sensual and warm touch to the cold.
I choose some ten works of art, all depicting winter as a “personification”; as a human figure depicted with symbolic attributes, representing the abstract idea of “winter”. Starting with the French Impressionist Berthe Morisot, as I like her paintings so much. And then going back in time to the 17th century Flemish painter David Teniers, to Madame de Pompadour – lover of King Louis XV of France, to the bedroom of King George III of England, to La Frileuse, the chilly girl, by the French sculptor Houdon. It’s an eclectic batch of art, but all lovely. They give inspiration and warmth in this cold season. Like Vivaldi’s Winter from The Four Seasons.
Berthe Morisot (French, 1841 – 1895). On the right: Hiver or Winter, 1880, 75x62cm, Dallas Museum of Art, Dallas, Texas. On the left: Été: Jeune femme près d’une fenêtreor Summer: Young Woman by a Window, 1879, 76x61cm, Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France.
Along with its Summer pendant, Winter depicts a fashionable Parisian woman who personifies a season. Berthe Morisot debuted the paintings together at the Paris Impressionist exhibition in 1880. Morisot’s images of the Parisienne, a popular figure type representing an elegant, upper-class Parisian woman, were considered utterly contemporary. A critic said about Morisot’s Winter: “with its figure, so courageously modern, of the Parisian woman braving the cold in her furs.”
Berthe Morisot (Édouard Manet’s model and sister-in-law) was one of the most respected members of the Impressionist movement. At the beginning of the 20th century, her aura began to dim and her painting, labelled “feminine”, was relegated to second rank. Only recently, thanks also to the grand 2019 Morisot exhibition in the Musée d’Orsay, Berthe Morisot was incontestably regarded again as a great artist.
Abraham Bloemaert (Dutch, 1566 – 1651), Allégorie de l’hiver (et de l’amour) or Winter (and love), c.1627, 70x58cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris.
This old man by the Dutch Golden Age painter Abraham Bloemaert is representing Winter. Wearing a fur hat and very carefully warming himself at a small stove full of red-hot coals or charcoal. His nose and cheeks reflect the heat of the coal. It’s not only a representation of winter, but also hinting to love and passion. Love – and it’s pleasure – happens to be gallant to the ones who court the fire of love with caution.
David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), Winter, from the series The Four Seasons, c.1644, Oil on Copper, 22x16cm, National Gallery, London.
David Teniers the Younger brings the cycle of the seasons to an end with an old man representing Winter. Wrapped in velvet and fur, he hunches over to warm his hands at a brazier, a small stove that’s heated with charcoal. His face is wrinkled, his beard long and frosted with white. In the background a small, monochrome skating scene. It’s a personification of winter and Teniers chose a character of an appropriate age and dressed him accordingly. Winter as the last season of life.
The tiny picture is on a copper base, which allowed the paint to flow more freely than it would on canvas. Teniers could show minute detail: the facial characteristics and expressions, Winter’s splendid hat and the objects on his table. Allegorical paintings of the seasons were popular at the time, and Teniers painted several versions of the subject. David Teniers was cashing in on the popularity of the series and turning them out quickly to fulfil demand.
Caesar Boëtius van Everdingen (Dutch, 1616 – 1678), A Young Woman Warming her Hands over a Brazier: Winter, c.1646, 97x81cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
This young woman by Caesar Boëtius van Everdingen warms her hands above a dish of glowing coals, holding her hands under a piece of cloth. She personifies Winter. This season was usually represented as an old man: old because the year is coming to an end, like towards the end of life. Van Everdingen’s choice of a young, richly attired woman is rather unusual. Cesar Boëtius van Everdingen was a Dutch Golden Age painter, from Alkmaar.
Giovanni Battista Pittoni the younger (Italian, 1687 – 1767), Allegory of Winter and Summer, c.1730, 125x112cm, Bristol City Museum & Art Gallery, Bristol, United Kingdom.
For this allegory of Winter and Summer, the painter Giovanni Battista Pittoni turned to traditional iconographic examples. Summer is personified as a young woman, and Winter as an old man warming his hands over a brazier. Summer gestures to a small angel-like figure in the top right corner (difficult to see on the picture). That’s the Spirit of Dawn whose urn of water provides the dew droplets of summer and frost in the winter.
Rosalba Giovannia Carriera (Italian, 1673 – 1757). On the left: A Personification of Winter, c.1726, Pastel on blue paper, 62x50cm, Royal Collection Trust, London. On the right: A Personification of Summer, c.1744, Pastel on blue paper, 60x50cm, Royal Collection Trust, London.
The Winter pastel by Rosalba Giovannia Carriera was acquired by George III, King of England. It entered the Royal Collection in 1762 as “a Beautiful Female covering herself with a Pelisse”. In traditional images Winter was typically shown as an old man, but Rosalba Carriera transformed the subject into a beautiful young woman. “Winter” was put on display in George III’s bedchamber at Buckingham Palace, alongside “Summer”.
Rosalba Carriera was born in Venice. She began her career as a painter of snuffboxes, but rose quickly to fame for her pastel portraits, which became highly desired across Europe. Carriera made several sets of allegories of the Four Seasons. The largest group of pastels by Carriera belonged to Frederick Augustus Elector of Saxony. Over 100 of her pastels were on display at his residence in Dresden in a ‘Rosalba Room’. The artist became blind in later life and died in 1757.
François Boucher (French, 1703–1770), The Four Seasons: Winter, 1755, 57x73cm, The Frick Collection, New York.
François Boucher painted this Winter from the series The Four Seasons in 1755 for Madame De Pompadour, King Louis XV’s long-term official mistress. Their original location is unknown, but their peculiar shape suggests that they were used as overdoors, no doubt in one of Pompadour’s many properties in France.
Instead of the hardship that traditionally illustrates the theme of winter, Boucher depicts a delightful encounter in joyous colours, a frosty background and a landscape buried under snow. A Tartar in pseudo-Russian dress pushes an elaborate sleigh with the heroine – most likely referring to Madame de Pompadour herself. Glancing out at us coyly, she sports a billowing fur-trimmed gown and a little fur necklace. Her hands may be warmed by a muff, but her upper body is completely exposed. This combination of luxury and seduction, treated in a fanciful and humorous manner, is typical of Boucher.
In April 1764, the 42-year-old Madame Marquise de Pompadour, the official chief mistress of King Louis XV of France unexpectedly died, and in the workshop of her beloved sculptor Etienne Maurice Falconet, the last of the statues she commissioned remained unfinished – the marble Winter, a young woman sitting on an ice cube and gracefully covering flowers with her robe.
A year later Falconet received an invitation from the Russian Empress Catherine the Great to work at her court. It was agreed that at the expense of the Russian treasury all unfinished work from the Falconet workshop would travel with him to Russia. And part of that deal was the unfinished “Winter” sculpture. Falconet completed “Winter” only 5 years after arriving in Russia. That’s how this statue, made by a French sculptor, ended up in the Winter Palace of the State Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. Contemporaries of Falconet received the work as a masterpiece and the artist himself wrote: “This might be the very best work which I can do; I even dare to think that it is good.”
Jean Antoine Houdon (French, 1741 – 1828), Winter (La Frileuse), 1787, Bronze, 144x39x51cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
L’Hiver or Winter is a bronze statue of a young woman cast by the neoclassical French sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon. The statue personifies the winter season and is nicknamed La Frileuse, The Chilly Girl. This is reflected in both the medium (a cold, dark bronze) and the features of the sculpture, a young woman clad only in a shawl. Upon its completion and presentation at the 1787 Salon, the French yearly art fair, Winter shocked the French artistic establishment but delighted art lovers. The critics at the Salon indulged in some irony: “La Frileuse by Monsieur Houdon does not seem to achieve its effect. When someone is really cold, he tries to pull all his limbs close to him and covers his body more than his head. Nevertheless, it is pleasant to the eye and the proportions are correct” and “One must concur that winter would be a very desirable season if pretty shivering girls did not cover themselves in any other way.” Don’t think this critic will still have a job after saying this nowadays. In terms of her clothing, the Metropolitan Museum of Art describes it as “elegant but hardly adequate”. La Frileuse made me think of the song Let it Go from Frozen, “The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway.”
The statue was bought by Louis Philippe Joseph, Duc d’Orléans, confiscated during the French Revolution and now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Paul Heermann (German, 1673 – 1732), Winter, c.1700, Marble, 65x64x34cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
Shrouded in a heavy hooded cloak, this elderly man by Paul Heermann looks down with a deeply furrowed brow. As a personification of Winter, the bust gives visual expression to the chilling cold of that season. His old age refers to winter’s occurrence at the very end of the calendar year. This bust was probably part of a series of sculptures personifying the four seasons. At the Versailles Palace, it was fashion including statues of the seasons in the program for garden sculpture. The high level of finish and finely worked details of this bust, however, suggest that Winter was meant to be viewed up close, in an indoor palatial setting.
Jacob Matham (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) engraver, after Hendrik Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617) drawer, Winter, 1589, from the series The Seasons, engraving, diameter 26cm, National gallery of Art, Washington DC.
This Winter engraving has a very traditional iconography. The personification of Winter is an elderly man wearing a coat and warming his hands by holding a pot containing a fire; beyond is a wintery townscape with ice skaters and people collecting fire wood; the signs of the winter zodiac (Pisces, Aquarius and Capricorn) in the sky; and a cute little putto plays the cold Northern wind blowing into a cloud which results in rain and snow. And just so that we do not get it wrong, Hendrick Goltzius put the name “Hyems” just above the man, which is Latin for “Winter”.
Hendrick Goltzius designed four series with the seasons; Winter depicted here is from the set engraved by Jacob Matham.
