What Hides Behind The Image?
Insights from a Renaissance piece of art, power, and ideology, in understanding what lies behind the surface.
The Rape of the Sabine, a marble sculpture by Giambologna which was completed between 1579 and 1583 during the Italian Renaissance. It now resides in the Accademia Gallery of Florence. Photo by Garima Garg.
A Roman legend has it that when the empire was still in its infancy in mid-8th century, the then ruler Romulus was seized by an existential crisis — how could he hope to build an empire without women to birth offsprings to populate and potentially fight its many battles? So him and his followers decided to abduct women from the neighbouring areas, particularly from the community of Sabines. It ended up being a difficult episode, both for the Romans and Sabines, because neither did the former relent in their pursuit and nor did the latter give in. Hence, the name of the legend, The Rape of the Sabine.
Centuries down the line, the story served as an inspiration for many artists, including Giambologna, the Flemish sculpture and architect who was renowned for his talent and vision during the 15th-16th century of Renaissance years in Italy. Amongst his many acclaimed works is the one depicting this story of rape which shows three characters embroiled in a dramatic scene — the woman being abducted, her abductee in the middle, and her father at the bottom.
For a piece of art, it is undoubtedly a stunning achievement. Carved in marble, the three characters go around each other, each conveying a dominant emotion — terror of a woman being abducted, lust of a young man as an abductee, and helplessness of a father unable to prevent the tragedy. For onlookers, it stirs awe at the artist’s style and deftness as well as at the drama carved into stone. However, for the critical mind, it is a cautionary tale.
The Wikipedia page, i.e., the most generalised information on the legend, explains the story in a variety of ways. From the perspective of early Romans, it was a necessity to ensure their survival and projecting their power. From the perspective of Renaissance thought, it emphasised the importance of marriage. From the perspective of pedants, it was not really a rape but an abduction of a few women who were offered a stable household with Roman warriors.
Nuances of history may paint a different picture but is unlikely to be in conflict with the broad, unflattering image of all of it. For those who seek to romanticise power — does it behoove to justify or explain such an event? For those who seek to romanticise ideology — how far must we go to achieve our goals? For those who seek to romanticise art — is art for its own sake something to be venerated without question?
As the human civilisation moves further into the age of image, it is worth questioning ourselves if the image is everything be it in the realms of power, ideology, or art. For an image is just that, an image. What lurks behind it can be infinitely more potent, for better and worse, than we can imagine while looking at the surfaces. After all, the Roman Empire fell, the Renaissance ended, and the artwork is but a piece of consumption for tourists and Instagrammers. What lives on is the disturbing essence of the story where innocent women and their families were plundered by those drunk on power, moralised by the society, and used by artists.
This is a Rasa World post, a newsletter by Rasa Journal where I share quick thoughts about culture around the world in about 500 words.
