I’m so excited about this post. Since it obviously can’t be book or even research paper length, I have to warn you that it will not do justice to the topics it addresses (Artemisia Gentileschi, Caravaggio, Caravaggisti, Judith, Judith Slaying Holofernes, women in art). That being said, the goal of this post is to be informative, provide some insight, and examine two paintings by two Baroque masters. Like the previous two Seductress posts, this one will focus on a couple paintings and have a gallery with different representations of Judith at the end.   On the Entry Bibliographies page, you’ll find a list of recommended reading for the life and art of Artemisia Gentileschi.

Judith’s story can be found in the deuterocanonical book of Judith. The entire book is worth the  read, and naturally all the events it discusses are relevant to Judith’s motives for slaying Holofernes. Nebuchadnezzar has decided to go to war with all the nations that refuse to worship him as their god. (Side note: the book of Daniel has some great stores about Nebuchadnezzar.) Based out of Nineveh (the same city Jonah was told to go to before he was swallowed by a whale), Nebuchadnezzar trusts greatly in the city’s fortifications and vast army, both described at length. He anticipates a sweeping victory across these lands and believes that the sight of his armies  alone is enough to make any nation surrender. He puts his general, Holofernes, in charge of this war and tells him to kill everyone unless they agree to worship him. Holofernes goes out to destroy or convert the nations. When his armies get close to Israel, they set up camp and decide to destroy Israel by taking their water supply, waiting until they are faint with thirst and hunger, and then sweep in and demolish them. News of the nearby armies reaches the ruler of Israel and the High Priest.

Enter Judith. She is a widow whose wealthy husband,  when he died in the barley harvest, left her his entire estate. Judith is described as a very beautiful woman. Yet since her husband’s death she has fasted nearly daily, worn only her mourning clothes, and spent all her time in her husband’s home. When she hears about the impending attack, she goes to the leaders of Israel and recommends that they do nothing until she’s had a chance to remedy the situation. She is respected as a woman of great wisdom and faith, so Israel’s king trusts her when she says that the Lord has delivered Holofernes and his armies into her hand. She admonishes them not to ask how she will achieve this victory.

Judith goes home after her talk with Israel’s leaders. She prostrates herself on the floor and asks God to bless her lips which will speak deception and to use her beauty and words as tools to defeat Holofernes. Then she proceeds to bathe, put on her precious jewels and fine clothes (which she “used to wear when her husband was alive”), and comb her hair. Her maidservant packs Judith a bag with food and supplies. At night, Judith and her maid go to the camp of Holofernes. They are greeted by guards who are stunned by Judith’s beauty and fine regalia. She claims that she has run away from Jerusalem because they were treating her poorly and she wants Nebuchadnezzar’s armies to destroy them. She promises, if they take her to Holofernes, to give him insider information that will help him defeat Israel. The guards take her to Holofernes, and the deception begins.

Since the moment he saw Judith, Holofernes wants her for himself. Judith wants Holofernes dead. She tells him what she told the guards, that the Lord will allow the Assyrians to smite Israel because of their sin. Holofernes’ men set up a tent for Judith and he offers her food, but she says that her supply will not run out. She stays with them for a number of days, each night going out to pray with her maid.

One night, Holofernes has a party and insists on inviting Judith. He drinks too much wine. It is here that his sexual desires for Judith are revealed. She stays with him through the night, and eventually, a drunk Holofernes passes out on his finely ornamented bed. Judith seizes the opportunity. She takes the sword hanging above the general and brings it down with all her might onto his neck. He’s asleep – keep that in mind for the artwork we’ll see. She eventually cuts off his head. Her maid rushes in with the supply bag that held their food and they place the head in the bag, leaving the body sprawled out and bloody. They leave the tent together, and the guards think nothing of it because they went to pray together every night.

The next morning, Holofernes’ trusted servant knocks on the door of his tent. There is no answer. He assumes that his master and Judith slept together the previous night so he pokes his head in the door and lets out a scream. Holofernes’ headless body is laid out before him and he can’t find the head! Meanwhile, Judith reports her victory to Israel’s leaders and shows them the head. She tells them to go down to the camp ready to attack. The men will be scared and in want of their fearless general. They will retreat and Israel will kill them and plunder their goods. This is exactly what happens. After, the entire city rejoices that the great armies of Nebuchadnezzar were defeated at the hands of a woman. Judith was praised and crowned with garlands. She remained a widow for the rest of her life despite men vying for her affections.

Judith’s song of thanksgiving in Judith 16:7-10 provides a summary of her defeat of the feared Assyrian general:

How is Judith portrayed in art history? As a beautiful, graceful woman? As a woman of power and strength? Or does it depend on the time and artist?

Caravaggio, Judith Beheading Holofernes, 1598-99

In Caravaggio’s famous 1599 depiction of Judith, she is a combination of graceful beauty and fearless strength. Caravaggio chooses the moment when the sword is still stuck on Holofernes neck. Judith is standing upright as if to keep herself from the blood that’s  spluttering down on the bed under her, focused on the task at hand. Her old friend, her maid, that came with her, is fascinated by what she’s seeing. True to his oeuvre, Caravaggio chose the moment of execution when there is the most dramatic impact – the most startling and theatric moment. There is historical evidence to suggest that Caravaggio had seen real executions, which explains the realism of Holofernes’ neck wound and facial expression, and strength with which Judith is bringing his sword down onto him.

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, 1612 (one version)

Caravaggio’s painting of this story is interesting, but more interesting (yes, it is amazing that I think something can be  more interesting than a Caravaggio) are Artemisia Gentileschi’s paintings of the scene, produced from 1612, two years after Caravaggio died, to 1620. Artemisia’s biography is of extreme importance. In 1612, her father, Orazio Gentileschi (one of the Caravaggisti), brought Agostino Tassi to trial. Tassi was working on a Papal commission with Orazio and in this time, became acquainted with his daughter. Tassi raped Artemisia, which he was found guilty of but never confessed to. She resisted his advances and wounded him with a knife. (Some scholars read the Holofernes paintings, with the Artemisia-esque Judith taking a knife to her enemy, as a visual metaphor of Artemisia’s resistance against Tassi.) During the trial, Artemisia was tortured with thumbscrews  and she was accused of being promiscuous prior to the rape. She told the court that she continued a sexual relationship with Tassi after the rape because he said he would marry her: “What I was doing with him, I did only so that, as he had dishonored me, he would marry me.” Marriage was the socially acceptable band-aid for rape in seventeenth century Italy. It was also discovered that Tassi (who didn’t marry Artemisia) had a history of sex crimes – raping his sister-in-law (who became pregnant) and one of his wives (who he possibly hired bandits to kill). Tassi was exiled from Rome, although due to noble influence he was back in the city a few months later.

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, c. 1612-20.

Artemisia painted  Judith Slaying Holofernes multiple times. The 1612 painting “has been interpreted by art historian Mary Garrard as a metaphoric expression of female resistance to masculine sexual dominance.” Artemisia’s oeuvre consisted mostly of iconography that involved strong female subjects. The violent scene of Holofernes’ beheading wasn’t Artemisia’s first foray into violence, and it certainly wasn’t her last, but the historical moment surrounding her first Judith painting, and the fact that she didn’t abandon this scene after one representation (much like Caravaggio didn’t abandon David and Goliath), speaks to its paramount importance to our understanding of her life and how she perceived and related to the story of Judith.

I asked my readers to weigh in on the issue of Caravaggio vs. Artemisia and the iconography of Judith Slaying Holofernes. These are their wonderful and thoughtful responses:

grow-up-frozen: C’s is a bit more conservative for the time, both in terms of gore and also putting the power and action of the hands of a young woman. In C’s, the old crone (reminiscent of a witch figure) is holding the bag, implying that she had some sway over Judith in convincing her to commit an out-of-character act of violence. You can see the fear and hesitation on her face. G’s is a lot more shocking, there’s more of a blood spray and both women (closer in age, neither is witch-like) are acting decisively and are dominant in the situation, rather than one leading the other. I’m partial to Gentileschi’s myself, it seems more physiologically and psychologically “naturalistic” while Caravaggio’s feels much more posed.

angelkissingonasinner: This is regarding vivalacacka’s question. In terms of biblical text, Judith didn’t actually had sex with him. She only got him into a drunken stupor. I think painters depict her as a seductress because it’s more exciting. It’s moralizing to men (don’t trust beautiful women), and moralizing to women (your sexuality is your highest value). It creates a more dramatic scene if Judith did seduce him before killing him because it creates a vengeful woman who sacrificed her purity. It’s more B & W.

artisandoflove: I think, in response to the seductress question, that her reaction to the “feminist” aspect of the “sexual” trope is a little misguided. Nineteenth-century artists (decadents, aesthetes) who depicted “Salome” and “Judith” characters were responding to anxieties surrounding gender boundaries and sexuality, similar to those late Rennaisance and Baroque artists who depicted the same subjects- they are manifestations of morality and virtue, seen through the distorted lens of social norm. Context !!!

I’ve discussed what I think, and you’ve read what these fine folk think. What do you think? Do you agree with vivalacacka that Judith seduced Holofernes before killing him? Or do you side more with the textual and socio-historical bases for these paintings and their iconography?

Obviously, there is a lot more to be said about these paintings and this post barely scratches the surface. The goal was to get you thinking about how the text relates to Judith paintings: how artists visually interpret the text, if their representations are really true to the text, and how their personal lives and experiences may or may not affect their art.

In the mean time, see more images of Judith Slaying Holofernes here, and check out a wonderful Artemisia-themed recommending reading list on this site.

It’s well into December and time to move on to examinations of the Annunciation and Nativity story in art history, so we’ll return to this topic in the New Year! Feel free to leave a comment or email your thoughts!

Tags: Baroque Art, Caravaggio, Italian Baroque Art, Judith, Judith Slaying Holofernes, Series, Victory

The story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife can be found in Genesis 39. At this point in Joseph’s story, he had been nearly killed and then sold into slavery by his brothers and had wound up in Egypt in Pharaoh’s, called Potiphar, household (more likely not the actual Pharaoh, but his second in command). Joseph found favor with Potiphar, who eventually put him in charge of his household. Potiphar had a diabolical wife who kept asking the much younger and handsome Joseph to sleep with her. He continually refused, saying that such a thing is detestable to God and how could he do that to Potiphar, who had given Joseph such great responsibility? One day, Potiphar grabbed Joseph’s robe and attempted once more to get him to sleep with her. Joseph ran out of Potiphar’s chamber, leaving his robe in her hands. When he was gone, she screamed and with his robe in her hands, her guards ran into her room. She accused Joseph of trying to sleep with her, and Potiphar threw Joseph into prison. She is a true seductress and perhaps more blatantly evil than Salome. A married woman, she attempted and desired to sleep with her husband’s trusted servant, culminating in an accusation of sexual assault that cost an innocent man his job, freedom, and respect for years.

We don’t know what Potiphar’s wife looked like or how old she was. Nevertheless, art history sees her as a sexy, perfect vision of youthful beauty used toward a sinful end. Artists often depicted Potiphar’s wide in classical nude beauty, much like Renaissance and Neoclassical representations of Venus. However, the wife’s expressions are more sly and she is often shown as a desperate seductress flinging her arms out and/or exposing her body out of lust for another rather than for it to be admired, something which Joseph declines to do. (There is a gallery of examples of this scene at the end of this post.)

Guercino, Joseph & Potiphar's Wife, 1649

Guercino’s Joseph & Potiphar’s Wife, now in the National Gallery in DC, showcases Potiphar’s wife as a beautiful woman with ill intentions. Naked, with her bust fully exposed, she reaches out to grab hold of Joseph’s face, perhaps to bring it in to kiss. Her other hand has a firm grip on the end of Joseph’s blue robe. Joseph stands shocked with one arm wrestling away her outreached arm and the other held out, gesturing for her to stop. Joseph’s eyes are even turned upward to stare at the ceiling rather than his Master’s wife’s naked body. The wife doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Joseph’s resistance.

I’ve always wondered why Potiphar’s wife continually tried to seduce Joseph. Did her husband have a mistress? Was she just a crazy (married) cougar? Even more curious are her evil actions after being spurned by Joseph – accusing him of assault.

Rembrandt, Joseph Accused by Potiphar's Wife, 1655.

Rembrandt painted his version of the accusation scene in 1655. Potiphar’s wife, richly dressed and innocently clutching her torn clothing to her chest, is in the spotlight. She points to Joseph and is captured in mid-sentence, looking up at Potiphar. Her husband offers a consoling hand on her shoulder and his eyes gaze past his wife to Joseph. His mouth is curled in an angry expression. Joseph stands in the darkness to the far left, his young, strong body pressed into itself in fear of the accusation. He seems helpless and forlorn. Indeed, he seems to realize that it is the powerful wife’s word against his – a lowly servant. (Rembrandt painted another version of this piece. You can see it in the gallery below.)

Although Potiphar’s wife was able to have innocent Joseph thrown into prison, he eventually rose up to power in Egypt. Nothing more is said of the married queen who tried to seduce him.

Side note: Richard Spear has a short book about Guercino’s two versions of this story, Seeing Double: Two Versions of Guercino’s Joseph & Potiphar’s Wife. I wasn’t able to find it, otherwise I would have referenced it in this post. I’m sure it’s excellent, though, because he’s a brilliant art historian. So, if you’re able to hunt it down, check it out!

Tags: Art History, Biblical Art, Iconography, Seductress, Series

Salome is one of many “bad girls” in art history. The step-daughter of King Herod, she was partially responsible for killing John the Baptist. You can read the full story in Mark 6:14-30. Herod was hesitant to kill John, for fear of what the people might say. John had denounced Herod’s marriage to his brother’s wife (Herodias), so an angry Herod threw him into prison. Herod’s new and controversial wife wanted John dead. She had the perfect opportunity to exert her influence at Herod’s birthday party, where important political leaders were in attendance. She implored her lovely daughter, Salome, exploit Herod’s position (literally, in front of heads of state) by dancing for the crowd. Herod was so impressed that he offered and promised her a reward. She asked for the head of John the Baptist to be delivered on a platter. This is a gory request, especially for a dinner party, and as we’ll see, some artists shied away from the gore more than others. Salome had caught Herod at a moment when he couldn’t refuse. The execution was immediate, and to the glee of her mother, Salome received John’s head. Caravaggio’s interpretation of the beheading of John the Baptist is below. (This is an extremely important work in Caravaggio’s oeuvre and I’ll follow up with a post about it in the New Year.) Salome stands off to the left, holding the golden platter that awaits a bloodied head.

Caravaggio, Beheading of John the Baptist, 1608.

Salome was a particularly popular subject during the Renaissance and Baroque periods and her popularity continued well into the 19th century. (The name Salome was not in consistent use until the 19th century.) I don’t know how old Salome was when she danced before Herod, but artists tend to portray her as a sultry, confident (young) woman. To most of art history, Salome is the sole, conniving figure behind John’s death. Several artists depicted Salome multiple times with varying interpretations. We’ll take a look at a couple of Luini, Caravaggio, and Moreau’s Salomes. Time and length commitments will keep me from examining every possible example of Salome in art history, but I’ve included a modest gallery of images below for your reference and examination.

Luini, Salome, 1510.

Italian Renaissance artist Luini painted Salome several times in his career. Influenced stylistically by Leonardo da Vinci, Luini’s Salome paintings that will be examined here portray her in Renaissance Leonardo-esque beauty and perfection, her clothing, hair, proportions all conformed to the aesthetic standards of the time. Luini’s Louvre Salome (at left) is shown enjoying a triumphant and confident, smug moment with herself, privately, as she turns her head from the executioner’s gift and the viewer. She seems to be internally congratulating herself on a job well done, having secured John’s head for her mother and having found favor with her king Herod. In contrast, Luini’s MFA Salome (below) seems deep in thought, even remorseful. She stares down and away from the head of John itself and the viewer. Indeed, “[h]er look betrays unmistakably a weakening in her task.” Gone is the confident and smug Salome of 1510. We have caught her in a moment, if fleeting, of vulnerability and regret.

Luini, Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, date unknown.

Caravaggio 1607

Caravaggio painted Salome twice in his career, once in 1607 (above, now in London) and once in 1609 (below, now in Madrid). These are more intimate and close up views of her than we saw in his Beheading of St. John the Baptist. In the 1607 piece, Salome is looking away from the ghastly sight of John’s freshly severed head. His blood pools into the dish and his executioner holds the head up for all to see. Salome, the impetus behind John’s death, dares not to look. She is not represented as a great seductress and there is nothing about her attire or gaze that suggests that she craftily used her womanly figure to convince Herod to kill John. Her face and expression are pristine in contrast to the monstrous face of the executioner. Perhaps she was merely a puppet in a wider scheme incomprehensible to a girl of her age, given in to the wishes of her mother. Or perhaps the real monsters of the story are Herodias and the executioner.

Caravaggio, Salome, 1609. Madrid.

In Caravaggio’s Madrid Salome, the eye is instantly drawn to the red of Salome’s garment. Unlike the London Salome, here, Salome glances down toward the platter even as her body creeps away from it. The three figures in the painting all seem forlorn and contemplative, but for a different reason than in the London piece. Even the executioner is different – physically and emotionally. He was more angry and ragged in the London piece, but here he stares down at John’s head, separated from the viewer since his back is turned to us and his face is in profile. It is easy for the viewer to take the place of the executioner, place themselves in the scene, and wonder about Salome’s mysterious gaze. Again, Salome is not sexualized, and Caravaggio did not shy away from such matters even if it cost him his commission.

Moreau, The Apparition, 1876.

In contrast to Luini and Caravaggio, Moreau consistently envisioned Salome as a confident woman who was fully aware of the lures of her sexuality. A Symbolist who was fascinated with legends of old and Orientialist ornamentation, Moreau painted Salome in the glorious cloth and environments of the Eastern world.

In Moreau’s 1876 piece, Salome’s presence and self-awareness command the canvas. John’s head is lifted up into a holy, haloed levitation as Salome points to it, signifying her power to charm, seduce, and destroy. Her ornamental garments are as impressive as her figure, and combined with her captivating dancing, she is quite the sight to behold. Moreau’s use of ornamentation is not by accident:

Unlike the previous works, Salome is not introspective, but rather she is a living display of splendor, sexuality, and riches. The viewer is invited to admire her beauty and wealth, rather than to wonder about her inner psychological state – the tools of her seductive ways are obvious and it is these that Moreau explores on his canvases.

Moreau, Salome Dancing before Herod, 1876.

For all of the wondrous displays in Moreau’s depictions of Salome, there is still a certain unspoken element that draws me back to representations of the Renaissance and Baroque periods. There is no denying that art historically, Salome is indeed one of the great ill-intentioned seductresses, having used her femininity to achieve an execution. I think this is emphasized more in some works than others, depending on the movement and individual interests of the artists. The issue of representation and why certain artistic choices were made is emphasized in the iconography of Salome.

Take a look at the gallery of images below.Which representation of Salome speaks to you most? Why do you think artists have painted her in such a variegated manner?

Tags: Art, Art History, Artistic Intention, Baroque Art, Death, Renaissance Art, Salome, Symbolism, Women

We’re not supposed to be callous toward art.

And yet, we are, especially with art that is meant to and was created for the purpose of welling up emotion within our spirits.

Rogier Van Der Wyden, The Descent from the Cross (Detail), 1435.

I suppose this has to do with modern society. Emotional response and emotion itself were so entrenched into Early Modern society that emotional reactions to works of art may seem silly or far removed from us. Yet paintings of this time, especially but not solely religious paintings, were created to provide viewers with visual representations of stories, legends and events in Catholic hagiography and history. Paintings and sculpture were a way to depict abstract concepts, glorious miracles, and ancient legends in an easily accessible and understandable manner. Be these subjects represented in allegory, exaggeration, or realism, they are meant to invoke emotion when the viewer ponders the scene before them. Mythological scenes might stir up joyous, mischievous, or giddy feelings, while more somber religious scenes may cause the viewer to be awestruck, sorrowful, thankful, or reverent.

James Elkins wonders about our modern lack of emotion when viewing art, and set out to determine what people of the past have cried about when viewing art, and why emotion is so pent up today. He penned these words in the forward to his 2001 book, Pictures & Tears:

I have yet to finish the book, but his forward struck such a chord with me that I am eager to read his conclusions. He sent out letters, posted ads, and emailed contacts to find out who and why people cried in front of paintings. He got responses from an overwhelming number of people, including art historians. Pictures and Tears reminds me of a post I wrote, On the Power of Aesthetics and Artistic Intent, and how art is made to effect its viewers. Elkins’ book made me think about the paintings I’ve shed tears in front of while I stood and stared into the canvas. Most recently, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes’ Prodigal Son (1876) moved me to tears. I’m well versed in the story, and something about the way he painted the son, curled up, naked and alone, in the dirt, cradling himself, just ruined me – in the middle of the National Gallery, no less. But location and others aren’t important in such experiences. All that exists are the tears, myself, and the painting. I had a similar experience in the Borghese Gallery when I saw Caravaggio’s David and Goliath. The painting is so close to my academic heart and my research that finally seeing it in person was overwhelming. Part of me was sad that I couldn’t pick it up, run my fingers along the canvas, and stick my nose closer to see every crack and brush stroke (don’t tell that to any art conservationists!), but most of me was just relieved to be standing in front of it at last.

Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Prodigal Son, 1876.

How about you? Have you ever shed tears in front of a work of art? Why or why not? Are we supposed to have emotional reactions to artwork?

Tags: Art History, Artistic Intention, Emotion, Experience, James Elkins