Raphael, The Marriage of the Virgin, 1504.

The Nativity of Jesus is drawn from accounts of Christ’s birth in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew. Following the Annunciation, Mary tells Joseph that she is with child and goes to visit her relative, Elizabeth, who is pregnant with John the Baptist. Just as the Annunciation tested Mary’s faith and character, so did her revealing of her pregnancy to Joseph. Mary’s divine pregnancy put Joseph in a very tough spot socially and culturally, and the proper thing to do to save face would be to call off the engagement. According to the Gospel of Luke, the couple travelled to Bethlehem to participate in the Roman census. It is here that Jesus is born in a stable because the inns in town had no vacancy, and it is here that he was wrapped in swaddling cloth and laid in a manger. According to Matthew, while in Bethlehem, an angel appeared to Joseph and told him to go through with his marriage to Mary. He also warns Joseph of the jealous King Herod, who wants to kill Jesus and plans to achieve this (since he doesn’t know which baby in his kingdom is the new King of the Jews) by  killing all baby boys. The angel tells Joseph to flee into Egypt and stay there until it is safe to return to home, once Herod has died.

Art history and modern tradition tend to mix up  or combine the accounts of the Nativity as they’re told in the Gospels. Luke doesn’t mention the Massacre of the Innocents or the flight into Egypt. Instead, according to Luke, Mary and Joseph are visited by shepherds in the stable, who admire the newborn king. Mary and Joseph eventually return home to Nazareth, but not before taking the eight-day-old Jesus to the Temple to be circumcised and blessed.  It is in Matthew that we find Joseph’s dreams, the Massacre of the Innocents, the Adoration of the Magi (which includes a clever plot by Herod, who sent the Magi to be spies), the Flight into Egypt, and the return home to Nazareth, in Galilee. Many of the stories in each of these Gospels are extremely popular in art history, and still much iconography is drawn from legends and apocryphal gospels.

Peter Paul Rubens, Massacre of the Innocents, 1611.

Artists have presented the stories found in Luke and Matthew, especially the Adorations of the Magi and Shepherds, in many different ways. For this reason, I’ve included a gallery at the end of this post so you can see the vast array of differing modes of representation. I want to focus on a couple paintings from each motif. Feel free to read the Nativity story for yourself in Luke and Matthew, and then take a look at the gallery of images below and think about how artists’ representations differ or are similar to the actual text behind these themes!

Fra Angelico & Fra Filipo Lippi, Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440-1460

In  mid-fifteenth century Florence, Fra Angelico and Fra Filipo Lippi collaborated on The Adoration of the Magi. The National Gallery has a truly wonderful description and explanation of this artwork, and I encourage you to give it a  read. The painting

The entire painting, rich with Renaissance symbolism, can be seen as an analogy of the glory of the newfound Christ and the restoration of the world through Him. Indeed, the importance of the Nativity was not lost on Catholicism. The Tridentine Catechism cautions believers:

El Greco, Adoration of the Shepherds, 1612-14.

El Greco’s 1612-14 painting of the Adoration of the Shepherds presents a much more simplistic representation of the wonder of the newborn king. That is, it lacks the complex symbols found in Fra Angelo and Filipo Lippi’s painting. True to form, El Greco separates the heavenly and earthly realm but highlights the divine nature of Jesus through an impressive burst of light. Mary sits in quiet, still adoration as the shepherds physically react to the holy baby, their bodies twisting and hands raised in excite movement. The angels join in the celebration. In this way, the heavens and the earth are combined; joined by their mutual adoration of the Christ child.

Annibale Carracci, The Flight to Egypt, 1603

My favorite depiction of the Flight into Egypt (including the motif of the Rest on the Flight into Egypt) is Annibale Carracci’s 1603 painting. Carracci was Caravaggio’s arch-enemy, but I can’t help but love this painting. Mary tenderly holds onto her newborn child and Joseph follows. She stops and looks back at him. The painting is a picturesque landscape, invoking a sense of calm, and placing the Holy Family front and center. Mary and Joseph are calm despite fleeing danger, perhaps because they know that they are obeying the directive from heaven.

Murillo, Rest on the Flight to Egypt, 1665

In Murillo’s Rest on the Flight to Egypt, Joseph, in contrast to Carracci’s depiction, is a young(er) man. As I said in Baroque Spain: Devotion on Canvas, “[e]arly Spain was very devoted to Joseph, and glorified him as the embodiment of the perfect father.” Typical of Murillo’s work and in line with Spanish ideology, the Holy Family are a humbly depicted. By doing so, “Murillo made … Mary and Joseph’s perfection, obtained by and through God, accessible to any normal Baroque Spanish parent who might so desire to be a better pious parent.” The infant Jesus is peacefully sleeping and small putti appear, joining in the adoration as the baby rests.

Fra Filipo Lippi, Adoration in the Forest, 1459

Images of the Nativity were meant to begin a train of thought in the viewer as to Christ’s faithfulness to leave his heavenly home and come to earth as a lowly human. Hebrews, the Tridentine Catechism (discussed above), and St. Ignatius all remind the pious to remember Christ’s lowly birth and its significance to the faith. In Hebrews 2:1-10, the author gently reminds to be diligent in remembering the cornerstones of their faith:

Therefore ought we more diligently to observe the things which we have heard, lest perhaps we should let them slip. For if the word, spoken by angels, became steadfast, and every transgression and disobedience received a just recompense of reward: How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation? which having begun to be declared by the Lord, was confirmed unto us by them that heard him. God also bearing them witness by signs, and wonders, and divers miracles, and distributions of the Holy Ghost, according to his own will. For God hath not subjected unto angels the world to come, whereof we speak.

But one in a certain place hath testified, saying: What is man, that thou art mindful of him: or the son of man, that thou visitest him? Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels: thou hast crowned him with glory and honour, and hast set him over the works of thy hands: Thou hast subjected all things under his feet. For in that he hath subjected all things to him, he left nothing not subject to him. But now we see not as yet all things subject to him. But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour: that, through the grace of God, he might taste death for all. For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, who had brought many children into glory,  of their salvation, by his passion.

Rubens, Adoration of the Magi, 1617-18

Centuries later, St. Ignatius wrote instructions for the faithful to contemplate the Nativity. The contemplations’ goal is to

As you can see, humbleness is a key theme surrounding the ideology of the Nativity. The pious are called to humble themselves as Christ humbled himself; to serve as he served; and, perhaps most importantly, through art — to stand in awe of His miraculous birth and life as the Shepherds and Magi did centuries before. Art is a tool of wonder. It serves an emotional and didactic purpose: to present the faithful with the Nativity motif in such a way that it is memorial, overwhelming, and awe-inspiring.

Tags: Art History, Baroque Art, Caravaggio, Catholic, Catholicism, Christmas, El Greco, History, Iconography, Jesus, Nativity, Renaissance Art, Sacred Art, Series

Hello readers! Merry Christmas! In the coming days before Christmas, we’re going to examine the Christmas story, starting with the Annunciation. This is an important event in Catholicism and one of the most popular iconographies in Marian art. Before we start looking at the rest of the Christmas story as portrayed in art history, we should understand this profound event.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Ecce Ancilla Domini, 1849-50.

The Annunciation is the moment when the angel Gabriel appeared to the Virgin Mary and told her that she was going to have a son who would be the world’s Savior. The full story can be found in Luke 1.

Mary was in her home, going about her daily tasks, when she was suddenly greeted by an angel! This is rather startling and bound to provoke fear and awe: after all, it’s first century Palestine and Mary is alone in her home with a celestial, male, angelic being with what I guess is a booming voice. The Pre-Raphaelite artist Rossetti captured the sense of anxiety and awkwardness surrounding this scene. (Read more about the anxiety of the story and Rossetti’s painting at Smarthistory.) Most artists, however, and especially devout ones in the Renaissance and Baroque periods, treat the Annunciation more solemnly as a holy event that invokes wonder. Gabriel tells Mary that God is with her and she is to have a son. Mary is engaged to Joseph and a virgin and so she questions what Gabriel means. Surely she and Joseph weren’t going to conceive a child before marriage. No, says Gabriel: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy-the Son of God.” (Luke 1:35) This is a profound and marvelous statement – Mary’s divinely born son would not just be any ordinary baby, but the Son of God. Mary understood and accepted what Gabriel relayed to her instantly, telling the angel to “let it be to [her] according to [Gabriel's] word.” (Luke 1:38)

This event is the start of Mary’s blessedness in Catholic belief. For it is here that Mary believed the angel Gabriel. The Tridentine Catechism parallels Mary’s obedience with Eve’s disobedience and relates Mary’s importance in the faith:

The Church also recognized that this divine Annunciation could be hard for parishioners to accept or understand – and precisely, they write, because this is a divine event.

The Annunciation warrants pages of exposition in the Tridentine Catechism. And it should, for it marks the beginning and foundation for the reverence due to Mary. To (ironically?) quote Martin Luther, Mary is:

You can see, to vastly understate, that Mary is a woman to be feared and respected – because of her initial choice of obedience and faith in God in the face of what could be a dangerous situation for a young, engaged, virgin woman. And she is immortalized in art history in a plethora of ways.

In most Renaissance Annunciations, Mary is shown in the most expensive or fashionable contemporary dress, often with a book, which is a sign of intelligence and propriety. She, innocently reading, is interrupted by an angel. Baroque depictions are unapologetically more theatrical and leave no part of the celestial experience of the event out. Baroque works invoke wonder, movement, curiosity, and awe. Renaissance Annunciations are often more subdued – but what they lack in stylistic drama they make up for in expensive production materials that physically allude to the Annunciation’s specialness.

Simone Martini, Annunciation (Altarpiece), 1333. See it up close here.

Simone Martini was an early Italian Renaissance artist painting at a time when perspective was just beginning to be understood and really experimented with. This is one of my favorite Annunciation scenes because of the sheer awkwardness of it. The Annunciation is a large scale altarpiece, one of the first of its kind that emphasizes a particular scene rather than the traditional Madonna & Child. Martini is caught between the stylized icon style of the Byzantine world which had been so popular for sacred art and between moving toward a new type of softer, more realistic representation. Hence, Mary’s awkward pose and all of the figures’ exaggerated but strangely rounded faces. Art historian Ann Van Dijk explains the importance of this altarpiece as a devotional tool:

“By the time Simone Martini painted this altarpiece … the words of Gabriel’s salutation were associated in the minds of viewers not only with the biblical events surrounding the birth of Christ but also with the prayer that had adopted them as its opening phrase, the Ave Maria. … [In the fourteenth century, the Prayer's recitation] formed part of the daily devotions of the religious and laity alike. … Thus, for viewers of Simone Martini’s Annunciation, … the inscription read as a familiar prayer to the Virgin. This fact is crucial to understanding the image’s devotional character, for when taken into account, the angel’s kneeling posture and the words emanating from his mouth become a model of devotional practice for viewers to emulate.”

Caravaggio, The Annunciation, c. 1608

Not all Annunciations were so obviously meant to be devotional pieces that the viewer was to emulate. Caravaggio’s 1608 Annunciation invokes tranquility and introspection into the life of the Virgin and her character in the face of such a weighty charge. Gabriel floats above Mary, who is bowed down in humbleness, as she listens to and accepts Gabriel’s words. Lilies just barely illuminated in the background symbolize Mary’s purity. Caravaggio brings the sacred into the secular world by using models straight off the street and by stripping away any excess or gaudy signs of holiness. As Michael Kimmelman of the NY Times wrote, Caravaggio’s canvasses are

The genius of this canvas, and indeed Caravaggio’s entire oeuvre, is that he makes the divine accessible. Mary is, in a way, just like us – or just like we ought to be. Humble, realistic, trusting.

Peter Paul Rubens, Annunciation, c. 1610

Peter Paul Rubens’ 1610 and 1628 Annunciations are more dramatic. The golden heavenly light that is present in both works, shines down on Mary and suggests the presence of the Holy Spirit at the Annunciation. It also serves to remind the viewer of the divine and holy nature of this event. In both paintings, Mary is young and beautiful, dressed in the fine clothes of a Flemish noblewoman, and like a proper lady, she had been reading. In the 1628 painting, laundry sits in the corner near the table where Mary was reading her book. The paintings portray Gabriel and the relationship between him and Mary differently. In the 1610 piece, Gabriel is kneeling before Mary – perhaps a visual expression of her rank in Heaven. His gaze and posture, with his hand clasped onto Mary’s, lead the viewer to her. She holds her hand up to him, calm but surprised at his presence. In the 1628 work, Gabriel and the putti alike cast their gaze on Mary and Gabriel floats celestially above Mary as he announces the joyous news to Mary. Gabriel is in robes, and apart from his wings, these serve to separate him from the earthly realm. His body is strong and he appears confident, but he is not threatening; rather, the openness of his body toward Mary is meant to welcome. For Rubens, Mary is again meant to be a model to high society, pious Flemish women. She is the epitome of the pure, faithful, perfect woman. These paintings are meant to inspire viewers, especially, I think, female viewers, to lead holy lives and to remember the Virgin Mary and continue to honor her.

Peter Paul Rubens, Annunciation, 1628

Now that we’ve looked at the Annunciation, the next couple posts will discuss the other key events of the Christmas story and how they are portrayed and understood in art history.

In the meantime, check out this (rather small) gallery of various Annunciations, or head over to the Google Art Project to see Simone Martini’s Annunciation and Leonardo da Vinci’s Annunciation close up!

Tags: Annunciation, Art History, Baroque Art, Catholicism, Christmas Story, Martin Luther, Mary, Religious History, Renaissance Art, Series

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