Should we separate the artist from the art? What should we do when famous artists commit crimes? Should museums take their artworks down? Or should we tolerate them because they lived in different times? Can we appreciate an artwork only for its aesthetic qualities? Scholars, museum professionals, and the public have posed these questions about many Western artists and their artworks. The idea of canceling them looms over them as museums try to deal with their complicated past.

Famous Artists Under Scrutiny

Today, more than ever, museums and universities work to diversify the art history canon. This consists of an agreed group of artists who impacted the evolution of art the most, and we often call them the “Old Masters.” Not surprisingly, the overly European, white, heterosexual, cis-gender, and able-bodied men dominate this selection. While scholars and museums add artists from underrepresented groups, they address matters of colonization and systemic discrimination. Inevitably, Western artists from the canon have come under scrutiny for sharing racist, xenophobic, misogynistic, homophobic, ableist, and more prejudices.

Art historical research has evolved, too. Now, scholars do not only look for the stylistic characteristics and symbolism of a piece of art, but they also go deeper. They analyze economic factors, art market, patronage, gender roles, race, medium, semiotics, and politics. This information sheds light on the artistic process and reveals harsh and uncomfortable truths about the past. To avoid cancelation, some people believe we could separate the art from the artist and focus solely on the aesthetic qualities of a piece.

An example of this dilemma is Agostino Tassi, the rapist of Artemisia Gentileschi. He was a landscape and seascape artist from the late Mannerist movement in Italy. While he is not widely famous, his paintings and sketches form part of prestigious collections like the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Capitoline Museums in Italy.

Similarly, Gentileschi’s father, Orazio, is remembered as an acclaimed painter even though he was more concerned about his own reputation than the violence committed to her daughter. Do these actions outweigh their talent? Could we simply appreciate the landscape above? And do Gentileschi’s religious paintings have the same impact if he could not even show compassion for his own daughter?

How Much of an Artist Is in Every Masterpiece?

We like to think that art is the sole product of an artist’s creativity, but for centuries, art production depended on patrons. The Church, governments, powerful families, aristocrats, and monarchs were the only ones sufficiently wealthy to commission most of the masterpieces we see today in museums. Their money granted them power over the execution of artworks. Surviving contracts vary from very flexible ones to extremely detailed instructions from the patron. Therefore, a painting could be the combined vision of multiple agents, and without evidence, it is difficult to identify where one contribution ends and the others begin. Even if we could, we cannot just ignore one corner of a painting and focus on the rest.

The Aesthetic Alibi

In 1992, Martin Jay published a column titled The Aesthetic Alibi in which he defended artistic freedom as “a special case of freedom of speech, which raises it to a more purified level […] what would be libelous or offensive in everyday life is granted special dispensation.”

Moreover, he argued that art is in its own sphere, far from the rest. In this context, art and its makers are exempt from non-aesthetic criticism. Another interesting thing to point out is that Jay showed concern with the censorship in regimes like the USSR, Nazi Germany, and Khomeini’s Iran. For example, he mentions how French people protected art connected with the aristocracy during the Revolution and stored it in the Louvre. Emily Griffin from the Sotheby’s Institute of Art argued that this alibi immunizes artists from judgment by non-aesthetic rules. It also serves as an excuse for Western museums to ignore the demands from antineutral activists for a revision of the art history canon.

The Case of Paul Gaugin

Today, Paul Gaugin is one of the most important Post-Impressionist painters. However, in 1891, he left his wife and children in France and traveled to the island of Tahiti in search of new inspiration for his primitivist art. Primitivism rejected the academic rules of perspective and proportion that ruled European art since the Renaissance. In turn, it opted for an idealized depiction of the exotic world, free from the burdens of civilization. Ironically, his paintings became a reflection of the colonial violence he and his French co-nationals inflicted on native populations.

Gaugin titled the painting above Merahi metua no Tehamana (meaning Tehamana Has Many Parents or The Ancestors of Tehamana). The girl in the striped dress was Teha’amana, a 13-year-old Tahitian girl who Gaugin married. Another of his paintings titled Manaò tupapaú (Spirit of the Dead Watching) from 1892 shows her lying naked on a bed. He oversexualized her when she was only a child and enhanced racist and misogynistic stereotypes about women of color. It is hard to separate the artist from the art when they are so intertwined. It is more difficult to separate Gaugin from his non-aesthetic context because the motivations behind his art resulted from an environment of racism, sexual violence, and misogyny.

The National Gallery addressed this issue during an exhibition titled The Credit Suisse Exhibition: Gauguin Portraits in 2019. The curators added contextual information about his paintings from Tahiti. Co-curator Cornelia Homburg mentioned during a talk how Gaugin took advantage of French colonialism, as well as local beliefs. In Tahiti, as in many cultures around the world, adult men could have relationships and marry young girls without judgment.

Even when the added context only existed in a portion of the exhibition, certain people criticized it. On November 23rd, 2019, Steve Cuozzo from the New York Post wrote,

“This is what art appreciation has come to: a PC prism through which a painting, a work of literature or even a popular song must be scrutinized for racism, sexism, gender bias or just plain hurt feelings […] I thought most human beings turned to art not for ideological hectoring but for the joy of beauty and insight into the human condition — whether from Dante, Shakespeare or Springsteen.”

To him, the exhibition at the National Gallery should never have addressed Gaugin’s controversial behaviors and should have let people appreciate the art simply for its beauty.

Famous Artists Are Just the Tip of the Iceberg

The case of Gaugin illustrates how personal artworks can be, making it impossible to separate them from their author. The artworks become explicit reflections of their behavior and mindset. Moreover, separating the art from the artist goes further than ignoring the immoralities or crimes of the artists. These men existed in a context that informed their vision of the world and actions. If Gaugin abused a native girl, it was because he could; the same goes for Tassi, Gentileschi, and countless others.

Those who believe we shall only care for the aesthetic qualities of a painting also pretend to turn a blind eye to the message of those paintings, no matter how offensive they may be. Think about Teha’amana’s painting. Why did our society think that a painting of a brown girl naked in bed represented a pleasing image? Or Balthus’s paintings of young girls in sexually suggestive poses?

Macushla Robinson participated in the podcast Tiny Sparks. Investigating the Business of Doing Good in 2021, in an episode titled For This Art Curator, the Aesthetic is Political. There she talked about her upcoming book Rape in the MET Museum. She noted that the Metropolitan Museum of Art contained 181 works of art titled or described as rape in their database. Some of them consist of mythological paintings where gods abduct women to have illicit sexual relations. According to her,

“Art history has traded on stories on rape to create drama, to set up opportunities to paint nude women and to display the mastery of the artist over his subject.”

If we turn to people of color, we could try the same exercise Robinson did with the words servant or slave. For instance, the Golden Age of Dutch Art featured Black people in the background of noble families’ portraits, as did in other European countries. As for people from the Middle East, Orientalism depicted cultures as pre-modern people and over-sexualized, brown-skinned women.

Disabled people were an object of cruel portrayals. By praising perfect proportions and athletic bodies, people with physical impairments were far from the idea of beauty in art. Often, they appear as freakshows. They reflect ableist beliefs that blamed disabilities on sins or curses. For example, the theme of Christ healing the blind reinforced the idea of sickness in need of fixing. A museum can work to be as accessible as possible to its visitors with automatic doors, ramps, audio guides, and braille translations, but the artworks may still portray ableist thinking. And what about mental health reflected in Théodore Gericault’s portraits of people in asylums?

Problematic Famous Artists and Their Art

Separating the art from the artist is a long-going debate, and it will be for decades. This is not exclusive to art history. Everywhere, in pop culture, entertainment, sports, and even science, we ask if people’s actions outside their work should affect their work. It might be best to go case by case, but the reality is that art is not isolated. It is part of our societies and a reflection of them.

What is beautiful to one culture depends on historical context; therefore, separating the aesthetic values of an artwork also involves ideologies and politics. These are the issues museums and scholars must examine when planning an exhibition or a research paper. Hiding the names of artists will not fix anything, but neither will ignoring their problematic past. Museums have also changed. Instead of being the authoritative institutions of the past where people ought to receive information, they need to be places for thinking, discerning, and discussing. The exhibition on Gauguin at the National Gallery is a good example of this balance. They provided verifiable facts and extended an invitation to the public to think critically, evaluate the information, and make their own judgment.

Money and art have served as political tools to convey visual narratives and make powerful statements for millennia. Combined, they are powerful cultural assets. Today, governments invest considerable resources in selecting artworks and artists to create attractive banknotes, valued not just for their exchange value but also for what they represent. They have become symbols of their countries, coveted by the public and collectors. Here are 14 examples of banknotes from all around the world that display artworks or famous artists.

1. British 20-pound Banknote Featuring Famous Artist JWM Turner

In 2016, J.M.W. Turner (1775–1851) became the first artist to appear on a British banknote, specifically on the £20 banknote. The public nominated him, and an expert panel selected him for his contributions to the visual arts and British society. The decision was not merely aesthetic. As the governor of the Bank of England said, “Money is memory.” Turner’s self-portrait from 1799 appears on the reverse of the note. Behind it, there is a reproduction of one of his most famous paintings, The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up (1838). Additionally, one can read one of his quotes, which says, “Light is therefore colour,” delivered at a lecture in 1818. The sovereign, as always, appears on the obverse of the note.

2. Mexican 50 Pesos Banknote Featuring Teocalli

Mexicans were filled with pride when the 50-Mexican-peso banknote was named the most beautiful one in 2022 by the International Bank Note Society (IBNS). The back of the Teocalli of the Sacred War appears on the obverse of the note. This is a Mesoamerican stone sculpture from the Mexica culture (1325–1521) representing a temple in miniature. Although the Teocalli is a three-dimensional sculpture with relief all around it, the government highlighted the back side because it shows the eagle standing on a cactus, devouring a snake. This image is the symbol of the Mexican flag and one of the most important visual elements of Mexican culture. Behind it, a part of Diego Rivera’s (1886–1957) mural The Great Tenochtitlan seen from the Market of Tlatelolco (1945) serves as background.

3. Armenian Banknote featuring Hovhannes Aivazovsky

The Armenian banknote featuring a portrait of Hovhannes (or Ivan) Aivazovsky (1817–1900) is a perfect example of how money can be used to make political statements, and how important an artist’s national identity can be. Aivazovsky is worldwide known as a Russian painter, famous for his extraordinary seascapes, which are present in this note alongside his portrait. However, Russia, Armenia, and Ukraine have engaged in a long dispute to define his national identity. Since the invasion of Russia into Ukraine, these two nations’ claims have escalated. Meanwhile, Armenia recognizes that the artist lived and studied in Russia but still considers him an Armenian artist. As such, the Armenian government put him on their banknotes.

4. Indian Banknote Showing Cultural Heritage

All Indian banknotes feature Mahatma Gandhi on the obverse, but the reverse shows the most important archaeological sites in the country. The 20-rupee note shows the Ellora Caves (600–1000 AD), a complex of 34 caves located in Maharashtra, India. These are masterpieces of architecture, sculpture, and painting. Apart from its artistic qualities, the importance of this site lies in its message of religious tolerance. These temples represent Buddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism, all in one place. It is a testament to the long history of India’s multiculturalism. For this reason, UNESCO included the caves on the World Heritage List.

5. South Korea Banknote Featuring Shin Saimdang

Shin Saimdang (1504–1551) became the first woman to appear on South Korean banknotes in 2009. She was a recognized artist of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910) era. The 50,000-won banknote showcases her portrait along with details of the plants and insects she painted.

The selection of this painter caused a stir among Korean feminists. The exclusion of women and other vulnerable groups from appearing in banknotes sends as strong a message as the inclusion of others. Consequently, including a woman artist is a sign of gender equality in South Korea, or at least what the government tried to convey. Nevertheless, for certain feminist groups, Shin symbolized traditional views of women and their domestic roles in society. Aside from her artistic legacy, Shin was the mother of the Confucian scholar Yi I.

6. Colombian Banknote Featuring Débora Arango

Débora Arango (1907–2005) was a Colombian expressionist painter and watercolorist. She defied convention by choosing a career usually reserved for men, painting female nudes, and making social commentary through her art. Since 2015, the 2,000-Colombian-peso banknote featured Arango and her artworks. The obverse contains details of The Nuns and the Cardinal (1987) and 13th of June (1986). The latter illustrates a political uprising where conservatives, liberals, and other social groups joined to support the coup d’état by General Gustavo Rojas Pinilla against President Laureano Gómez.

7. Turkish Banknote Featuring Mimar Kemaleddin Bey

The reverse of the 20 Turkish lira features the architect Mimar Kemaleddin Bey (1870–1927). He was one of the leaders of the First National Architectural Movement, also known as the National Architecture Renaissance or Turkish Neoclassical architecture, at the beginning of the 20th century. If banknotes are part of a medium to showcase nations’ cultural heritage, then it is no surprise that Turkey chose an architect who worked to give his nation their own style by returning to Ottoman influences. Behind his portrait appears the last work of his movement, the Rectorate Building of Gazi University.

8. Banknotes Featuring Congolese Artworks

The Democratic Republic of the Congo’s banknotes feature a variety of examples of the country’s history of art. For instance, the 1,000-Congolese-francs note features the Coffret Kanioka, a carved casket of the Kanioka people; the 5,000-note, a wooden sculpture from the Hemba people; the 10,000-note, a statue of the Kuba people; and the 20,000-note, a head carved by the Bashielele people. This diversity in the artworks reflects the country’s cultural, linguistic, and artistic diversity.

9. Banknotes Featuring Singaporean Artworks

Singapore chose local artworks from the Singapore Art Museum to adorn its 50 Singapore-dollar banknote. Two Gibbons Amidst Vines by Chen Wen Hsi (1906–1991) and Drying Salted Fish (1978) by Cheong Soo Pieng (1917–1983) appear on the obverse of the note. These paintings represent the coming-of-age of the Singapore Arts scene. Both artists migrated from China to Singapore, where they created the Nanyang style. Overall, it is a combination of Southeast Asian themes, Chinese ink painting, and Western oil painting. To accompany the artworks, the note includes four instruments: The Chinese Pipa, Malay Kompang, Indian Veena, and Classical Violin. All these elements convey a message of multiculturalism.

10. Egyptian Banknote Featuring Ancient and Modern Architecture

The magnanimity of ancient Egyptian architecture attracts millions of visitors every year. Wisely, the government put those marvels in their banknotes. The obverse of the one-pound banknote features the Madrasa and Mosque of Sultan Qaytbay, built in 1474 AD during the Mamluk sultanate. Meanwhile, the Great Temple of Ramesses II in Abu Simbel (ca. 1264 BC) decorates the reverse side. This way, both modern and ancient Egypt are represented in the banknote.

11. Japanese Banknote Featuring Hokusai

Hokusai (1760–1849) was one of the greatest woodprint artists in Japan. In 2019, the government included his most famous work, The Great Wave off Kanagawa (1830), in the 1,000-Yen note. During the Meiji period, woodprints like this one became popular in Europe, inspiring dozens of artists to create a new style called Japonism. The artwork features a view of Mount Fuji, a natural icon of Japan.

12. Georgian Banknote Featuring Niko Pirosmani

If Niko Pirosmani (1862–1918) had known that his artworks would appear on Georgia’s 5-lari banknote, he would not have believed it. He was a self-taught artist who lived and died in poverty and never enjoyed fame. However, today, according to the National Bank of Georgia, he is the greatest Georgian artist. He painted country scenes that depicted Georgian life and traditions, all while the nation suffered under Russian rule. The banknote features two of Pirosmani’s Primitivist paintings: Kalo or Threshing Floor at Dusk (1915–1916) and The Fisherman in the Red Shirt (1908).

13. Romanian Banknote Featuring Nicolae Grigorescu

The 10-lei Romanian banknote celebrates the painter Nicolae Grigorescu (1838–1907). He is known as one of the founders of Romanian modern art. The obverse shows his portrait next to a standing paintbrush, and even the clear window has the shape of a palette and paintbrush. Moreover, on the reverse side, Grigorescu’s Rodica, the Water Carrier appears next to a traditional home from the Province of Oltenia. As many painters recognized for bringing forth their national traditions and identity, he focused on painting rural life.

14. European Architecture on Euros

Today, 20 of the 27 countries in the European Union use the Euro as their official currency. Their banknotes illustrate the history of the European continent through their architecture. Each banknote features a historic style: the 5€ note pays homage to classical Greek and Roman cultures; the 10€ and 20€ notes go further to Medieval times with the Romanesque and Gothic styles, respectively; the 50€ note, the Renaissance; the 100€ note, the Baroque; the 200€ note, Art Nouveau; and the 500€ note finally reaches the modern era.

Famous Artists in Our Pockets

Every day, millions of banknotes all around the world pass from one hand to another. These 14 examples show how countries use them as media to promote their culture. There are many more examples of this. Perhaps you have kept some notes from your travels, or even from your own country, or you might collect old ones, because they are more than simple papers for trade. They hold part of a country’s cultural heritage.

The oeuvre of Henry James spans some 20 novels, dozens more novellas and short stories, plays, travel writing, and criticism. It’s not just the breadth of this body of work that daunts readers. James is a novelist’s novelist, who innovated a style entirely his own: sprawling sentences in which each word is meticulously chosen to add to the enigmatic maze of phrases he has pieced together. Where to start? No better place than his early style, with its famous ‘international theme,’ moving through to his psychologically complex, highly interiorized later work.

The Portrait of a Lady

In 1881, Henry James was already the author of six novels. A cosmopolitan who had spent as much of his youth traveling in Europe as in his native New England, James had filled his books so far with the ‘international theme’: contrasting American innocence with European experience, New World enterprise with Old World culture. No surprise that these early novels included titles such as The American (1877) and The Europeans (1878).

The Portrait of a Lady expanded on these ideas by integrating another element that would become a James hallmark: a brilliant, beautiful, often rich female protagonist who must decide how to make her way in a world that still prizes marriage above all. James’s first great success, and still one of his most read works, the novella Daisy Miller (1878), had taken up this theme alongside the international one by depicting its American heroine’s changing fortunes in Europe.

Isabel Archer, in Portrait of a Lady, is another of these beguiling heroines. What sets this novel apart (making it, for many readers, James’s first masterpiece) is the space it devotes to exploring its protagonist’s inner workings.

We follow every step of Isabel’s mental processes as she asks herself whether to marry Gilbert Osmond in spite of her doubts, then as she tries to make sense of her betrayal at Gilbert’s hands and those of his accomplice, Madame Merle. This painstaking recreation of the human mind in fiction would become James’s greatest accomplishment.

The Aspern Papers

You’d be forgiven for thinking that an author bent on mimicking the intricacies of consciousness in prose wasn’t exactly a writer of page-turners. Yet The Aspern Papers, a novella published in 1888, is exactly that.

Our unnamed narrator travels to Venice in hopes of getting a glimpse at some letters, or ‘papers,’ by the late, celebrated poet Jeffrey Aspern (an invention of James’s, though he drew on the increasing interest among scholars by the late 19th century to gather information about deceased writers). The narrator finds himself embroiled in a game of mutual dissembling with the old woman who guards the papers and her niece.

The novella is a gripping piece of metafiction that anticipates certain postmodern texts that also revolve around literary detective work, such as A.S. Byatt’s Possession (1990) and the dark academia genre. As the tension mounts throughout The Aspern Papers, the reader is left questioning what really motivates each character: are they intent on preserving Aspern’s memory, or satisfying their own desires?

The Turn of the Screw

Probably James’s best-known piece of short fiction, if not his best-known work altogether, The Turn of the Screw has been adapted multiple times since its publication in 1898: it has been turned into films (such as The Innocents, 1961), reworked as television series (such as The Haunting of Bly Manor, 2020), referenced in other fiction, and formed the basis of a Benjamin Britten opera.

Why does The Turn of the Screw continue to capture audiences? In part, because it is a classic horror story, complete with haunted house, creepy children, and an unnamed, mounting threat. Its title refers to the gradual, torturous tightening of tension as the governess at the center of the story tries to determine whether the children she is in charge of really are possessed by the ghosts of Bly Manor’s former servants.

So far, so Gothic. But what makes The Turn of the Screw even more captivating, and especially worth reading in its original form, is James’s use of unreliable narration. Unlike earlier Gothic texts, which depict supernatural elements, James’s novella suggests the ghosts may be only in the mind. The question is, whose mind? Using his trademark ambiguity, James makes it possible to believe that the children have made up the apparitions, or that the governess has fabricated the entire story herself.

The Ambassadors

This 1903 novel was James’s favorite of his own works. Here, the ‘international theme’ of his earlier phase meets the intricate prose of his creative apex. This novel, and the novels before and after it (The Wings of the Dove (1902) and The Golden Bowl (1904)) are generally considered his finest work.

The protagonist, Lewis Lambert Strether, is sent to Europe by his fiancée to bring her son from a previous marriage back to America: back to civilized morals and sensible work. This set-up would later serve Patricia Highsmith well for the opening of The Talented Mr Ripley in 1955.

But Chad Newsome, the son, is not living a dissolute lifestyle in Europe at all. He is charming, cultured, and confident. He introduces Strether to Paris, and the ambassador soon finds himself deviating from his mission. It is another story built around enigmas: is Newsome really living a better, more moral life? Is Strether right to feel liberated the longer he spends away from America, the more he immerses himself in European culture?

Once again, James’s complex prose heightens the sensation of entrapment in a maze as the reader tries to puzzle through all this, with the entire experience told in partial, third-person narration: that is, we seem to have an omniscient narrator, but everything is filtered through Strether’s perspective.

The Golden Bowl

In contrast to The Ambassadors and its focus on the protagonist’s point of view, the complexity of The Golden Bowl comes from its masterful evocation of multiple points of view, but without resorting to the epistolary or multiple-narrator constructions of earlier authors.

The plot of The Golden Bowl is relatively simple. Prince Amerigo marries Maggie Verver, daughter of an American widower, Adam, in London. While there, they meet a fellow American, Charlotte Stant, who, before long, marries Adam. Unbeknownst to both Adam and Maggie Verver, their spouses had formerly had an affair, and are now thrown together by the new marriages.

The golden bowl of the title is symbolic: on one of their secret outings, Amerigo and Charlotte decide not to buy it as a wedding present for Maggie because it has a tiny crack. Maggie later buys it, causing the shopkeeper to reveal their affair. Each character has a reason not to shatter this golden bowl or destroy the two marriages by revealing their secrets.

It is an emotionally claustrophobic novel, and James’s narration emphasizes this by moving seamlessly among the four protagonists’ thought processes. This, paired with James’s forbidding sentence construction, makes for an astonishing read in which most of the action appears to happen inside the characters’ minds. In this, The Golden Bowl anticipates modernist stream-of-consciousness techniques, used by authors like Virginia Woolf and James Joyce to mimic the complex, often confusing patterns of thought itself.

The Beast in the Jungle

The Golden Bowl had shown James moving away from external action and deeper into the recesses of his characters’ minds. All that happens in The Beast in the Jungle, a novella published in 1903, is that John Marcher meets May Bartram, a woman he used to know 10 years ago, who reminds him of his old, looming fear that some catastrophe was lying in wait for him like a “beast in the jungle.”

Believing he would subject anyone he married to the same fate, he keeps Bartram close but not too close, dragging both of them down into a half-life of fear and hiding. Eventually, he realizes his catastrophic fate has been, all along, to waste the best years of his life worrying about some unknown future event.

It is a relatively simple idea, full of existential possibilities: how should we best live our lives? What is our responsibility towards others? Is it better to cautiously avoid failure or to throw ourselves hopefully towards the unknown?

With its unfussy plot—very few characters, only one setting, in contrast to many of James’s other works which move freely between European countries and America—The Beast in the Jungle has the makings of a classic tragedy, albeit updated to the turn of the 20th century, turning upon the distinctly modern fatal flaw of ennui.

Of course, in James’s hands, it is anything but a simple story. James’s masterful techniques of circumlocution and evasion were well used here, bringing to life a protagonist whom many have suspected to be close to James himself.

Indeed, the sexual ambiguity of Marcher and Bartram’s relationship has led critics to read The Beast in the Jungle as a possible reflection on the conditions of being closeted. Perhaps the ‘beast’ Marcher fears, and the reason he cannot quite allow Bartram into his life, are linked by latent homosexuality.

This was, as the infamous late-19th-century phrase had it, “the love that dare not speak its name,” and James’s prose was the perfect evocation of the closet, with all its symbolic half-statements and partial revelations.

However, we read the story, James’s style is at its peak by the end, reaching an intensity which clearly shows his influence on the modernists some two decades later:

“He saw the Jungle of his life and saw the lurking Beast; then, while he looked, perceived it, as by a stir of the air, rise, huge and hideous, for the leap that was to settle him. His eyes darkened – it was close; and, instinctively turning, in his hallucination, to avoid it, he flung himself, on his face, on the tomb.” (James, 1997)

Source

James, Henry (1997). The Beast in the Jungle. Project Gutenberg edition.

While the Odyssey’s 8th-century B.C. authorship credited to an obscure, allegedly blind poet called Homer remains under debate, it inarguably lives on as one of the cornerstone “great books” of Western literature. Despite the tome’s voluminous 24 books (i.e., chapters) and some 12,000 lines, all written in classical dactylic hexameter verse, the plot is open-and-shut if boiled down to Hollywood “high concept” terms: a valiant soldier’s Herculean quest to return to his wife and homeland after years away at war.

The Iliad, Part II

That soldier, of course, is Odysseus (“Ulysses” or “Ulixēs” in Latin), one of the legendary leaders among the Greek armies that invaded and eventually conquered the coastal fortress city of Troy. While most historians believe there was an actual war between the Greeks and Trojans (the latter located in today’s westernmost Turkey), the entire saga was first mythologized into the Iliad and then the Odyssey “sequel” by Homer. Both were initially passed down through the generations through the oral storytelling tradition.

In the Iliad (from “Ilium,” the Greek name of Troy), Homer lays the blame on Troy’s Prince Paris for starting the hostilities, set off when he spirits away the fair Helen, wife of Sparta’s King Menelaus. None too happy, Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon enlist the mightiest Greek warriors to sail to Troy and lay siege. The war lasts ten long years, and the Greeks eventually triumph, despite losing their seemingly invincible Achilles, but only due to a little trick that famously involves a colossal wooden horse, a cache of hidden soldiers, and a naïve Trojan citizenry that should have feared the Greeks “even when they offer gifts.”

Gods, Monsters, and Men

While Homer’s follow-up also condenses a ten-year span, it covers much more territory (practically the entire Mediterranean in fact) while at that same time trimming its main mortal characters down to three: the “long-suffering” Odysseus, king of Ithaka (aka Ithaca); Penelope, his legendarily loyal wife back home; and Telemachos, his grown son. That Homer curiously shuffles the overall narrative to and fro and inserts what today can be labeled story “flashbacks” retelling Odysseus’ iconic death-defying adventures (the Cyclops, the Sirens, the Lotus-eaters, et al.) arguably points to the epic poem as passing down through history as the tapestry-like creation woven from several narrators, not just one.

Speaking of sewing, this indeed is Penelope’s distaff diversion, as well as sleight-of-hand, in her daily battles against a jackal pack of “haughty suitors” who have rudely taken up residence at the palace. With her husband long gone and feared dead, these brazen interlopers continually badger the queen for her hand in marriage, meaning that one of them will be the new king, of course. The wily Penelope pledges that she will make her choice once she finishes a shroud she is weaving for her father-in-law. What’s a chaste, faithful, “trad” wife to do? By day she labors at weaving the garment, but each night she undoes the work so that she’ll never finish.

Completing Homer’s character triumvirate is Telemachos, whom Odysseus was reluctantly forced to leave as an infant to go off to battle. While his father is no doubt the hero of the Odyssey (after all, it’s named after him), Homer’s first four books tell of the son’s own voyages to seek proof that his father is still alive and where he might be. He sets off on that quest at the urgings of the shape-shifting goddess Pallas Athene (aka Minerva), who is Odysseus’ divine benefactor and booster throughout this tale. She takes his side in opposition to Poseidon, roiling and riled-up god of the sea, who has it in for Odysseus ever since he blinded Poseidon’s monstrous man-eating son, the Cyclops Polyphemus, on the island believed by some to be Sicily.

In a textbook example of a story opening in medias res (“in the middle of things”), the Odyssey’s narrative commences not when Odysseus sails from Troy with his men up the coast to Ismarus, chronologically, but only alludes to that violent clash later on. Given that writer/director Nolan is almost ritually drawn to out-of-sequence plots, even disjointed ones (see Oppenheimer, Inception, Memento, et al.), this observer can pretty well prophesize that his Odyssey will retain and perhaps even complicate Homer’s fractured, fateful timeline over its three-hour length.

Star Treks and Screen Voyages

Odysseus’ superhuman quest is indeed a timeless one and the through-line of scores of legends and lore transcending East and West. Consider the word “nostalgia,” meaning a “longing for home,” an emotion that has surely prompted eons of wistful daydreams or retro physical journeys. Now there are those hardened sages who warn that “you can’t go home again,” but that certainly didn’t stop young Dorothy Gale in Hollywood’s wonderful 1939 The Wizard of Oz, who only had to chant “there’s no place like home” and click her heels to magically return to her family’s Kansas farm.

It’s unsurprising then that the Odyssey has inspired dozens of dramatic journeys, directly and indirectly, old and new, testifying to its deep, buoyant resonance. Nolan has hardly been the first to tackle it on the big screen. There are short, silent, European versions going back at least to 1911. These early “sword and sandal” costume pictures strode into the sound era, with one high point coming with matinee idol Kirk Douglas’ brawny, bearded turn as Ulysses in a lush 1954 Technicolor version produced by Italian film titans Carlo Ponti and Dino De Laurentiis. On U.S and European TV as well, Homer has had long “legs,” charging into several episodic iterations, including a star-studded, visually ravishing 1997 miniseries that featured Armand Assante in the lead role and Greek diva Irene Papas as Odysseus’ mother.

It’s lesser known that Odysseus’ wanderings have served as the source for fictional riffs far and wide, often ironically. In 1922, trailblazing Irish “stream of consciousness” author James Joyce published the scandalous Ulysses, shrinking the adventures down to 24 hours in the everyday, anti-heroic lives of a Dublin man, his wife, and a young stranger. In a contemporary comedic vein, the filmmaking brothers Coen (Joel and Ethan) cleverly mined Homer for 2000’s O Brother, Where Art Thou?, in which escaped convict George Clooney must survive sultry sirens, a big bad bandit, and even the Ku Klux Klan in his paternal quest to return home and keep his ex-wife from marrying her “bona fide” Southern suitor. More serious, yet seriously flawed, is director Anthony Minghella’s frigid 2003 Cold Mountain, in which a Civil War deserter (Jude Law) turns Odysseus’ trek home into a marathon with all the speed of molasses flowing uphill.

Devoted cinephiles will also know that in French New Wave auteur Jean-Luc Godard’s brilliantly modernist Contempt (1963), he cast the eminent German director Fritz Lang as “Fritz Lang,” arduously filming his version of the Odyssey at Rome’s storied Cinecittà studios. Even deeper down the meta movie rabbit hole, Lang’s feckless screenwriter (Michel Piccoli) begins to suspect his bewitching blonde wife (Brigitte Bardot) is no Penelope when it comes to keeping her marriage vows.

IMAX, Not iMac

Nolan is no stranger to cinematic risk, and has long been undaunted by the Hollywood box-office seers who’ve predicted his doom, most recently with Oppenheimer, which not only won seven Oscars (including best picture and director) but took home a billion dollars in global ticket sales. More than a few mordant observers thought he ginned up his Cold War atomic-bomb biopic with gratuitously incendiary sex scenes formulated only to feed the hydra-headed commercial hoi-polloi. Since Homer’s Odysseus (Matt Damon) has few conjugal moments with his stalwart wife Penelope (Anne Hathaway) on Ithaca, perhaps Nolan will spice up his picture with a torrid romance between his shipwrecked, pre-GPS sojourner and the lonely nymph Kalypso (Charlize Theron), who for seven years keeps him as her playmate on her fantasy island of Ogygia?

Nolan’s Olympian task will be to keep 21st-century, spectacle-seeking, text-challenged audiences captivated by a costume action drama short on spaceships, lightsabers, evil aliens, and fantastic planets. His solution no doubt will be to use the gargantuan IMAX screen like a vast immersive canvas fit for the gods as well as mortals, and where he’ll want viewers to marvel at only a fraction of the Promethean two million feet of 70mm film he shot in all, culled from locations in six countries including Greece, Italy and Morocco.

Say what you will about Nolan’s commercialized leanings that bare his artistic Achilles’ heel, but there is no question that his fidelity to the tools of old-fashioned analog filmmaking in the manner of British director David Lean (or Hollywood’s Cecil B. De Mille) puts him closer in artistic temperament to 20th century big-screen classicism than to today’s “edgy” postmodern simulated storytelling that is often as hollow and empty as, well, that legendary Trojan horse.

Honey, I’m Home!

By Zeus, Homer’s old-school Odyssey in no way lacks the big, cataclysmic, Armageddon-like climax that younger audiences have come to expect, even demand, from their blockbuster superhero fantasy flicks. Indeed, as written, Homer’s gory coup-de-grace finale that takes place with Odysseus’ ultimate return to Ithaka might test the macho directing mettle of the joined forces of Sam Peckinpah, Sergio Leone, Martin Scorsese, and Quentin Tarantino. Can audiences expect, gulp, the split-second zinger when the bloodthirsty Odysseus sends an arrow through the neck of his haughtiest rival, Antinous (Robert Pattinson), while he’s blithely downing a goblet of wine?

For all its blood, guts, and maritime thrills and spills, the Odyssey is and should be a paean to marital love and devotion, sentiments here outlasting the ravages of time, separation, war, and death itself. Whether such old-fashioned themes will score a bull’s eye with jaded audiences in an age trampled by divorce, high infidelity, and dysfunctional families is a question, for now, only the movie gods can answer.

Despite its epic length and the leagues of fleeting, faceless characters that cross paths with Odysseus and his son, ingrained in Homer’s archetypal opus is a fistful of vivid passages that have long hit home with readers from Athens to Atlanta. For this one and countless others, it’s the poignantly passing moment when the hero reaches Ithaka, 20 years on, to find his decrepit dog Argos waiting. While no one recognizes his aged and disguised master, old Fido does. And, with that, his own lifelong quest comes full circle too.

President Ford didn’t actually say “Drop Dead” to the city of New York in 1975, but it didn’t matter—the city was suffering, and there wasn’t going to be much help from the federal government. In the Bronx, landlords burned down their own buildings for insurance money, basic utilities and services suffered as city workers went on strike, and crime and police corruption were rampant. But none of this precluded artists from living and working in the city and ultimately creating art that showcased both the city’s heaven and hell.

1. Thomas Struth

A scholarship brought Thomas Struth to New York in December 1977, and he called it “a life changing experience.” He found the city “very intimidating and scary. For the first two weeks, I could hardly speak, I was so shocked by it.” With money from his parents to purchase equipment, he set out with his 5×7 camera to “photograph the streets, and hope that they might reveal their nature.” Ruefully, on the first day, he was “immediately attacked by homeless, drunk guys.” He also recalled: “I had no money for taxis, so I carried everything by foot and on the subway.”

Traveling the length and width of the island, Struth captured street scenes from the Financial District to Harlem, Chelsea to the United Nations Plaza. The images were shot in the early morning to avoid sharp contrasts between shadow and light, infusing them with a documentary, dispassionate quality. Crosby Street, SoHo, New York is one of the most iconic in the series, its depiction of dereliction striking to contemporary viewers used to the area’s luxury boutiques and expensive restaurants.

2. David Wojnarowicz

David Wojnarowicz was drawn to the Symbolist poet Arthur Rimbaud, seeing himself in the poet’s impassioned pursuit of an art that infused all aspects of one’s life. Other similarities are even more striking: both men were openly gay, experienced periods of impoverishment and vagrancy, were enfants terribles of their respective scenes of New York and Paris, and died tragically at the same age of 37.

Wojnarowciz turned his interest into art. The series Rimbaud in New York, first printed in Soho Weekly News in 1980, encompasses several hundred photographs. In each, a slender male figure (Wojnarowicz called on several friends to model for him while he remained behind his borrowed camera) with a paper mask of Rimbaud affixed to his head appears in both public and private spaces of the city. The images are liberating in their presentation of queerness, but the city life they depict is also often lonely or discomfiting.

Rimbaud shoots up, has sex, holds a gun to his head, haunts the gay cruising grounds of the West Side Piers, and stands in dark shadows, isolated and always wearing the same inscrutable expression. In the piece above, Rimbaud is in Times Square. In the 1970s and 1980s, the area was far from the Disneyfied playground for tourists and theatergoers that it is today. It was sordid and sketchy, filled with porn theaters, peep shows, video stores, and grungy diners. Rolling Stone called 42nd Street “the sleaziest block in America” in 1981, but for Wojnarowicz and other artists, it was a site of constant aesthetic fascination.

3. Camilo Jose Vergara

Camilo Jose Vergara Vergara arrived in New York from Chile at the beginning of the decade, enrolling in a sociology program at Columbia University in 1970. When he moved to New York, he gravitated toward Harlem, the South Bronx, and the Lower East Side, where he began taking photos that would eventually form the Old New York (1970-1973) series of which Duane Street is a part.

Vergara is perhaps best known for his Tracking Time series, in which he revisits the same places in a city—storefronts, residences, libraries, train stations—over the years, chronicling their evolution or erosion. He says: “I’m really interested in issues, what replaces what, what’s the thrust of things. Photographers don’t usually get at that—they want to show you one frozen image that you find amazing. For me, the more pictures the better.”

The Old New York series includes images of children playing, burnt-out cars and piles of debris, movie theaters and bodegas, painted brick walls, political posters, chatting neighbors, and vestiges of the built environment and modes of living that were quickly vanishing (in one photograph, a man is driving a horse and cart, seemingly his primary mode of conveyance. In another, the two World Trade Center towers are in the process of being built, looming over the older portions of the neighborhood). The series gives the viewers a look at a city undergoing a profound transformation, whether from the wrecking ball, patterns of immigration, city policies, or cultural shifts.

4. Tseng Kwong Chi

Tseng Kwong Chi was born in Hong Kong in 1950 and immigrated with his parents and sister to Vancouver, Canada. As a young man, he studied in Paris at the Academie Julian and eventually made his way to New York in 1978, settling in among the downtown art scene. In the city, Chi formed relationships with luminaries such as Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Julian Schnabel. He also became Keith Haring’s official photo-chronicler. Like too many other gay men in New York in the 1980s, Chi died young from complications due to AIDS.

Chi’s East Meets West series features the artist in black-and-white standing before iconic tourist sites such as Disneyland, the London Bridge, and the Grand Canyon. In New York, he posed before the Statue of Liberty, the World Trade Center towers, the Empire State Building, and the Brooklyn Bridge, all while wearing dark sunglasses and a classic Mao suit.

Even though he lived in the “grungy” part of New York, his photos showed the more glamorous places that still drew tourists (despite a 1975 NYPD-issued pamphlet entitled Welcome to Fear City: A Survival Guide for Visitors to New York). He genuinely celebrated the city’s famous historical, architectural, and cultural sites while offering a subtly humorous commentary on the relationship between insider/outsider.

5. Christy Rupp

In the summer of 1979, it seemed like rats ran the city of New York. A three-week strike by tugboat operators and another by apartment maintenance workers meant the streets were filled with rotting mountains of garbage. Over 130 buildings were declared menaces to public health, and the Board of Health Director warned of “a perilous increase in rodent and insect infestation.” Reports of higher rates of rat bites filled news reports. A woman was reportedly attacked by rats in downtown Manhattan one night, only escaping from the swarm by jumping into her car.

Christy Rupp, a young “eco-artist,” as she labeled herself, had officially settled in the city in the summer of 1977. During the sanitation strike, she was living on Fulton Street and saw firsthand how the conditions made by humans emboldened the rats to defend what they saw as their space.

In Rat Patrol, Rupp took one of the ubiquitous posters from a subway car sanitation ad, which featured a lifesize photo of a rat, disturbing facts about its behavior, and a concluding warning in bold that exhorted the viewer to “Starve a Rat Today” by being careful with their garbage. Rupp had the rat photo offset-printed and began, as she recalled, “pasting these up as a way to mark areas that were infested, so people could avoid walking through dangerous areas in which rats were defending their territories.” She did not want to “defend rats…[but] point out how we had created a habitat for them, and they would naturally occupy it.”

6. Fab Five Freddy

Fab Five Freddy, born Fred Braithwaite in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, was one of the most revered street artists of the 1970s and 1980s, decorating walls and subway cars with his signature style. He became deeply interested in art in college, particularly admiring the Pop artists, many of whom he would soon become friends with. He said of Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat in 1991: “Andy was the biggest influence on me. I hung around with him as much as I could. For me and Jean-Michel [Basquiat], coming from where we were coming from, being young black males in this happening downtown scene, we were just operating on another planet, and Andy was it.”

Freddy’s most famous work is arguably the Campbell’s Soup train, which debuted in early 1980 and ran for several years. A collaboration with friend and fellow graffiti artist Lee Quinones, the train features eight soup cans, some referencing past art movements such as Dada and Pop Art, with others featuring versions of Freddy’s name. Lee and Freddy, along with a few friends helping spray, worked quickly in the night, racing against the dripping of the paint in the cold air, the fumes in the tunnel, and the ever-present threat of the train moving or the police finding them. Painting a subway car was a surefire way to get your work noticed. It was also a way to show that art did not need to be on a canvas to be art. It could be embedded in the fabric of the city itself.

7. Peter Hujar

By the 1970s, the West Side piers were crumbling, derelict, and dangerous. The diminishing of commercial shipping after WWII left them unused and prone to rot and decay. The collapse of a portion of the West Side Highway in 1973 further sealed them off from the rest of the city. But these modern ruins did not stay abandoned for long, as they attracted young people, many of them unhoused, as well as artists and gay men.

There, under the sun with the waters of the Hudson below them, men could sunbathe and carouse. In the dark, dank halls and holes of the pier edifices, they could cruise, fornicate, and watch. Art historian Douglas Crimp, who visited the piers in their heyday, remembered that “the abandoned and dilapidated industrial piers presented extraordinary opportunities for experimentation and mischief.”

It was a utopia of sorts in a period before AIDS, a site of sexual and personal liberation. David Wojnarowciz said of them: “What I loved about [the piers] was that they were about as far away from civilization as I could walk, and I really loved that sense of detachment. It was like sitting with the entire city at your back and looking across the river.” However, the piers were also dangerous, with criminals preying on people otherwise occupied and “gay bashers” spoiling for a fight—and, of course, the piers themselves were in many cases literally crumbling into the water.

Peter Hujar captured both the human visitors and the atrophying structures they frequented, finding a sordid beauty even amid the ruins. In Hallway, Canal Street Pier from 1983, the walls and roof peel away, and the floor is covered with debris, but the hallway and the doorways beckon with the promise of privacy. The light streaming from the open roof has an almost spiritual tone. Hujar’s photos are of a place that would not last much longer. Even beyond the obvious decay captured in the images, it is clear that this isolated, utopian space was not fated for forever.

8. Perla de Leon

While many parts of the city were suffering in the 1970s, the Bronx was a special case. Block after block, the borough was filled with crumbling and burned-out buildings, piles of debris, abandoned cars, and boarded-up windows. Whereas popular narratives of the time blamed its blight on the working-class, mostly Black and Brown, residents, it was the city’s “urban renewal” policies and greedy landlords who were responsible for the destruction.

The South Bronx was slated as an “Enterprise Zone,” meaning the city encouraged factories to move in and said they would give their owners tax incentives to do so. Normally, the destruction of buildings would be accomplished with wrecking balls and demo crews, but the city looked the other way as landlord-arsonists did the work instead. The Bronx was burning, as the common refrain went.

However, De Leon’s 1979-1980 photographic project of the Bronx, South Bronx Spirit, was not about the burning. She had grown up in Hamilton Heights, Harlem, and was drawn to the South Bronx while working with a grammar school as part of a grant program (she taught children pin-hole photography with shoe boxes since there was no equipment at the school). With her own camera, she captured the people who lived in the neighborhood, showing how the fires were not the defining feature of their existence.

She said in an interview: “Everyone has captured the fires as they would happen. It was always in the news. It didn’t interest me as much. You can see it, obviously, in the background and in the photographs, but I wanted to show more of the life that was there. I feel that my photographs capture the spirit of the kids. For me, it’s just resilience.”

9. Alvin Baltrop

Like Peter Hujar, Alvin Baltrop was a frequent perambulator of the piers. He had taken up photography as a young man. After a stint in the Navy during the Vietnam War, he made his way back to New York, where he had been born in 1948. As a queer man himself, the piers beckoned with their seemingly unfettered freedom. He purchased a moving truck and used it as a mobile developing lab and a place to live while photographing Pier 52.

His thousands of images captured the place’s allure as well as the pitfalls of this ruin on the outskirts of civilization—languid sunbathers in front of Gordon Matta-Clark’s Days End, a work of art that consisted of large cuts into the walls and ceilings of the pier; police standing over a dead body that had been fished out of the water; naked men embracing, posing, sleeping, and cruising; the piers themselves, rotting, crumbling, sinking into the river.

Baltrop did not attain the same sort of recognition as other chroniclers of the pier, his images often being seen as too inclined to the lewd or tawdry. It was not until after his death that his body of work emerged as a powerful and empathetic chronicle of gay life before AIDS decimated the community and of city spaces before they were cleaned up and homogenized.

Sergio Bessa of the Brooklyn Museum sees Baltrop’s work as “diaristic,” but “maybe unbeknownst to him, there was an idea of an archive, of documentation. I don’t know if at the time he was aware of that, but now you look back and you have this unbelievable archive of those piers.” Baltrop himself commented: “Although initially terrified of the piers, I began to take these photos as a voyeur [and] soon grew determined to preserve the frightening, mad, unbelievable, violent, and beautiful things that were going on at that time.”

10. Hiram Maristany

Hiram Maristany was born and raised in New York to parents who had migrated to the city from Puerto Rico. His beloved neighborhood was East Harlem, or El Barrio, and it was there as a young man that he met like-minded young activists and became part of the Young Lords Party. He remained an integral part of the Nuyorican (Puerto Ricans living in New York) political and cultural movement in the 1970s, lending his photography skills to chronicle the Garbage Offensive and the occupation of the First Spanish United Methodist Church. A founding member and eventually the director of El Museo del Barrio, Maristany was deeply committed to using his camera and his curatorial and community-organizing skills to celebrate the arts of his people.

His photographs are documentary in nature, capturing the everyday realities of life in El Barrio. The neighborhood was a poor one, and the images of it that tended to circulate in the media were often voyeuristic and one-dimensional. While Maristany wanted to show the difficulties of the neighborhood, he also wanted to show the real people who lived, played, and worked there.

Maristany said in 2021: “One of the things that I had to deal with as a young man was that all the images depicting Puerto Ricans were negative. We were either committing a crime or a crime was being perpetrated against us. We were always in handcuffs. Our sisters were depicted as teenage mothers—without any morals or ethics. I was very distressed and angry about it. I wanted to try and do something about it.”

The Old English epic poem Beowulf is a classic story of darkness and light. Sinister, inhuman forces are portrayed as locked in battle with the forces of humanity and virtue. Yet, the monsters are more than just fantastical foes. They represent vices that are all too human, and they provide us with a deep insight into how the early-medieval mind viewed good and evil.

Who or What Is Grendel?

The primary antagonist of Beowulf is the creature known as Grendel. It is not clear what, or maybe who, Grendel actually is. We are first introduced to Grendel early on in the poem, around line 100, when the poet describes how the early joys of Heorot, the great hall of the Danish king, were destroyed by this monster. Grendel is described in Old English as a “grimma gaest,” which has been translated variously as “cruel spirit” (Alexander) and “grim demon” (Heaney, Williamson).

Perhaps the most significant fact about Grendel that is told to us by the poet is his ancestry. Grendel is described as a descendant of Cain, the man who slew his brother Abel in the Book of Genesis. From Cain was bred a whole series of monsters, whom God had cast out of the society of humans, according to the poet. Grendel thus has something of the human within him. As a descendant of a man who killed his own brother, we might view Grendel as an embodiment of all the worst instincts and destructive tendencies within humans. It is Grendel’s human-like quality that makes him such a terrifying being, and allows the poet to compare him closely to the poem’s hero, Beowulf.

Yet Grendel’s humanity should not be overstressed. He is a creature that devours other humans, and whose strength and ferocity are matched amongst humans by Beowulf alone. Grendel is also described as being invulnerable to swords, and so Beowulf has to tear off his arm in order to kill him. His eyes are said to contain a hellish light.

There are other things that we can say about Grendel that might point to who, or what, he is. Grendel appears to have the rough physiognomy of a human being. He is referenced as possessing hands, arms, and shoulders. He has a mother, who is also a monster of some kind. Yet, what stands out principally about the poet’s description of Grendel is the lack of physical descriptors that are used. Grendel’s hatred and malice are what define him, and the poet seems to deliberately leave his physical nature to the imagination of the audience.

Grendel’s Borderlands

Another important aspect of deciphering Grendel is where he comes from. Grendel exists on the fringes of the world of humans in Beowulf. He is described as lurking in the fens, which was likely inspired by the area of wetland swamp in eastern England, which, during the Anglo-Saxon Period, was a very prominent feature of the English landscape and mostly uninhabitable. Grendel is also described as living in the “march” or “borders,” on the edge of this world. When he captures Hrothgar’s men, he is described as dragging them off to his lair, adding further horror to the place he inhabits.

Grendel’s realm is explicitly contrasted with King Hrothgar’s great hall of Heorot, which acts as the central hearth of the poem and the center of civilization, comradeship, and joy. The hall’s “radiance lighted the lands of the world.” It is the place in which the rules and customs that uphold this society, such as the generosity of the king and queen and the loyalty of their followers, are demonstrated in the poem. Grendel’s hatred of Heorot is how we are introduced to him, and it is in some ways his defining motive in the poem.

Heorot is at the center of the poem’s world, and Grendel comes from the edges of this world. He lurks on the borders away from the great hall, in a dark and mysterious landscape. His moving from these borderlands and breaking into Heorot is the central trauma around which the first part of the poem revolves. When Beowulf slays Grendel inside Heorot, the monster retreats back to his lair to die, emphasizing the separation between the world of the hall and the world that Grendel represents.

Grendel is a representation of the dangers of the world beyond. Whether Grendel evokes a fear of invasion from foreign foes, or a supernatural fear of the monsters that were thought to roam the edges of the world in early-medieval Europe, or both, is unclear.

Some scholars have posited that Beowulf was first written down in the Viking Age, and that his depredations against Hrothgar’s hall were inspired by the brutality of Viking invasions and raids. It is also worth noting the elemental connotations of Grendel’s incursions upon Heorot. It is stated that “with the coming of the night came Grendel also,” as though the monster carried with him the fears of darkness itself. He is elsewhere described as “the walker in the night.”

The Character of Grendel

Whilst we cannot know very much about Grendel’s appearance and origins, the poet provides plenty of detail about Grendel’s character and, to some extent, his motivations. Grendel is often described in contrast to other things. He is defined to a large extent by what he hates and what he seeks to destroy.

Some scholars have seen in Grendel a perversion of the values that were central to the early-medieval North Sea world. Bravery is a primary value, yet Grendel demonstrates a reckless savagery and brutality that twists courage into a gross excess. In a world where community and kinship are central tenets of civilization, Grendel is a loner, infuriated by the gathering of people within Heorot and maddened by the sounds of communal society.

Grendel is described as being motivated by his rage against Hrothgar’s merry hall, and the poet describes the monster as entering into a feud with the king of the Danes. Blood feuds are described frequently throughout the poem, as is mentioned below, and the poet describes Grendel’s antagonism toward Heorot in similar tones.

The merriment and life brought by the hall so enrages Grendel that he wages war against King Hrothgar and his men for twelve years before Beowulf arrives. Grendel is thus an enemy who holds bitter grudges and who refuses to relinquish his hate. In a society where blood feuds were so prominent, such unrelenting bitterness and hate were arguably one of the worst traits imaginable, as it left no possibility to heal divisions and create peace.

Grendel’s Mother

Grendel’s mother is a monster whose motivations are much easier to understand, both for us and for the early-medieval world. Grendel’s mother is described by the poet as an “avenger,” who is “ailing for her loss.” In the tradition of the blood feud, she seeks a violent revenge, a “wrath-bearing visit of vengeance,” against those who destroyed her son.

Her attack seems more calculated than the attacks of Grendel. Where Grendel would wreak devastation in his attacks on Heorot, Grendel’s mother entered the hall at night, captured a single warrior, and then retreated back to her home. Her actions seem calculated and even rational according to the logic of the blood feud, whereby a life is taken in return for a life lost.

The very existence of Grendel’s mother serves to humanize Grendel in some way, as we understand that Grendel’s death has caused pain for others as well as rejoicing. Grendel’s mother is similarly outcast, as she resides in a cave underneath a lake, a residence that the poet describes as a banishment representing the punishment for the crime of her ancestor Cain.

Beowulf’s confrontation with Grendel’s mother is particularly noteworthy because it sees the eponymous hero venture into the realm of the monsters. Where Grendel was fought in the heart of the mead hall, Beowulf has to literally submerge himself in a dark and mysterious world in order to battle Grendel’s mother. This again suggests the greater vulnerability of this monster, because where her son was the hunter and Beowulf the defender, here Beowulf has become the predator, invading the monster’s lair.

The Dragon

Where Grendel was motivated by hate and a lust for blood, and his mother by vengeance, the dragon represents another all-too-human vice: greed. Nowhere is Beowulf’s influence on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien more evident than in the story of the dragon beneath the barrow. In Tolkien’s The Hobbit, the dragon Smaug is obsessively possessive of the treasure hoard that he lies upon under the Lonely Mountain, and the realization that a single cup has been stolen riles him to fiery fury. In Beowulf, it is the taking of a single goblet from the dragon’s treasure hoard that provokes it to burn the lands ruled over by Beowulf.

When the dragon is slain, its treasure hoard is bestowed by Beowulf upon his people. The poet here marks a sharp contrast between the monster’s hoarding and the generosity of Beowulf, which was a trait that was expected of a good ruler in early-medieval Northern Europe.

Unlike Grendel or his mother, Beowulf’s dragon is almost devoid of anything recognizably human in its motivations. The poet does not seek to enter the dragon’s frame of mind in the way he tries to do with the poem’s earlier monsters. The dragon is described as bound to the treasure-hoard: “he is doomed to seek out hoards in the ground,” though its motivation for doing so seems to be a bestial greed.

Yet the dragon is not totally mindless. It delights in war and fire and feud. Like Smaug in The Hobbit, the dragon has slept on its hoard for many years, and when roused by the theft of its treasure, it seems to relish an opportunity to unleash devastation. The Beowulf poet describes the dragon’s delight at the prospect of taking vengeance against the local people, and the eagerness with which it awaits nightfall before it sets flight and burns the surrounding settlements.

The dragon is viewed by some as an embodiment of fate for Beowulf. Many lines before Beowulf’s fight with the dragon begins, the poet hints to us that neither of the two combatants will survive their clash, and a sense of fate and foreboding surrounds the poet’s description of the combat. We are also told at the start of the fight that both of the combatants are in terror of the other, sensing that the conflict will be their doom.

The dragon represents a powerful enemy who brings devastation to ordinary people. In this way, the dragon is the perfect enemy for the poem’s hero, and in fighting it to the death, Beowulf can complete his heroic arc and perish as a defender of his people.

The Blood Feuds

Whilst the monsters take central stage in Beowulf in representing the forces of darkness, there is another destructive force that lurks around the edges of the poem: the blood feud. Whilst the poem centers on Beowulf’s struggles against the monsters, the poet presents a world riven by blood feuds between families and clans.

During reprieves to the central narrative of Beowulf’s conflict with the various monsters, the poet gives us a sense that most of the death and destruction in this world comes from the endless cycles of violence that plague the people of this world.

Great rulers like Beowulf are shown as bringing peace to their people, yet the description of the aftermath of Beowulf’s death points to the violence and chaos that can break out as soon as these mighty leaders are gone. Beowulf’s loyal retainer Wiglaf, when breaking the news of Beowulf’s death to the Geats, warns them that war looms over them. Wiglaf describes how long-running feuds with neighboring peoples, triggered by wars of years ago, will lead to their taking retribution on the Geats now that their leader, Beowulf, has been slain. Grudges in this world live on down the generations, and can spark fresh bloodshed at any time.

Beowulf himself speaks of feuds on his return to the Geats from Heorot. The hero describes the tragic inevitability of the feud. Marriages can make peace between people for a time, but memories of past conflict will always rise again and spark war anew. The old will relate to the young memories of battles lost and relatives slain, and so the young will be moved to vengeance, and the cycle continues.

In many ways, the blood feud is the true heart of darkness within the world of Beowulf. Monsters can be slain, and their death brings rejoicing, heroism, and unity amongst afflicted peoples. Yet, the blood feud continues from generation to generation, and the poet warns that it will bring devastation to the people of Beowulf’s world long after the hero’s death.

The notorious Grand Guignol theater specialized in outstandingly naturalistic and gruesome representations of violence, horror, and torture at a time when these shocking displays were not as abundant in popular culture. The inventive and darkly creative nature of the theater’s writers required special skills from many skilled makeup and prop masters, who were essential in bringing these terrifying scenes to life. Read on to learn more about the fascinating and macabre Grand Guignol stage effects.

The Grand Guignol and the Violence in the Theater

The Grand Guignol was a sensationalist exploration of collective phobias and repressed desires in their ugliest form. Its audiences were diverse—from groups of high-brow intellectuals to marginalized drug addicts looking for a new thrill. Occasionally, a flack of unsuspecting tourists would attend a show, intrigued by the stories of a popular experimental theater. The Grand Guignol had its regulars, for whom the staff often reserved specific seats.

The most successful Grand Guignol writer, Andre de Lorde, stated that every human had a potential monster in them. De Lorde believed horror plays were a healthier substitute for centuries-long shows made from public executions and gladiator fights. The Grand Guignol was one of the first theatrical projects in history where violence was not hidden behind the stage but highlighted and turned into one of the most important components of a show. Such an approach needed outstanding technical means to convince the audience and manipulate their fears.

Paul Ratineau was the man behind the physical appearance of the unbelievable amounts of gore imagined and written out by de Lorde. Ratineau was a stage manager, a special effects designer, and an actor in The Grand Guignol. In combination, all these occupations made him indispensable. His artistic practice greatly helped him come up with the most convincing effects since he had a clear idea of how an actor was supposed to move on stage.

Most secrets of The Grand Guignol state effects remained undisclosed. Some became known thanks to the stories of theater staff and their writings, including the memoir of Paula Maxa—the theater’s grand celebrity who was reportedly murdered on stage tens of thousands of times.

Paula Maxa: The Most Assassinated Woman in The World

The diversity of The Grand Guignol’s violence and stage effects could not be illustrated better than by the example of its greatest celebrity. Actress Paula Maxa was the superstar of the theater, reportedly murdered on stage more than 10,000 times in at least 60 ways. She was devoured alive by a puma, cut into 90 pieces and stitched back, disemboweled with her intestines stolen, crucified, burnt alive, and generally murdered and sexually assaulted in every possible way. To the disdain of a present-day viewer, sexualized violence was an important part of Grand Guignol’s plays. Sometimes, it was extremely fetishized, and it was always deeply unsettling.

Paula Maxa made a successful career out of her onstage suffering but had no luck in her personal life. It seemed that her onstage persona of a tormented and suffering woman attracted men ready to take advantage of her. With a twist of bitter irony, Maxa’s artistic identity turned into her own downfall. During one of her performances that featured her signature high-pitched scream, she injured her vocal cords and could never fully recover.

Fake Blood 

At The Grand Guignol, fake blood was measured not in drops or vials but in buckets. Paula Maxa remembered how, after every performance, she had to soak in a bathtub for hours, washing off liters of red liquid. Clothes soon became ruined after constant harsh washings, while hair became a mess too, sticky with clots of dried fake blood. Paul Ratineau had a specific blood recipe for each type of wound and the time that supposedly passed after it was inflicted. Fake blood was usually gelatine-based, which allowed it to coagulate if needed. Sometimes, prop designers failed to make the right blood tone, and then the whole mixture was re-made into puddings and flans for the entire theater team.

Eyes and Limbs

Despite its popularity, The Grand Guignol always ran on limited funds, so the solutions for stage effects had to be both impressive and cheap. Many of the props, like knives with retractable blades or hidden pumps with fake blood, were pretty standard for the time. Some inventions were more impressive: for the illusion of limb amputation, Ratineau and his team designed furniture with hidden compartments so that actors could hide their actual arms or legs and replace them with props.

The most impressive tricks were usually simple yet not always pleasant. To imitate eye-gouging (one of the most popular torture techniques in The Grand Guignol shows), Paul Ratineau bought animal eyes in bulk from local butchers. Another popular way of inflicting trauma was to throw acid in someone’s face. To imitate burns, actors hid plastic containers of stage blood, vaseline, and raspberry jam that they generously smeared over their faces while pretending to writhe in agony.

The Grand Guignol stage was small and closely adjacent to the seats, thus making every artistic manipulation extremely complicated and easily visible to the audience. For that reason, Gatineau had to come up with clever and unconventional ways to imitate wounds and apply makeup. One of the classic Grand Guignol plays featured a scene of torture by cutting off strips of flesh from the victim’s back. To make the scene convincing, Gatineau proposed to cover the actress’ back with strips of adhesive plaster, flesh-colored from the top and red from the bottom. During the torture scene, her tormentor discreetly spilled fake blood over her back and slowly removed the plaster strips while seemingly cutting her skin with a knife.

PR Tricks

The manipulation of The Grand Guignol was not limited to stage performance. Publicity stunts were common occurrences and started with the first owner of the place, Oscar Metenier. Before performances, he strolled the streets of Pigalle dressed in all black and accompanied by two bodyguards. He loudly recounted details of the most recent and most horrific crimes he read in a fresh newspaper.

During the golden age of The Grand Guignol, under the guidance of Max Maurey, PR stunts became more refined and subtle. Maurey started by hiring a permanent doctor for the theater. A seemingly innocent gesture, it nonetheless provoked interest since there was a kind of theater that required the presence of a medical professional.

Furthermore, Maurey spread rumors about the audience members constantly needing medical help. The most notorious anecdote eagerly spread by the director stated that once, during a particularly gruesome performance, a man in the audience collapsed in shock. Actors and spectators desperately called the doctor until they realized that the unconscious man was, in fact, the theater’s doctor. Popular newspapers reprinted (after Maurey’s endorsement) a caricature of a physician checking the health of audience members before admitting them to The Grand Guignol.

According to The Grand Guignol statistics, audience members fainted at the average pace of two per performance. The record was fifteen faintings per one show during a particularly graphic scene of blood transfusion. Contrary to popular expectations, men lost consciousness much more frequently than women.

Apart from faintings and occasional outbursts of anger, there was another sort of public reaction in the crowd. The theater building was previously a pseudo-Gothic chapel with its inner architecture still intact. Thus, confessional booths were used by those who wanted to remain anonymous or those who became too excited while watching a show. A small yet significant part of The Grand Guignol’s audience came to be people aroused by violence onstage. Sometimes, the sounds became so intense that the actors had to stop the show and ask the anonymous guests to be quiet. For sure, The Grand Guignol was a revolutionary and impactful theater project, yet the building’s cleaners certainly had different opinions on it and its visitors.

Violence as Therapy: The Ethical Implications of The Grand Guignol

Once, during the final phase of World War I, a group of severely wounded soldiers was awarded a trip to Paris. The veterans dined in the best restaurants and were brought to watch a Grand Guignol performance, allegedly to boost their morale. Military reports called the event a great success. Yet, present-day psychiatrists would definitely question the idea of entertaining war veterans, who were already traumatized physically and mentally, with more violence, even if it were fabricated.

However questionable this decision was, most experts agree that The Grand Guignol acted as a safe container of shared violent impulses that could be expressed in a safe setting and with no harm. Collectively repressed feelings and desires found their way to the stage in their most grotesque and exaggerated form. This was the case until reality caught up and surpassed any form of fiction. After World War II, with its concentration camps, bombings, and medical experiments, fake violence displayed for fun had lost its charm and stopped being as exciting.

Gustav Klimt was an Austrian painter who was one of the figureheads of the Vienna Secession. The artist is recognized today for his most famous works, such as The Kiss, which was painted in 1907-08 and is currently displayed in the Belvedere Palace in Vienna. A significant feature of Klimt’s works was the abundance of female figures portrayed, be it drawings of nudes or intricately finished oil paintings. In fact, women were often the primary subjects both in his paintings and drawings. Klimt painted women in depictions of religious and mythological narratives as well as in portraits, often with extensive ornamentation.

Gustav Klimt: The Painter of Women

In Gustav Klimt’s oeuvre, women appear in many forms—from erotic creatures to elite society ladies. Many of these compositions depict partially or fully nude women, as has been the tradition in Western art for centuries, but Klimt broke several conventions in terms of style and subject matter when depicting nude women. These works were made after a number of models who Klimt hired for his studio, who were paid a higher fee for their service than the usual rate. At the same time, the artist was known to have had intimate relationships with some of his models. The artist never married but was claimed to have fathered fourteen children.

The early 20th century was also a time when women’s role in society was changing. Women moved outside the domestic space and became more active in educational and professional spaces. In fact, many of Klimt’s models were professionals and relied on modeling to earn a living. At the same time, the rising popularity of the suffrage movement gave women space in the public and political spheres, which would not have gone unnoticed by artists like Klimt. His portrayal of women was thus influenced by this context wherein society was in a transitional state, holding on to old values while trying to embrace the new.

Women as Ornament: Klimt’s Golden Phase

Painting women with extravagant ornamentation was a common practice in fin-de-siècle Vienna. This style of painting was centered around decorative elements, as can be seen in Klimt’s employment of abstract patterns and designs. Being the son of a gold engraver, Klimt became renowned for his use of gold in paintings between 1901-1909, which is recognized as his Golden Phase. It became an important material for creating decorative paintings, and women in his works seemed gilded and glorious. It can be said that Klimt saw the female form as equivalent to decoration—he mostly painted decorative works, and his subjects were almost exclusively women. This has also led to arguments by feminist scholars that Klimt reduced the identity of the women he portrayed to their aesthetic value, particularly with certain works such as the Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer I painted in 1907.

Adele Bloch-Bauer was the wife of one of Klimt’s patrons, Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, who commissioned Klimt to paint this portrait in 1903. The artist was at the peak of his Golden Style, which becomes clear as soon as one looks at the painting. Adele sits or stands in the center of the frame, surrounded by gold, with only her arms, shoulders, and head visible. Her skin is pale, but she has rosy cheeks. She is wearing a floor-length dress that is entirely golden, merging into the gold background. The golden background is punctuated with a variety of patterns in black, white, blue, and red. Due to the overwhelming use of gold in the painting, this portrait is often referred to as The Woman in Gold. It has also been suggested that Klimt had an intimate relationship with Adele Bloch-Bauer, though there is no clear evidence.

Mythological Women

Apart from commissioned portraits, Klimt also painted women from mythological stories. However, this artist’s representation of traditional mythical themes had a modernist twist, such as in the paintings Judith I, Pallas Athene, and Water Serpents. Displayed in 1901 at the 10th Secessionist Exhibition, Judith I (or Judith and the Head of Holofernes) is meant to represent the story of Judith, a Biblical figure who seduced and beheaded Holofernes, a general who was sent to attack her hometown. She has been famously depicted in the act of beheading or holding the head of Holofernes in her hands by Renaissance painters such as Caravaggio and Artemisia Gentileschi.

Klimt painted the same theme but with Judith at the center and the head of Holofernes in her left hand, cut off from the frame. Klimt’s portrayal of Judith focuses on her sexuality with her chest exposed, lips parted seductively, sleepy eyes, and her body decorated with gold. Despite being portrayed erotically, Judith appears fearsome and powerful, taking charge of her own sexuality and using it as a weapon. She embodies the femme fatale, combining sexuality and violence and implementing her agency.

This oil painting of the Greek goddess of art and wisdom was symbolically significant for the Viennese Secessionists. She instantly comes across as a powerful figure—her intense gaze holds the viewer, and the shimmering gold armor illuminates her. The background depicts Hercules and Triton in an encounter, which was an allegory to the changing cultural ideals of the time with new art pushing against traditional styles. Pallas Athena was also depicted in the poster of the first Secessionist exhibition in 1898, and the production of this oil painting solidified her importance as a symbol of the Secession.

This consisted of two works—Water Serpents I and Water Serpents II—painted between 1904 and 1907. These paintings depict water nymphs surrounded by colorful patterns. These paintings are also highly decorative depictions of women in the nude, as was the common theme in Klimt’s Art Nouveau works. It has been suggested that while the painting is supposed to represent mythical figures, Klimt used this as a means to represent lesbian relationships.

This is particularly true in Water Nymphs II, which depicts women in a sensual embrace. Klimt not only held unconventional artistic ideals but also challenged conservative social norms through these paintings by suggesting same-sex intimacy.

Gustav Klimt’s Version of Eroticism and Challenging Artistic Norms

Klimt’s portrayal of women often has a sense of eroticism to them. He painted and sketched many nudes, including the depictions of mythical women shown as sensual beings. Klimt also studied the female body through sketches by exploring different—often erotic—poses, including a series of drawings depicting women pleasuring themselves. His portrayal of the female body was a cause for social disapproval due to the unconventional way he handled the subject. Two of his works broke important traditional rules that truly set him apart as a revolutionary artist—Nudas Veritas and Hope.

Translating to Naked Truth, Nuda Veritas was one of Klimt’s most controversial paintings. The painting was completed in 1889, showing a young woman in the nude. The controversial aspect of this work was Klimt’s decision to depict pubic hair on the woman, something that had not been done before. Traditionally, nude images of women did not depict body hair, so the depiction of pubic hair certainly raised eyebrows. This painting was an allegory for the naked truth artists present without any barriers, an idea that was foremost for the Secessionists and is also emphasized in the text on top of the painting, which translates to: “if you cannot please everyone with your actions and your artwork – please only a few: to please many is bad.”

Hope, a painting depicting a nude pregnant woman, is one of the most revolutionary works by the artist. Traditionally, women have been depicted in the nude throughout art history. However, not many works showing pregnancy and pregnant women can be found, despite the process being a natural part of life. Klimt’s decision to take up the task of depicting this subject fits within the artist’s ideals and makes him stand out in art history. He was not concerned with maintaining traditional notions of beauty and aesthetics—instead, Klimt challenged these norms and painted a pregnant model nude.

The model’s name was Herma, and she is depicted in her profile with her loose, fiery hair giving her a sexual dimension. In the background, Klimt depicted disfigured faces and a skull looming over the woman at the center. The symbolism of these figures is not well-defined, but they likely present a contrast to the pregnant woman who is illuminated in the composition and is turning away from these dark figures. Klimt was certainly a painter of women and sought his subjects from a wide range of sources, from mythological scenes to commissioned portraits. His perception and representation of women challenged many traditional rules and social conventions, which is why the artist is considered a revolutionary figure in Western art.

He portrayed women as taking charge of their sexuality and being powerful creatures, such as Judith and Pallas Athena. Still, at the same time, he often treated them as ornamentation or desirable objects. The transitional nature of the late 19th and early 20th centuries led to an expansion in women’s role in society. Still, the emergence of the Art Nouveau style in fin-de-siècle Vienna reinforced the image of women as decorative and erotic beings, and this duality was embraced by Klimt.

These famous American paintings span many years, styles, genres, and historical events. The artworks showcase political struggles, everyday life, idyllic scenes, abstracted forms, and much more. What’s showcased through all the art is the skill, grit, and nuance of American life through its ever-changing history. We hope one work sparks you to visit one of the museums or to continue to delve deeper into learning about one of the famous American artists.

1. George Washington, Lansdowne Portrait, by Gilbert Stuart – 1796

Starting with a painting of the very first president of the United States, this portrait of George Washington is among the most famous images of his likeness. Gilbert Stuart created many copies of the work, but this was the original. According to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Stuart painted only George Washington’s head from life, with the body painted from a stand-in. The Academy noted that Washington notoriously disliked sitting for portraits, especially for Stuart. During the time the painting was done, George Washington was dealing with a lot, from ill-fitted false teeth to differences in policy between him and his cabinet in relations with England, and many other political issues at home and abroad.

The portrait shows a strong leader dressed in black, his hand outstretched in a “Grand Manner” style, also used in other aristocratic portraiture. Stuart added allegorical elements, such as Republican Rome (a political model for young America), a rainbow for peace and prosperity, and George Washington laying down his arms, harkening back to the ancient warrior Cincinnatus, who symbolized and established peace.

2. The Voyage of Life, Old Age, Thomas Cole – 1842

On View at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., this work is part of a four-part series titled The Voyage of Life, which shows four phases of life: Childhood, Youth, Manhood, and Old Age. A small figure is surrounded by nature in each scene, and a river flows throughout the work. The voyager makes his way towards a castle symbolizing the daydreams of youth or perhaps glory and fame. As the voyager travels, the stream becomes more turbulent, symbolizing self-doubt. Cole suggests that prayer and faith help to save the voyager from tragic fates.

These works have a deep link to Christian values and symbolism. The works could also be seen as reflecting the turbulent state of the growing United States, with industrialism emerging and the West expanding. The work may serve as a warning to man in swapping nature for industrialism, and focusing on greed, instead of faith. The piece, Old Age, depicts brooding clouds and a vast ocean. On the waters, there’s an old figure in a small boat with a guardian spirit overhead and a smaller spirit in the distance. These spirits come from the heavens to welcome him to immortal life.

3. The Power of Music, William Sidney Mount – 1847

This realistically painted piece shows an old barn in rural Long Island, New York, before the Civil War. The painting depicts an African American laborer standing outside the barn, listening to a man playing the fiddle, while two other white men enjoy the tune inside. Though the scene shows a shared appreciation for music, it also shows the division between races in America at that time. The Power of Music by William Sidney Mount is currently shown at the Cleveland Museum of Art.

4. Stage Fort Across Gloucester Harbor, Fitz Henry Lane – 1862

Stage Fort across Gloucester Harbor by Fitz Henry Lane is a realistic and luminist piece that depicts a quiet, serene harbor inlet, with ships in the distance, small figures with their backs to the viewer in the foreground, and large, bulbous rocks dotting the shore. The scene appears to be set at sunset or sunrise, with the sky blending hues of yellow, orange, and pink. The slack sails note a stillness in the air, perhaps hinting at hope or suspense.

The area of Stage Fort was known to be a fishing town, and people often waited for sailors to come home in the harbors. The scene reflects either a sense of calm or suspense in waiting for fishermen, friends, and family to come home. This same mood may also reflect the growing tensions of the civil war at the time. How long would the war go on for? How many men would they lose? All valid questions Fitz Henry Lane likely reflected on in this work.

5. The Rocky Mountains, Lander’s Peak, Albert Bierstadt – 1863

Albert Bierstadt is an artist categorized under Luminism, Romanticism, and the Hudson River School. His art often depicted grandiose landscapes, often in the United States, capturing their sublime, vast, and beautiful nature. His work, The Rocky Mountains, captures this idyllic American scene in just this way, showcasing the Rocky Mountains in the background, lush trees, fields, and waterfalls in the middle ground, and many Native Americans, the Shoshone people, with teepees, horses, and children dotting the foreground.

According to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in early 1859, Bierstadt joined a government survey expedition to Nebraska territory and explored the Wind River Range and what is now Wyoming. Bierstadt painted the scenery when he was back in New York, depicting an ideal frontier landscape, one destined to be claimed by white settlers, according to the doctrine of manifest destiny. This belief that Americans were to “master” the land ignored the consequences, such as the already settled native people, as well as the dangers, rough mountain terrain, and hardships of building on the land.

6. The Boating Party, Mary Cassatt – 1893

Mary Cassatt, the famous American Impressionist painter, was born and raised in the United States but spent much of her adult life in France. Her work, The Boating Party, was the centerpiece of her first solo exhibition in the United States in 1895. The work has a bold composition and reflects the style of Japanese prints, with its simplified color palette, unusual angles, and flat surfaces.

In this work, Cassatt shows a baby resting in the mother’s arms as they watch a man row. The boat’s curves are carved with bright, more abstract shapes and colors. The viewer’s higher vantage point gives a unique look into the boat and the calm scene. This work is shown at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.

7. Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt and Daughter Ethel, Cecilia Beaux – 1902

Cecilia Beaux captures the First Lady, Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, and her 11-year-old daughter Ethel. Though the mother-daughter duo is finely dressed, the work presents a relaxed, non-ceremonial moment between them. Beaux was commissioned to create a charcoal drawing of Theodore Roosevelt and was then invited to complete the portrait of the first lady. Beaux uses bright and pastel colors and balances them with darker contrast. Blending Realism with a touch of Impressionism.

8. The Avenue in the Rain, Childe Hassam – 1917

Childe Hassam was an American Impressionist painter and printmaker known for his bright, loose-brushed cityscape scenes of Paris, Boston, New England, and New York. After training in Paris, he was influenced by French Impressionist painters. The Avenue in the Rain shows Fifth Avenue in New York City dotted with American flags during a rainstorm. The work uses bright colors and quick brushwork to depict the wet, rainy street. Various dots and dollops of blue dominate the scene, blending to create the rain and abstracted figures walking through the street. The work was created during World War I and is part of a series of flag paintings that express American patriotism.

9. Red Canna, Georgia O’Keeffe – 1925-1928

This bright and bold work, Red Canna, frames the view of a magnified view of a red canna flower. It’s painted with bold shapes and lines highlighting the inside and petals of the flower. The flower is slightly abstracted and uses red, yellow, and orange tones. The work is a part of a series of red canna flower works inspired by the canna lilies at the Lake George, New York, home of her partner Alfred Stieglitz. Georgia O’Keeffe’s close-up flower studies are among her most iconic works, and she said she painted them in this style because she felt some people never took the time to see flowers truly. Some critics interpret her works through a sexual lens, but she often maintained that her focus was on color, organic form, and shape.

10. American Gothic, Grant Wood – 1930

Grant Wood evokes images of past farm life and rural America in this iconic work, American Gothic. The work shows a farmer staring intently out at the viewer, and his daughter gazing to the side, with a furrowed expression. They are posed stiffly and dressed in an older style, perhaps from the late 1800s. The man and woman fill much of the foreground and stand outside their home, built in the 1880s style known as Carpenter Gothic.

The work became an instant sensation, its ambiguity prompting viewers to question who the figures were and what their story was. Some guessed the work was a satirical nod to Midwesterners out of step with a modernizing world. Though Wood intended the work as a positive piece in line with American rural values and as a source of reassurance for American society at the beginning of the Great Depression.

11. Nighthawks, Edward Hopper – 1942

Edward Hopper is known for his isolated, realistic scenes of early 20th-century American life, showcasing the inner worlds of figures through their dwellings in cityscapes, barren seascapes, or New England scenery. Nighthawks shows four figures in a brightly lit, Greenwich Village-style diner surrounded by a dark, desolate urban landscape. Hopper painted the work shortly after the events of Pearl Harbor. It captured themes of isolation, quiet contemplation, and urban alienation.

The scene’s dark coloring, with the eerie, luminous glow of the diner, adds to the mood, as do the empty streets and the large, seamless glass window of the diner. All the figures are disconnected, not making eye contact or having much interaction. The piece reflects not just a copy of a real place, but an imagined yet lifelike world that reflects on the loneliness of the world and war.

12. Sugaring Off, Maple, Grandma Moses – 1943

Grandma Moses, or Anna Mary Robertson Moses, painted Sugaring Off, Maple, to show the communal and traditional process of making maple syrup in rural New England. She completed the work at the age of 83. The famous American artwork features a vibrant scene of figures tapping trees, boiling sap, and making syrup candy in a snowy landscape. The work showcases her signature folk style with bright colors and a panoramic, high-horizon style. This scene shows a nostalgic and idealized view of rural American life.

13. Freedom From Want, Norman Rockwell – 1943

Norman Rockwell is famous for his 1940s and 1950s illustrations in the Saturday Evening Post, often depicting sentimental or humorous aspects of American life and showing family life in a wholesome light. Freedom from Want is a famous oil painting depicting a classic American Thanksgiving celebration. The work was created to illustrate Franklin D. Roosevelt’s “Four Freedoms” war aims. The artwork features a family gathered around a table, with the matriarch, Mrs. Thaddeus Wheaton, presenting a large turkey.

The work was published in the Saturday Evening Post. It symbolized abundance, family, and safety, and urged support for World War II war bonds. The scene represented a safe and abundant America free from the fear of war and hunger. Norman Rockwell skillfully created his characters in a realistic, yet expressive style and often used his own friends and neighbors as models.

14. Achelous and Hercules, Thomas Hart Benton – 1947

The 22-foot mural Achelous and Hercules is a painting created for Harzfeld’s department store in Kansas City that reinterprets a classic Greek myth as an allegory for the American Midwest. The work features men, women, and animals working in the fields of the Midwest. Thomas Hart Benton used curvilinear figures with intense, vibrant colors, and the figures feature his signature muscled appearance. The mural represents the struggle between Hercules and the river god Achelous, symbolizing taming the rivers to create agricultural abundance in the Missouri River valley.

In the myth, Hercules wrestles the river god Achelous, who is represented as a bull, and breaks off a horn that becomes the cornucopia, or horn of plenty. Benton reimagines the Greco-Roman struggle as a modern victory of engineering over the volatile river system. The work is an expressive and vast showcase of the blending of ancient myths and 1940s Midwest current events.

15. Christina’s World, Andrew Wyeth – 1948

Christina’s World is an iconic American painting showcased at the MoMA. The work depicts a young woman, her back to the viewer, in a light pink dress, lying in the grass of a prairie, with houses in the background. The work depicts Andrew Wyeth’s neighbor, Christina Olson, who had a degenerative muscular disorder, crawling across a field in Maine towards her home. Anna Olson lost the ability to walk and refused to use a wheelchair, preferring to crawl. It is noted that Wyeth saw her crawling across a field from his studio window and was inspired to paint the work. The painting symbolizes human struggle, quest for independence, resilience, and longing.

16. Number 1 (Lavender Mist), Jackson Pollock – 1950

Lavender Mist or Number 1 by Jackson Pollock features his signature technique of dropping, pouring, throwing, and sweeping paint over the canvas to represent action and movement. This Action Painting masterpiece features dense layers of paint in teal, black, white, and rust, creating a splattered masterwork with no central focal point. The artwork has been a part of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. since 1976.

17. No. 61 Rust and Blue, Mark Rothko – 1953

This Abstract Expressionist piece shows simple, layered, softly defined blocks of color on a blue background. There is a block of a rust color, a smaller block of a lighter blue in the center, and a mix of both underneath. Rothko stated that he aimed to express human emotions, such as tragedy or doom, through his minimalist approach, wanting viewers to feel surrounded and enveloped by the simple colors. He often aimed to have a meditative or emotional effect on viewers through his art.

18. Campbell’s Soup Cans, Andy Warhol – 1962

Andy Warhol is known as one of the most iconic American Pop artists. His works spanned many types of media, including painting, printmaking, filmmaking, sculpture, and music. He often turned commercial products and well-known celebrities into iconic artworks. Warhol is best known for his Campbell’s Soup Cans, Marilyn Monroe portraits, and for blending high art with consumer culture. Campbell’s Soup Cans consists of a series of 32 painted canvases, one for each soup flavor offered at the time. The work showcases a linear, supermarket-style arrangement, with all the canvases neatly arranged in rows.

The Campbell’s Soup Cans explores themes of mass production, monotony of modern life, consumerism, and turning an everyday object into fine art. The canvases are painted with acrylic and metallic enamel, with subtle variations on the labeling and coloring. Like Warhol, who ate soup every day for 20 years, everyone has a routine and a continuous cycle of consumerism in their modern life. The work prompts viewers to reflect on their everyday habits and routines.

19. First Lady Michelle Obama, Amy Sherald – 2018

The portrait of former First Lady Michelle Obama by Amy Sherald was first unveiled in February 2018 at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., where it still resides. The portrait is a 6-foot-tall oil-on-linen painting featuring the styled grayscale figure of Michelle Obama against a light blue background. In the piece, Michelle Obama wears a geometric-patterned black, white, and gray gown with blocks of pink, yellow, and red. Michelle gazes out at the viewer, her head resting on her hand.

The modern style and simplicity of the colors in First Lady Michelle Obama represent her being an accessible and modern icon. Amy Sherald used her signature technique of painting skin tones in shades of gray, rather than true to tone, to challenge race-based readings of portraiture and to focus on the individual themselves. This was the first time an African American artist was commissioned to create an official portrait of a First Lady for the National Portrait Gallery.

Émile Bernard was born in 1868 in Lille, northern France, as the son of a textile merchant. The artist created his first drawings and paintings when he was 14 years old and two years later, he joined the studio of Fernand Cormon in Paris. Cormon’s studio was well-known among Parisian artists and was attended by Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, Louis Anquitin and even Van Gogh. Here, Bernard practiced sketching plaster casts and working with live models. He also developed a friendship with Toulouse-Lautrec and Anquitin.

Émile Bernard as a Young Artist in Paris

Bernard was one of the artists of the Petit Boulevard in Paris, as Van Gogh named the younger generation of French artists in the city, including Georges Seurat, Anquetin, Toulouse-Lautrec, Paul Signac, and a few others. Bernard was fairly young when he joined this group but soon became an important part of this community. He met Van Gogh in Paris in 1886-87, and the two artists soon developed a professional relationship, learning from each other. It was during this time that Bernard, along with Anquetin, started experimenting with flat forms and using pure color. Apart from Japanese prints, their inspiration lay in stained-glass windows and medieval enamels. These stylistic experiments soon developed into Cloisonnism.

The Cloisonnist Style

Cloison in French translates to sections or partitions. The Cloissonist style was, therefore, characterized by thick, bold lines that create partitions on the painting surface, which are then filled with pure, unmixed colors. Traditional pictorial perspective was left behind in this style, creating a simplified and flat composition where forceful lines and saturated color impart intensity and a decorative effect to the painting. An important feature of Bernard’s works was a lack of details and shadows, which, on the contrary, was the cornerstone of realism. His paintings prioritized highlighting the essential aspects of the subject to convey its essence, which included the major forms, lines, and colors. He boiled down the subject to its primary properties and painted highly simplified figures. To summarize, Bernard focused on subtracting over adding; that is, his Cloisonnist works were composed of lesser details and colors to focus on what was significant and essential without the interruption of a myriad of components.

The Birth of Symbolist Painting

Bernard took off from Paris in January 1888 for Pont-Aven in Brittany. He had spent around two months in the village in 1886, where he became acquainted with Gauguin, but it was only in 1888 that their friendship developed. The two artists worked together and experimented with a style that was to become the beginning of Symbolism in painting, the ideology wherein artistic expression was linked to the artist’s subjectivity. Here, form, line, and color are simplified for emotional expression.

In Pont-Aven, Bernard created a painting titled Breton Women in the Meadow, and around the same time, Gauguin painted Vision After the Sermon. These paintings were instrumental in the development of Symbolism—the scenes were painted from memory or the imagination, only concentrating on their essential aspects through a simplification of pictorial elements. However, these paintings were also a factor in the rift that emerged between the two artists. Despite being painted around the same time, only Gauguin’s work was recognized as the origin of Symbolism in art by Symbolist critic and poet Albert Aurier in 1891. Bernard was offended and claimed that his work preceded Gauguin’s, but there is no consensus in art historical research regarding this issue. The artists had their last contact that year.

After the break with Gauguin, along with Van Gogh’s death in 1890, the young Bernard’s productivity declined. Nevertheless, he was an important member of the avant-garde artists in late 19th-century Paris and created some exceptional works, making a significant contribution to modern art.

1. Breton Women in the Meadow (1888)

In the summer of 1888, Bernard was experimenting with the Cloisonnist style in Pont-Aven, Brittany. Breton Women in the Meadow was one of the results of this experiment and is one of Bernard’s most famous works. Dominated with yellow-green and black, this composition is a great example of Bernard’s Cloisonnist style. The composition lacks traditional perspective with the lack of shadows or a horizon, making it completely flat. The artist’s free treatment of line in this work creates an undulating effect, and Bernard keeps the overall composition simplified.

As mentioned above, Bernard was a religious man, and Breton Women in the Meadow has Christian undertones. The painting depicts a scene of a pardon in Pont-Aven, which was a religious occasion during which people gathered to participate in devotional practices. While there has been disagreement among scholars regarding the painting’s depiction of a Pardon due to the lack of any recognizable Christian iconography, it is highly possible that Bernard chose to focus on the social aspect of the religious occasion by presenting a gathering of women and children. Today, the painting is in the collection of Musée d’Orsay, Paris, and is titled Le Pardon by the museum.

2. Vase of Flowers & Cup (1887-88)

Vase of Flowers & Cup is one of nineteen known still-lifes painted by Bernard in 1887-88. As can be seen in this composition, Bernard painted highly simplified forms of the objects depicted without any realistic detailing. The background wall, as well as the table on which the vase and cup are placed, are painted with broad, almost invisible brushstrokes forming large areas of unsaturated color. The figures of the flowers, the vase, the cup, and the decoration on the cup are distinguishable through thick outlines.

As mentioned before, Bernard sought the essential qualities of the subjects he depicted by simplifying forms and colors. He believed that simplification paved the way for understanding the essence of the subject, which he held to be in higher regard than a realistic reproduction. This is proved even further in Vase of Flowers & Cup when we discover that the blue background was an overpainting. Bernard had originally planned to paint a window on the right side of the composition but decided to leave it plain. While there is no explicit explanation from the artist for this decision, it can be taken as an attempt at simplicity. Today, this painting sits in the Van Gogh Museum collection in Amsterdam.

3. Self-Portrait With Portrait of Gauguin (1888)

This self-portrait by Bernard hearing a hat with a portrait of Gauguin hanging on the background wall was painted at the request of Van Gogh. The Dutch artist had originally urged Bernard and Gauguin to paint portraits of each other while they were working together in Pont-Aven. However, Bernard, a much younger artist, was hesitant to paint Gauguin, who was 20 years older. On Van Gogh’s further persuasion by invoking the practice of painting portraits among Japanese artists, the two French artists sent him their self-portraits with a portrait of the other in the background.

As can be seen in the composition, the actual portrait of Gauguin is nothing more than a sketch, while the self-portrait is painted with much more attention, with thick lines contouring Bernard’s figure. Yet, Gauguin’s portrait is placed in the center of the composition, and Bernard’s face is cut off in the corner—almost as if he is making an appearance in the composition dedicated to Gauguin. On the top right of the canvas, there is an inscription dedicating this painting to Van Gogh, who was very fond of this self-portrait. This painting was saved by Van Gogh and is today kept as a symbol of the friendship between these artists in the Van Gogh Museum.

4. The Buckwheat Harvesters (1888)

For this work, Bernard chose to depict harvesters, which are a common theme in realist paintings but portrayed them as stock figures through silhouettes without recognizable features. All we see are human laborers performing the necessary act of harvesting a crop. The Buckwheat Harvesters was painted in Brittany, where buckwheat was grown in abundance. The dominating vermillion in the painting gives a fiery impression but is meant to represent the buckwheat crop, which turns this color in the fall.

Bernard considered this work a counterpart to the first painting in this list, Breton Women in a Meadow. These paintings were displayed together in two different exhibitions—the Volpini Exhibition of 1889 and the 1892 Salon des Independants exhibition. Both paintings are easily distinguishable as works from Brittany due to the traditional clothing of Breton women. The works show Bernard’s Cloisonnist achievements through flat compositions and a strong use of line. Further, both paintings have contrasting color schemes, which suggests that Bernard had planned for them to be a pair. However, The Buckwheat Harvesters today sits in a private collection, and the two paintings are no longer displayed together.

5. Émile Bernard’s Brothel Scene (1888)

Several artists, including Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, adopted the theme of prostitution in the late 19th century. Sex work had become an essential aspect of modern Parisian life and was of interest to young artists who connected their artistic theories to their social environment. The central subject of Brothel Scene seems to be the woman in red seducing the man on her right sitting at the table. Behind him stands another woman, the owner of the brothel, watching over the prostitute.

Currently in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, Brothel Scene creates an interesting contrast in Bernard’s oeuvre while also exemplifying the artist’s ability to capture the essence of his subjects and themes. He chose brothels as a contemporary subject to depict city life in Paris, while his Breton works personify the countryside through harvesters and landscapes. Apart from the above watercolor, Bernard painted numerous brothel scenes as brothels were common in Montmartre, the Parisian street that was a meeting point for artists. These works are either sketches or watercolors and were often accompanied by a poem that acted as a verbal commentary on prostitution.