Mythos Unveiled: Navigating the Dualities of Classical Artistry

In my latest blog post for the Museum, entitled “Unveiling Mythical Narratives at the Milwaukee Art Museum: Part 1,” I embarked on a journey through the prominent representations of classical mythological figures within the museum’s extensive collection. The goal was to equip you with the knowledge to recognize these iconic characters during your visits.

As we venture into this month’s exploration, my aim is to navigate an additional layer of mythology in the realm of art. Fear not, for our pursuit remains centered on honing our capacity to discern myths. However, we will soon uncover that classical mythology possesses a dual nature, seamlessly oscillating between simplicity and intricate complexity.

To embark on this odyssey, let’s confront a pivotal query: What precisely constitutes a “myth”?

Extensive scholarly discussions across disciplines like anthropology explore the intricate definitions and meanings of myth.

Nevertheless, at its core, the most fundamental definition of myth can be traced back to the Greek word that forms its root: “mythos.” In Greek, “mythos” encompasses meanings such as word, speech, tale, or story. While it might initially appear perplexing to encapsulate diverse ideas within a single term, this complexity reflects the nuanced nature of concepts in Ancient Greece.

To unravel the intricate role of myth in art history, we turn our attention to a pair of paintings by Corrado Giaquinto (Italian, 1703–1766) within the Museum’s Collection. These paintings, titled “The Rape of Europa” and “The Triumph of Galatea,” are pendant works, intentionally created to be displayed together. Located in Gallery #6, they offer a compelling exploration of the multifaceted relationship between myth and artistic expression.

First, let’s summarize the stories that these paintings depict.  Europa was the daughter of a Phoenician king who lived in Asia Minor.  The god Zeus fell in love with her, and in order to gain her trust, he turned himself into a white bull.  While Europa was playing with her friends on the shore of the Aegean Sea, he approached them.  They were afraid of the bull at first, but eventually saw that it was very gentle.  When Europa moved to put a crown of flowers on the bull, Zeus took off across the sea to Crete with her on his back.

Galatea was a Nereid, a type of sea divinity who personified the waves, and lived in Sicily.  She loved the youth Acis.  A Cyclops named Polyphemus, however, loved Galatea, and he would sing for hours to try to woo her.  But because Galatea stood firm in her love for Acis, Polyphemus kllled Acis by throwing a boulder at him.  Galatea was so distraught, she turned Acis into a river so that she would always have him in some form.  The most popular moment shown in art is after this, when she is in triumph over the tragedy, riding the waves on a dolphin with all of her male and female sea attendants.  Polyphemus, meanwhile, lurks up on the cliff.

The pairing of these two myths was popular during the 18th century because it allowed for the artful depictions of beautiful women. What better subject to decorate the home?

 

But there is more complexity to the 18th-century admiration of these stories.

To understand what these myths represent in the 18th century, we have to go back to the Middle Ages.  Remember, classical myths are actually the religion of the ancient Greeks and Romans.  With the rise of Christianity, this ancient belief system was seen as a threat.  But as with any transition, the change was not smooth or immediate; the mythological stories would not go away.  They were, after all, appealing in their narratives.  To make them more appropriate for Christians, the myths we transformed into moralizing tales rather than religious ones.

One way this was accomplished was appropriating some gods to represent Christian values, making the myths parallel the lessons from stories in the Bible.  Not all Christian scholars believed in the propriety of this, but it certainly kept the myths alive for the Italian Renaissance humanists to “rediscover” in the 15th century.

 

 

The use of myth during the early Renaissance was complicated.  On the one hand, writers and artists felt that the classical past had value and they needed to regain what was lost.  On the other hand, these Italian Christians were a people far removed in time and culture from the original Greeks and Romans that saw myths as their religion and the way to explain the world around them.  What to do?

 

The answer that evolved was many pronged, but two of the most important ideas were allegory, which I will cover at the end of this post, and the concept of ut pictura poesis.

Ut pictura poesis is a line taken from the ancient Roman writer Horace.  Literally it translates to be “as is paintings, so is poetry.”  He used the phrase to suggest that painting, like poetry, is most successfully enjoyed with a general, overall view, not by looking at each individual element or line.  During the Renaissance, scholars took his philosophy one step further to say that painting was poetry in a visual format.

As you can imagine, since so much of what the Renaissance artists knew of mythology came through poets, particularly Ovid’s Metomorpheses, it was natural that painters would use the myths to prove that their paintings were just as expressive as poetry.

The perfect example of this is Titian (Italain, ca. 1488-1576), who even referred to his paintings of mythological subjects as poesie.  One of his most famous works shows the rape of the Europa.  This painting was part of a program of mythological paintings for the private rooms of King Phillip II of Spain.

Although there is much discussion on the meaning behind the eight paintings Titian did for this series, it is clear that both artist and patron considered works of myth to be appropriate for private enjoyment just like poetry.

Revisiting our Giaquinto paintings unveils the profound allure of myth as a canvas for poetic expressions. The intricate tales of beautiful men and women, draped in elaborate details, unfold dramatically on the artistic stage.

These two masterpieces not only epitomize the adage ut pictura poesis but also serve as allegories, skillfully representing broader ideas and concepts. In the medieval era, the narratives of Europa’s journey across the Aegean and Galatea’s triumph over Polyphemus underwent a transformative shift, adopting Christian symbolism. Europa’s voyage mirrored the soul’s transcendence from earthly confines to heavenly realms, while Galatea embodied the virtuous Christian, prevailing over earthly temptations.

Stay tuned for more explorations into allegory in upcoming blog posts—there’s plenty more artistic enchantment to unravel!