Clothed women need not apply: Representations of femininity in the Getty Villa’s permanent collection

            During the visit to the Getty Villa in Malibu, it was hard not to get swept away by the beautifully manicured gardens, the crystalline fountains, and the rooms upon rooms of graceful statues and priceless artifacts. However, once the initial awe had subsided, it was easier to examine more critically what was there. When it came time to re-examine these collections with a gender lens, however, the discrepancies were obvious. Many of the artifacts depicting male subjects were glorifying heroes in their legendary contexts or gods on their thrones, mischievous satyrs and idealized youths, each subject easily identifiable and full of personality or power. The female statues, however, were relegated to the background. With the exception of one idol of Demeter, almost every Greek female figure in the collection was either purely for decoration, a fertility symbol, or Aphrodite. The cursory attention paid to women in this particular collection is troubling in itself, but the fact that the permanent collection’s focus on women as either décor or sexual objects is disturbing.

            One of the most dominant images of femininity featured in the collection cannot even be categorized, because it consists entirely of unspecific, decorative women. These statues line fountains, decorate niches and frolic in the corners of frescoes for purely aesthetic purposes: they have no personalities or names, they are simply ornaments. One of the most prominently displayed examples of this phenomenon is the fountain in the Villa’s atrium, which is lined on two sides by a matching set of female statues. The statues each depict the same woman in different poses, sometimes holding objects like flowers, or just moving her arms in a way that suggests dancing. While these figures could be interpreted as nymphs or maenads, they are so lacking in any distinguishing characteristics that even those vague labels are merely a guess.  The statues in question do not even appear in the online Getty collection catalogue, showing that they are meant purely for decoration. While these could in fact be modern reproductions made specifically to decorate the Villa, that would be even more problematic, as that would mean that they were relegating women to fountain decoration despite supposedly modern sensibilities.

 Even female figures that are specific mythological characters can be denigrated to the same decorative status. The Getty Villa contains a short gallery that features a row of small devotional statues down the two long walls of the space, leading to a large statue at one end and another room at the other. The small, matching devotional statues represent the nine Muses, mythological demigods of artistic inspiration. Each carries certain paraphernalia or is posing in a characteristic way that differentiates each Muse from her sisters, allowing the viewer to identify which one he or she wanted to consult or worship. Divine though the Muses may be, they serve as a mere border to a room dominated by a large statue of an unnamed youth. In this mode of display, even demigoddesses become décor.

            When women were prominently featured, it was in an entirely different context from their male counterparts. In the Bronze Age gallery, the vast majority of the statues were female, but they were also all fertility icons or concubine figures. Many of the Cypriot and Ancient Greek figurines were vaguely labeled “fertility goddess”, and others depicted pregnant women or figures with stylized breasts and genitalia meant to emphasize their functions as sex objects. Similar to the Bronze Age Cypriot goddesses are the mysterious Cycladic figures, stylized women who bear traces of painted makeup and jewelry on their simplified faces. The exhibit suggested that they may have been buried with the dead, as their crossed arms seemed to indicate a state of repose, and their feet were pointed, which suggested that they may have been made to lie on their backs. The tradition of burying heavily painted female figures with the dead may suggest their role as concubines or servants in the afterlife. The intense focus on the sexual role of women in the choice of sculptures to display is unsettling, whether it was dictated by the museum’s choice of display objects or by a limited amount of collection objects in general.

            The most obvious manifestation of the preoccupation with women as objects of desire and fertility is the goddess Aphrodite. To be fair, the traveling exhibition featured at the Villa, “Aphrodite and the Gods of Love”, was entirely focused on her, but she features prominently even in the permanent collection as one of the only goddesses who ever shows up. A large statue of Aphrodite is the centerpiece of the Trojan War gallery, and she is the only full-sized goddess depicted outside of the Gods of Love collection. Granted, the lack of other full-sized goddess figures may also be due to the fact that the “Gods and Goddesses” Gallery is currently closed. However the online catalogue shows that many of the other statues of the female half of the Pantheon are Roman, not Greek. Also, many male gods are present outside of that specific gallery as well, while the only other goddess figure that was easy to discover was a minor head from a statue of Demeter. Not one Artemis, not one Athena, not one Hera or even Hestia figure was present anywhere in the permanent collection, leaving the viewers to focus on the almost always naked or half-naked goddess of love. Having Aphrodite be the only representation of femininity in the entire permanent collection is hugely troubling, as she is specifically the goddess of erotic love, suggesting that the only representation of women worth displaying is one depicting them specifically as sex objects.

            While the overall experience of the Getty Villa’s collection was one of great beauty, the feeling that something is missing becomes overpowering the further one ventures into the collection. Where are those great warrior goddesses of the Illiad, and those noble mother goddesses of Homeric Hymns? Why are the criteria for a woman to be included in the Getty permanent collection that she be naked, pregnant or silent? The collection would have its viewers believe that they are receiving an educational experience as well as an artistically fulfilling one; what are they trying to teach? Until they can change the one-note representation of women within their galleries, the experience will always be marred by an inescapable bias that lurks below the shining marble surfaces.

 

Images (In order of appearance):

“Statue of A Young Woman (The Elgin Kore).” Photo. The J. Paul Getty Museum. 19 Ap. 2012. <

“Pregnant Female figure.” Photo. The J. Paul Getty Museum. 19 Ap. 2012. < http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=15192&gt;

“Statuette of Aphrodite Leaning on a Pillar.” Photo. The J. Paul Getty Museum. 19 Ap. 2012.<http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=7564&handle=li&gt;

Ineffective Disagreement: Socrates in “Symposium”

Plato’s Symposium is considered one of the classic works on the subject of love, and is remarkable for the characters’ many and differing interpretations on the exact nature of love. The conversations cycle through analyses of the exalted nature of male homosexuality, the baseness of carnal love, and various other views on the characters of platonic and sexual love. One speaker analyzes the difference between loving and being loved, another spins his own creation myth about the origin of love, and yet another employs many of the tropes that modern poets take for granted about the beauty and the joy that are an integral part of the experience of love. Throughout many of their speeches, the unifying factors are the description of love as a sublime god with a personality that determines the nature of love, the superiority of love between men and the inferiority of all things female. With this in mind, it is Socrates’ speech to the group that becomes most intriguing as attempts to subvert all the previous points on the personality of love, the roles of women and the honorability of sexual love, only to end up reinforcing them after all.

The symposium begins with the host, Agathon, suggesting that each guest do a eulogy to the unnamed god of love, and to sing his praises. Each speech is unique to the speaker and in accordance with his personality and values, and becomes a telling self-portrait of each orator. As each man speaks, it becomes clear that there is agreement on a few key points: love is male, love can be misused for base purposes, and love between men is an exalted form of love over love involving women. These points set the stage for Socrates and his rebuttal, allowing him to subvert some of these concepts while reinforcing others by pretense of subversion. He starts with the personification of love, and responds directly to Agathon who precedes him in the speech-giving order. Agathon describes love as a beautiful youth who remained young and joyful forever, enjoying the companionship only of those as youthful and beautiful as he and eschewing all that is ugly, old, or sad.  Socrates begs to differ, and follows Agathon’s speech with a description of love as a wandering mendicant, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither happy nor sad. He tells the story of Love’s birth, the child of Resource and Poverty, and how these traits created a being in a perpetual state of want, always searching for beautiful things. Socrates’ Love is not unhappy with his lot though, using the resourcefulness inherited from his father to survive even under the most adverse circumstances. This concept of love is the most poignant interpretation offered in the symposium, and conjures a sadly beautiful image that resonates deeper than any other personification. It is the most fitting eulogy as well, because it is the most accurate. Love is the desire, the want to be with someone, the absolute feeling of emptiness that can only be filled with something beautiful. Without a need, there can be no fulfillment; without loneliness or desire, there is no need for the love of another. With this notion, Socrates also subverts another common interpretation of love found in “Symposium”, that love is a self-fulfilled being. In this respect, Socrates is in direct contention with Agathon, but in agreement with Aristophanes, who presents love as the necessity to re-discover one’s predestined mate, therefore depicting love as a desire that can only be fulfilled through the intercession of another, the beloved. However, it is established right at the beginning of the Symposium that the personification of highest love is male, and Socrates makes no attempt to differ from that interpretation, which may suggest his taking for granted that only a male could be the god of pure love.

Despite his assumption that love is male, Socrates decides he has more undermining to do and continues on to subvert the role of women put forth in many of the other speeches. When he originally walks into the banquet, he is greeted enthusiastically by all the guests and hailed as the authority of “love-matters”, as well as the most respected and honored guest. The assumption of the gathering is that Socrates will be the orator who will speak the most truth and enlighten all present with his wisdom on the topic. Throughout the previous dialogue, women had been described as base creatures that are a necessary evil, as only through them could there be procreation. Socrates exploits this idea to immediately skewer the crowd’s expectations by framing his narrative as a dialogue between himself and a woman whom he praises as the true expert on love, Diotima. He recounts their conversation to the guests, describing how she enlightened him on the nature of love and how he sat before her, her devoted student, humbled by her knowledge. After numerous speeches on the superiority of love between men and the baseness of all things to do with women, this is a huge upset, especially coming from the most respected man in the room who is known for his own wisdom. Whether his story is told in all sincerity or whether Socrates is using a fictitious encounter as an oratorical device, Diotima’s inclusion in his narrative is totally anomalous and a deliberate surprise attack on his colleagues’ women-free worldview.

Despite his constant subterfuge of his colleagues’ points, Socrates cannot bring himself to disagree with the idea that the highest love is between two men. A lover of young men himself, Socrates is inclined to defend that particular point as he is directly invested in that type of love. However, after spending most of his speech being a contrarian, he weaves his agreement in subtly using the same device he had previously used to surprise his audience. He continues his narrative via his conversation with Diotima, as they discuss the differing natures of love between men and women. Diotima begins this topic by approaching it from a thoroughly female-oriented perspective, and discusses the beauty of love as a path to pregnancy. At this point it seems like Socrates will take the opportunity to defend the beauty and purity of love for procreational purposes, or the nobility of love that exists between men and women. But then, in an unintentional upset for modern readers, Diotima begins to describe how everyone, men and women, is pregnant both in body and soul, and how only a union between two souls can “birth” the highest of love. She discusses how that exalted form of love can only be achieved by two men, who could never be pregnant in body, and can only love with their souls.  Socrates brings his contradictions full circle to agree on the group’s favorite definition of love, using Diotima as an expert witness. It is implied that if Diotima, a woman wise enough to enlighten Socrates, says that love between men is the highest form of love—excluding her own gender entirely from the realm of exalted love—then obviously it must be true. After eloquently subverting the points of all the previous speakers, Socrates finally lands on the issue from which he refuses to deviate and elegantly works his agreement into his narrative with Diotima to reinforce the platonic ideal of love.

Socrates began his speech with every intent to satirize, shock, and subvert, but as he continued found that there was only so much with which he could pretend to disagree. As the popularly appointed expert in all things love, it stands to reason that he agreed with his fellows all along, or else they would not consider him an authority, they would consider him a deviant. His speech is intriguing not only for its original and beautiful personification of love, but also for its dogged determination to be different. He diverges from their opinions in every aspect and delves into their prejudices in an attempt to shock, but in the end his own beliefs betray him and he has to admit that he really agrees with a lot of what they said. Whether this capitulation is the result of Socrates’ own belief system or Plato’s underlying agenda to glorify male homosexual love can only ever be speculation, but what remains is a fascinating insight into Plato’s view of his teacher. Socrates’ character in “Symposium” is a lot like his proposed personification of love: always reaching for something only to end up back where he started.

Missing Pieces: The enigma of Sappho

Sappho, the famous female poet of antiquity, has become an icon to women over the course of history, as well as a symbol of sexual liberation and intellectual female sensuality. For this she has been revered and reviled, at the extreme recast as the mistress of a finishing school, but her appeal as a symbol has not diminished despite the passing of the millennia. Sappho is an enigma, and not only that but an enigma in the form of an independent, self-actualized female intellectual. Like her fragmentary poetry, the image of Sappho is simultaneously beautiful, erotic, and incomplete; it is the mystery that has grown around her that has created her, and like the minute fragments left to posterity, has left the world wanting more for centuries.

Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s verse is a perfect visual representation of the riddle that is the famed poetess. The poems themselves are presented in a creatively arranged free-verse format to better represent the flow of the poem, as well as to impart the feeling of reading it on the original papyrus. Like the papyrus, the poems are full of holes, words omitted by the passing of the years that leave the majority of the poems in pieces at best. A page containing three undamaged lines becomes a gift, and many of the poems become equally remarkable for what is absent from the text as they are for what is present. Some of the most moving and beautiful writing in the collection consists of images contained in three words or fewer: “cloth dripping”, “you burn me”, “if not, winter”(119, 38, 22). The disjointedness of the fascinating lines becomes a new context for the poem; the only identity the absent stories ever get is the one granted to them by the reader.

When the absence of text becomes so persistent in a body of work, an entire poem is a treasure. Sappho’s writing is so universal in its expression and so touchingly personal that the reader becomes transfixed; it becomes imperative to understand more, to hear her speak, and every omission becomes painful.  When Sappho’s lover leaves her, and she opines that she “…would rather see her lovely step/and the motion of light on her face/than chariots of Lydians/of footsoldiers in arms”, it becomes impossible for anyone who has loved and lost not to empathize (16). The connection between reader and archaic poet is so powerful that when the next line of the poem is half-obliterated it is achingly disappointing. That is the true appeal of Sappho: her poetry has been incomplete, creating the frustrating alternation of deep emotional understanding and blank space for centuries’ worth of Sappho-starved readers.

Like the coy maidens of Lesbos that occupy Sappho’s poetry, Sappho herself is a beautiful puzzle, made all the more interesting for having the majority of the pieces missing. What does shine through the morass of empty space is an eloquent, intellectual and highly sensual woman who created love poetry to withstand the ages. She was remarkable during her lifetime and continued to be so partially for her anomalous role as a female literary icon, and also for her even more unique desire for women. With the exception of one poem, every love poem in the collection that is specifically dedicated is addressed to a woman, which in addition to adding another layer of mystery to Sappho’s work also evokes a sense of voyeuristic intrigue in a society that has marginalized homosexuality—especially female homosexuality—for centuries. The Victorians even went so far as to assert that she was the mistress of a finishing school for girls to make her attachment to them more palatable in a conservative time. Sappho has consequentially become an idealized goddess of female sexual liberation, both through her erotic language and her apparent collection of both male and female lovers.

However, when the majority of what is known about an author comes from a collection of barely-there poems that include very little (if any) incontrovertible concrete detail about her life, it becomes necessary to examine the ideal more closely. Upon examination, it becomes evident that the classic image of Sappho is actually a personification of the experience of her poems. She is constructed from the intimacy, the eroticism, the eloquence and the distressing lack of any real fact that is presented to the reader in her ancient words; everything else is missing, lost to the ages, and the only way anyone can reconcile everything that Sappho represents is by pure speculation. What is there is so fascinating that it has drawn in poetry-lovers throughout time, and yet so fragile, built as it is on such a thin platform. Sappho the poet has become a literary goddess, the pure embodiment of her own mystery rather than its creator, and as such will continue to entice readers throughout time to her beautiful words.

 

Goddesses of the Iliad

Throughout the Iliad, women are depicted within the confines of very specific expectations that are barely touched upon within the mortal world, but are examined and fleshed out thoroughly in the characters of the Olympian goddesses. The three main goddesses in the story are two of Zeus’ daughters, Athena, and Aphrodite, and his wife, Hera, who fall into very distinct categories: The “Virgin”, the “Dutiful Wife”, and the “Whore”. Each embodies a different traditional stereotype of women, each defined by the amount and diversity of their sexual experiences: in other words, each defined entirely by her interaction with men. These three goddesses serve as a highly simplified analogue for the three female roles in the world of the Iliad, as illustrated through the goddesses’ interaction with the ultimate male authority figure, Zeus.

Of the three goddesses, there is only one whom Zeus considers his equal; Athena, his daughter, who is by far the most traditionally masculine and physically powerful goddess on Olympus. She embodies Wisdom and the glories of honorable combat, and is the only one of the three to actively take part in the fighting in Troy. She has also forsworn sexual interaction with men, and through her asexuality and more masculine skills, she becomes a powerful androgynous figure who commands the respect of her father, from whom she was born, eschewing even a traditional “sexual” birth by a woman. Like many of the heroes in the Iliad, Athena settles disputes and solves problems by contests or shows of physical force; this is a quality that is revered in many of the mortal male heroes, as up-front combat is representative of courage and honor. Because of her prowess in battle and her depth of wisdom, Zeus values her above all of his other daughters and listens to her council, encourages her in battle, and grants many of her requests. Unlike the virgins depicted in the mortal world, such as Chryseis and Briseis, who lack any control over their situations, Athena’s virginity and refusal to submit to men makes her incredibly powerful. She derives her abilities and her father’s respect from her purposeful abstention from interaction with men, which makes her a goddess who is subject to no one, as opposed to as a commodity whose virginity makes her a valuable sexual object. However, like the mortal virgins in the Iliad, Athena’s value to the man in her life, her father, stems from her virginity; even the most powerfully independent woman on Olympus is defined entirely from her relationship (in this case, lack thereof) with men. As if to drive this point home, Athena is also the goddess of weaving, the most fundamental skill of all the women in the Iliad, and the task that they perform when captured and subjugated. It is as if the traditional Greek mythology was unable to come to terms with a powerful, independent female figure, and wanted to illustrate that even the most formidable goddess is still a female, and must therefore be put in her place.

The second archetype, the “Dutiful Wife”, is embodied in Hera, queen of the gods and wife of Zeus. Hera, unsurprisingly, is the goddess of marriage, and values fidelity to her husband above all else, despite his multiple affairs with both goddesses and mortals. As his wife it is her duty to remain faithful, but because of Zeus’ philandering she embodies the second traditional stereotype of women: bitter, jealous, and manipulative. Hera’s only sexual interaction has been with her husband, and thus she is pure in her devotion to him, but no longer “pure” in body, and as a result has much less of the physical prowess that Athena has. Hera is a sexual being, but she is as cunning as Athena is strong, and often uses her “feminine wiles” to manipulate people around her to obtain what she wants. Her main role in the Trojan War is not a combat position, but one of subtle and backhanded military strategy. She successfully manipulates Zeus into taking his eyes off the battle by seducing him and bribing Sleep to put him into a doze, allowing Poseidon to go on a rampage against the Trojans. Zeus recognizes her as a cunning opponent and partner, and they are often at odds over Zeus’ many affairs. When they are at peace, however, Zeus often seeks counsel from his wife on important decisions, usually when he needs a second opinion. For example, when Zeus was agonizing over whether to let his son Sarpedon be killed in battle, he heeds Hera’s advice to let him die. However, while Zeus does frequently ask Hera for guidance, he is also likely to overrule her; her intelligence and savoir-faire are top-notch, but she is still his wife, and unlike Athena’s unquestionable wisdom, Zeus is allowed to ignore what Hera says. Hera rules over all mortals and gods with the exception of Zeus, who is still her lord and master.

The third and final stereotype is both the least likely to be taken seriously and the most likely to be considered “dangerous” by men: Aphrodite, the goddess of sexual love and desire, whose antics started the Trojan War. Aphrodite is portrayed in the Iliad as flighty and silly, often given over completely to emotions, desires, and whims. Her “gift” of Helen to Paris was the slight to Menelaus that started the central conflict of the story, and she shows very little regard for the potential consequences of her capriciousness and takes no responsibility for the actual manifestations of those consequences. She will immediately act on the slightest whim, a tendency that is exemplified multiple times with her repeated rescues of her son Aeneas from the battlefield, taking a privilege that even Zeus did not dare to exercise to save his own son for fear of the wrath of the other gods. Aphrodite is not even considered a serious threat by mortals, one of whom even succeeds in attacking and wounding her, an unthinkable offense to commit against any other god. As the physical embodiment of lust and desire, Aphrodite’s love is hardly a rare commodity, and she is known for her numerous affairs. In the eyes of gods and mortals, this indicates that she is not to be taken seriously; she is so “easy” and unintimidating that even a mortal man may physically dominate her, as Diomedes did when he wounded her. Zeus dismisses her as silly and delicate, and even encourages her to leave the war to her stronger (and more virginal) cohorts, Athena and Artemis. And yet, Aphrodite’s apparent helplessness is part of her larger image: she is the quintessential chauvinistic “female” archetype, a helpless, emotional beauty who is incapable of rational thought, but still wields an inexplicable power over the desires of men. It is Aphrodite’s breast band that allows Hera to seduce Zeus, the most powerful male figure in the entirety of the Iliad universe; it is Aphrodite’s intervention that leads to a bloody 10-year conflict over a woman, and it is Aphrodite whose power makes men fear her enough to attempt to downplay her as much as possible.

These three goddesses are three highly distilled and simplified personifications of three highly distilled and simplified concepts, created in a male-centric story to explain the significance of women by defining their relationships with men. This hierarchy ranks women by their perceived value, which stems directly from the amount of sexual experience they have, with the Virgin being the most valuable and the Whore being the least. The goddesses and Zeus serve as a microcosm for the relationships to which mortal men in the world of the Iliad would confine their female counterparts. The story itself is a chronicle of masculine glory through conquest, and women are a part of the metaphorical “other”, which must be subjugated to obtain power and honor. To illustrate this through the use of powerful goddesses as a symbol for the socially dominated female sex was a twist of cunning genius worthy of Hera herself; the goddesses are all formidable in their own right, but none of them would be anything without Zeus, their lord and master.

Iliad Thesis Paragraph

Throughout the Iliad, women are depicted within the confines of very specific expectations. These roles are barely touched upon within the mortal world, but are examined and fleshed out thoroughly in the characters of the Olympian goddesses. The four main goddesses in the story are three of Zeus’ daughters, Artemis, Athena, and Aphrodite, and his wife, Hera.  The four goddesses fall into three very distinct categories: The “Virgin”, the “Dutiful Wife”, and the “Whore”. Each embodies a different traditional stereotype of women, each defined by the amount and diversity of their sexual experiences: in other words, each defined entirely by her interaction with men. These three roles, exemplified by the four goddesses, encompass the traditional Greek view of women and their place in society, as illustrated through the goddesses’ interaction with the ultimate male authority figure, Zeus.