Artemisia Gentileschi and her violent Judiths

Judith and Holofernes, Artemisia Gentileeschi, 1612

Judith beheading Holofernes was popular subject matter in the Baroque period. Judith, a Jewess, is sent with her attendant to the invading army camp of Holofernes, the general, who she charms and inebriates before she chops of his head, thus saving her people. Charming subject matter, no?

It is often theorized that the artist of the painting above, Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1652) depicted the subject so forcefully because she was raped. Rape no doubt had its effect on Gentileschi, but her life is remarkable for many other reasons.

This talented woman was trained by her father Orazio in the style of Caravaggio and came to be a professional artist, a rare woman among men. She was the first woman to be a member of Academia del Designo and a painter whose historical scenes (a genre thought to be beyond women) enabled her work to be featured in the houses and churches of Florence and Venice. You can see why she is a treat for contemporary feminist theorists, both for her accomplishments and her sufferings.

Her biography is often given as a series of male-dominated events. First she was her father’s daughter. She was raped by a student of his. She was married to another painter to save her honor after the rape. After, her work is often difficult to tell from her fathers, and of her 34 extant paintings, some have only recently been attirbuted to her. Her non-feminist art historical reputation often refers to her as a Caravaggesti, one of the many followers of Caravaggio.

Yet just look at another treatment of the Judith and Holofernes below:

Judith and Holofernes, Artemisia Gentileschi, 1620

The above painting is read into as Gentileschi releasing her anger and rebelling against patriarchy by portraying a strong and vengeful female character. She was raped at 19 in 1612, and she painted the top image in 1612-3 and the one immediately above in 1620. Note how she developed her theme with a larger and more detailed treatment. The violence was not unprecedented. She was a student of Caravaggio and he too painted this subject, as it was a popular one of the period.

Judith Beheading Holofernes, Caravaggio, 1598-9

Look at Caravaggio’s portrayl, painted in 1598-9, compared to Gentileschi’s treatment of the subject. This Judith Beheading Holofernes depicts the same moment of beheading with blood spurting, but Gentileschi’s women are more active than this Judith who leans away from the blood. Caravaggio’s painting seems staid after Gentileschi’s physical treatment, despite the immense skill with which Caravaggio creates the severed head’s grimace.

Perhaps one shouldn’t view Gentileschi’s oeuvre through the lens of rape entirely, as it limits our understanding of context and the credit one can give to her accomplishments, which amount to so much more than a by-product of inflicted violence. But it can hardly help informing our perspective of her Judiths, fearlessly conquering generals. In many ways, her long and successful career can be seen as a triumph over her early rape.

Jealousy Strikes Over Writer’s Rooms

A creative space, exactly as you like it, and a routine, undisturbed, can make a day or, in the case of some people, a work of art. Balancing work and writing is something I’ve thought about lately, but more than that I’m curious about other people. How do they write best? So to fill that curiosity, we have creatives spaces and routines…(ahh, the wonders of the internet.)

Rooms:

The Guardian has a great page dedicated to writer’s rooms…literally a series of photographic “portraits” of the rooms the writers work in by Eamonn McCabe. Coincidentally, McCabe has an exhibit that just opened that runs through January 17 at Madison Contemporary Art if you are in London.

They’re gorgeous and interesting shots that give you an intimate look of the creative spaces of various authors. They tend to have a desk and a computer…but other than that, these spaces are as varied as can be. Some are bare spaces with merely a desk, but most tend toward a messy, comfortably chaotic appeal. I wish they would do a series of artist’s studios next.

These are clearly all successful, middle-aged writers because they have rooms they can devote to writing. I live in New York city, and have a compact desk in my bedroom that I can devote to writing. There is just room for it between the door and the bed. It’s usually crowded with papers that I once meant to look at. The chair hurts my shoulders after a while. A certain someone likes to sit at it with his computer. And so, my workspace has become wherever there is a computer. A helpful versatility, no doubt, but I envy the luxury of a room of one’s own and the flourish of a quill pen, like in Jane Austen’s room, right.

Routine:

It isn’t mere space I pine for, but the lives that could be led in them. Similar to these room portraits, blog Daily Routines gives a brief summary of how artists, writers, and other ‘interesting people’ organize their day in all its intimate detail. The writer Murakami runs marathons to get into a zenlike state, much like his dreamy novels. Kafka’s is bizzare. Truman Capote is a “horizontal” author.

My routine involves a lot of ‘sometimes’. I go to an office sometime. Sometimes I have been up writing or reading for an hour. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I’ll polish something up during the day, sometimes I’ll write at night. Today, I’ll cook up a nice breakfast and lay in bed typing while trying to plan the most productive possible day.

I’m still settling into a quasi-writing life, but I have dreams of what it would be like. They run along the lines Oscar Wilde’s perscriptum of life as art. In which case, I have a lot of work to do. Christmas angels and huge koi decals are competing for decorative space to ill effect in this writer’s rooms. Yet based on the differences I found in rooms and routines, I’d have to say to each his own.

Thanksgiving Ideals


Is this your family thanksgiving? It might be a bit off the mark with mine.

The clean shining faces around the table evoke a contented family peace. Norman Rockwell created this image entitled Freedom From Want for the Saturday Evening Post in 1954. He feared when he made it that he might convey overabundance with the theme of freedom from want, which he felt America offered. His idealized Americana scenes might not exactly evoke screaming children or burnt turkeys as in some households (who shall remain nameless) but the feeling is right. At the end of the second or third helping, one can at least feel that with enough food and hopefully a good red wine, any Thanksgiving can be one of thanks giving.

At the very least, give thanks if your November 24 skips on the uncanny faces and massive uncooked turkey flesh and doesn’t resemble American painter John Currin’s Thanksgiving;