Heavy is the head that bows from weight it was not meant to carry
“Careful” whisper the thorns, “while speaking the truth, be wary.”
When we lock eyes with this artwork we cannot help but be drawn in, but also revolted at the same time. Two overlapping compositions make up our terrifying subject. The predominant majority of what we see is a cold, hard concrete mass in the shape of a vague yet undeniably female figure. The colour scheme can be described as bleak and dreary: grey, jaundiced, and blank. Her titled head, luscious curls, and solemn expression evoke classic Greek aesthetics. Our mercurial friend seems to be missing her hands begging the question of how she lost them. Were they unceremoniously sliced off by drunken vandals? Was it a shipping mishap? Or is mother nature to blame for her dismemberment?
However alluring our stone angel may be, one of her accouterments raises more pressing questions. The styrofoam Elizabethan ruff around her neck riddled with masonry steel nails—clearly added without the knowledge of the original sculptor—steals all the attention. The modern styrofoam and its all-white constitution suffocates the lady underneath with its highly disproportionate size. Even more shocking than the foreignness of the cloud-like collar are the violently-hammered steel nails. They are the only aspect of the whole piece that have retained any detail. While the religious significance is unmistakable, viewers cannot help but wonder how a crown of thorns replaced a cloud of nails in the shape of a long out-moded trend.
The frilly collar that inspired this contraption made its way to England from Europe in the 1500s during the Tudor era. All but the lowest social class wore the accessory fashioned variously from lace, bone, ivory, wood, and steel sticks. Their size doubled with the discovery of starch, some extending up to eight inches from the neck. For wealthy women, the ruff functioned as a blank canvas of sorts which could be decorated with symbols representing the sun, moon, and stars.
Now that we have pulled the figure apart, we can put Humptey Dumptey together again. But what is left proves difficult to identify—a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a whole lot of nothing. In the most straight-forward sense this mixed media work is the product of a collaboration between two artists born centuries apart in different geographies. A sculpture originally crafted and intended for a Christian audience now sits on foreign lands asking urgent questions. What did she say to merit an accessory that inflicts so much pain? Like a muzzle it covers her mouth and constricts her throat—a curse disguised as a blessing? Nails as long as daggers cast a sharp shadow on a rotting body that stands still and looks as heavy as it feels.
Taking a step back, the result of this art experiment is almost comical. What was once undeniably a human form has now become a hybridized freak. The cheapness and artificiality of the styrofoam combine with the sadism of the nails to actively suffocate what was once (a representation of) a living being. Under the weight of this inorganic albatross, the woman loses her dignity.
The words of a suicidal poet come to mind—female, of course:
“The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.”
Sylvia Plath wrote these stanzas days before she stuck her head in the oven with the gas turned on. Its theme of death and sense of defeat is synonymous with that of the sculpture. Plath’s somber mood and lack of colour is reflected in the statue’s blankness. Detached and fatigued, both women’s feet have nowhere left to carry them.
For more information on sculpture and original interpretation, please email akumar@aditibela.me