homoeroticism in greek art or animal power

Opera music fills the gallery as 21^st century folk waltz from art piece to the next.  What an atmosphere to study ancient Greek art, no?  I couldn’t have asked for a more intriguing piece of art to study.  Lapith and Centaur is a sculpture from the south side of the Parthenon in the “Circle of Pheidias,” 440s BCE.  While the piece exhibited in the Blanton is not the original, its 19^th century reproduction is also indeed historical.  I would be remiss if I neglected to show just where this piece came from.

Majestic, proud, grand, and powerful.

http://www.toddholoubek.com/classes/livingart/?page_id=29

Standing beside a demonstration of homoerotic art and
indeed very interesting sculptures from the Parthenon.

There is something absolutely striking about the way the curator situated this piece in the museum.  For one, it was hung nearly twelve feet above the ground, in a spacious corridor.  I must have walked past this piece several times before I thought to crane my neck upwards to see just what merited such a privileged space on a main wall; such was the elevated positioning of Lapith and Centaur.    Even though the piece must have measured six feet in width, it appeared to be life-size given its positioning away from viewers.  Furthermore, it seems the piece was hung above eye level to accentuate the power and passion in its content. The light fell onto the piece from above, caressing the arched chests of the subjects.  It almost looked as if the human and centaur could feel the light hitting their bodies.  Indeed, this was powerful (kudos to the museum curators).

The original artist of the sculpture positioned the two subjects—human and centaur—in such a way that evokes power, drama, and intimacy.  Arching backwards, the human male, on the left, trusts his chest to the sky.  He faces away from the centaur, who is positioned in a similar backwards arc. They seem to be interacting with each other in more ways than their outwardly focused poses suggest. Together their arched backs create a negative space enclosed on all sides by their bodies.  Even though the subjects’ attentions are outwardly directed, the space created between their backs is palpably intense.  Muscles protrude and limbs stretch and exude power.  As I walk in a semi-circle around the base of the sculpture, I can see the spacing from all sides. For one, their figures touch in many places, and in the rest, nearly inches from one another. Their behinds are nearly inches apart. The human’s left leg is wrapped underneath the centaur’s lower body.  His naked body is completely exposed to the world. At first, I attributed this obvious sense of erotic passion to the image of homoeroticism in Greek art.  Both subjects are, after all, males.  And it isn’t a doting, cute love that one might expect to have for a puppy, but rather a matured passion between man and male centaur.  But while it is an interesting and relevant theme, I would be remiss to focus my attention solely on the relation between two male earthlings.   

From their physical intimacy, perhaps we can infer that they have a profound spiritual or psychological connection.  Both the centaur and the human appear to take up their own space psychologically as their poses separately invoke powerful images of masculinity and pride. Their necks are both arced backwards and upwards to either connote a closeness amongst themselves or a connection with a higher spiritual power.  Perhaps this shows an understanding of one another as similar beings under a similar light.

Lapith and Centaur.
http://www.shafe.co.uk/art/Parthenon_Metope_27_South.asp

With the exception of a draped cloth, which hangs from the human’s outstretched arms, there appears to be only a subtle difference in species; they pose and look very similar (besides the obvious horse-like lower half of the centaur).  But what I wonder is how a human interacts with a half-human.  How do they see themselves in the hierarchy of their mythology and their nature.  Centaurs are also half horse, which is far from a tamed, domesticated being.  Some writers suggest that centaurs are considered “liminal beings” as they are a cross-breed between two species and two worlds.  But in this sculpture, it is all too clear that the human is passionately engaged with the centaur in a way that suggests love rather than degradation.  The human is not threatening in his stature, conveying, rather, a sense of openness.  We cannot see the centaur as purely animal, but the centaur is also half of a species very different from the human.  The centaur and human are both powerful, both male, and both strong in their own spaces, but also equally powerful when their spaces of power overlap.  Can’t we learn something from this?  If in the 440s BCE the Greeks believed in a creature that embodied human and animal characteristics, perhaps we can begin to see ourselves as humans as simply a unique breed of animals.  And not as the ruthless rulers of this earth.  Can we create our own human spaces of power and pride without crushing those of animals?  And finally, can we learn from this example of love—perhaps not in the erotic sense—but indeed, in the compassionate sense?