An anachronic conversation: Cy Twombly and classical art

Cy Twombly’s allusive use of the classical past in his art is a familiar theme of his work, seen in projects such as his Fifty Days at Iliam sequence, recently exhibited at the Pompidou Centre in Paris as part of a major retrospective. But how might placing his work alongside objects and images from classical antiquity illuminate this practice? One might expect such an exhibition to demonstrate the gulf between ancient and contemporary art, but as the show’s title suggests, a dialogue may be possible.

Divine Dialogues: Cy Twombly and Greek Antiquity, currently on display at the Museum of Cycladic Art in Athens, aims to explore Twombly’s work, and to introduce it to a wider Greek audience. The small exhibition takes a careful selection of paintings and sculptures and sets them alongside ancient representations of the divine figures named in the works: Pan, Aphrodite, Apollo, Dionysus, Orpheus and Aristaeus, and Nike. The curator’s aim is to introduce Twombly’s art with its ‘minimalist multi-level symbolism’ (as the curator, Prof. Nicholaos Stampolidis, describes it) by setting it in conversation with ancient representations of the same figures and their mythology.

Cy Twombly's Venus (1975) in Athens
Cy Twombly’s Venus (1975) on display with Anadyomene (1981) and a Hellenistic torso of Aphrodite. Photo Paris Tavitian, © Museum of Cycladic Art.

Some of the pairings are quite obvious matchings of subject between ancient and modern; a Hellenistic torso of Aphrodite, and a vase painting of her birth, face Twombly’s 1979 series Aphrodite Anadyomene. Twombly’s resin cast of pan pipes, scarcely distinguishable from an ancient dedication, clearly belongs to the god whose statue is displayed nearby. One can see the force of ceramicist Edmund de Waal’s description of Twombly’s sculpture as ‘more archaic than archaizing’.

Other ancient statues of gods stand near Twombly’s paintings that catalogue the divine epithets and cult names applied to them, giving the contemporary painting a religious force. In some of his works, Twombly includes representative symbols from which ancient divinities can be recognised; Nike is represented by a delta-shaped wing, in works from 1980 and 1984, while a Dionysiac phallus in Dionysus, from 1975, echoes the form of an ancient grotesque statuette displayed alongside it.

In some cases, the allusion is indirect. The 1975 work, from a show itself titled Allusions, drew on contemporary sources such as Venetian graffiti, as well as classical antecedents. Aristaeus mourning the loss of his bees references a neo-classical sculpture of the name rather than Virgil’s text, and Twombly appears to delight in the phrase as much as he illustrates its sadness. It’s hard to connect these sombre works to the black-figure vase painting of a winged figure holding tools in each hand.

The centre of the exhibition is not, however, a work by Twombly, but one by Kleitias, a Greek vase painter from the sixth century BCE. The François Vase, visiting Greece from the Museo Archeologico in Florence, is set slightly apart from Twombly’s work, and without an explicit counterpart from him.

The Francois Vase
The François Vase, in its usual setting in Florence. Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Firenze, 4209.

But looking closely at the vase, with its rows of tiny, detailed mythological scenes, one sees that each figure is carefully named. From this perspective, Twombly’s practice of writing names and epithets on his canvases, to identify the figures whose myths he evokes, may become an echo of the ancient painter’s practice, a ‘semiotics’ shared across the centuries that separate them. The ancient vase, it seems, is responding to the contemporary display as a whole, and perhaps raising some questions about it. Can one appreciate or understand Twombly’s paintings, or the François vase’s mythological scenes, without reading their textual components? Or does Twombly’s ‘strange language of scribbles’, as the curators describe it, circumscribe the interpretation of his art?

The art of synchronism

Since antiquity artists have made use of themes, formats, and styles from the ancient world, and responded to specific surviving works of art. The ancient world, its stories and its art, offer many possibilities for creative re-use and re-imagination as well as generating synchronisms and anachronisms, when elements from different periods or their associated styles are worked together. Looking at the way in which artists combine elements from past and present, and considering what they choose to emphasise, in representing the ancient world or bringing objects and ideas from it into the modern, may be one way to tell the story of anachronism.

The ancient and the contemporary

Over the last few weeks we have had a visiting undergraduate research assistant, Mycroft Zimmerman from Duke University, North Carolina, working with us on anachronism and synchronism in the visual arts, and these are two of the images and objects that he has found particularly striking in their conjunction of ancient and more recent worlds, and in their creators’ handling of temporality.

The nine heroes

hector
‘Hector’, from the Nine Heroes tapestry in the Cloisters, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 47.101.2d.

A group of tapestries from the southern Netherlands, and most likely made in the 1400s CE, now in the Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, depicts a collection of figures often dubbed the ‘Nine Heroes’ or ‘Nine Worthies’. These consist of three groups of three celebrated figures from the pagan, Jewish and Christian eras or worlds. This grouping was a favourite of mediaeval and Renaissance artists, with surviving examples in sculpture, print and tapestry. The heroes cross the boundaries of history and myth (pagan antiquity includes Hector and Julius Caesar, the Christian era King Arthur and Charlemagne), and artists typically depicted all in contemporary dress and with contemporary symbols of power and authority.

Mycroft writes: ‘Hector is clothed exquisitely in a cape and armor as a sign of military affiliation, implying valour by way of his war-time accomplishments. Additionally, he wears a crown, signaling virtue as a result of nobility. The objects in Hector’s environment on the tapestry, are also distinctly Medieval. He wields a sword in the style of a knight and clutches a shield emblazoned with a lion coat of arms. Moreover, Hector’s surroundings are exclusively comprised of iconography from the Middle Ages: flying buttresses support the framework, vaulted arches loom over him and his compatriots. Perhaps the only characteristic of this Hector that unites him with depictions of him from antiquity is his long, manly beard.’

De Chirico’s Ariadne

ariadne
De Chirico, Ariadne, 1913, 1996.403.10, © 2017 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Giorgio De Chirico (1888-1978) frequently used classical imagery in his work, often returning to the same objects, such as the statue of Sleeping Ariadne from the Vatican Collection. Here this statue is the focus of Ariadne, a painting from 1913 now in the Metropolitan Museum. The ancient statue is depicted with timeless elements, such as the arcade, shorn of architectural detail that would tie it to a specific period, but also more modern elements such as the steam train that crosses the background.

Mycroft writes: ‘If de Chirico had elected to include Ariadne as a living figure in the painting, he would lose the effect of contrasting ancient art and modern design directly. The statue stretches from the foreground to mid-ground of the work, and leads the viewer’s eyes up toward a steam engine, a tower, and a boat. The temporal incongruence of these objects is readily apparent. The gray tower, with its varied blend of period styles, becomes a tool to perpetuate metaphysical tension in the work rather than an effort to recreate any particular structure from any particular period.’