For many years, the works of Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1656) were wrongly attributed to her father, the painter Orazio Gentileschi or to Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610), largely because of their similar use of chiaroscuro, but also possibly because of conscious or unconscious bias by art critics of later centuries, unable to conceive of the idea that a woman was capable of such great artistry.
Both Artemisia and Caravaggio painted the same subjects, but their imagining of their women characters in particular is telling and the examination of their disparate characteristics inform a feminist reading of the artwork. Take for instance, the story of Judith slaying Holofernes, a tale from the book of Judith in the Old Testament wherein the Assyrian general Holofernes, who has planned a massacre of Jews, is decapitated before he can act on the lust aroused in him by the beautiful Jewish widow Judith. In Caravaggio’s painting, Judith, accompanied by her female servant Abra , wears an expression of trepidation mixed with fear and reluctance, with her outstretched arm presents not only a physical impossibility (there appears no weight behind the action meaning that the force needed for decapitation is absent) but also places a physical distance between her body and the horror of the act she is committing. Meanwhile Abra, depicted as old and wrinkled, serves as a stark contrast to Judith’s radiant beauty. She is an accomplice, but disengaged from the act itself, her figure disappearing to the right of the canvas; she is too old to do anything other than stand ready with a cloth in which to carry away the head after the deed is done. The focus of the painting is Holofernes himself. It is his open-mothed shock that the artist wishes to capture, with the light playing on his taught musculature as it contorts in the moment of death, the whites of his eyes betraying the disbelief and horrified astonishment he feels at his execution at the hands of the slight, luminous figure of Judith.
Artemisia’s painting by contrast, pictures the women very differently. Firstly, they are much more physically engaged in their task, and there is a commitment and determination shown in their expressions. Judith is holding the head down while Abra, much younger in this painting (the two almost indistinguishable) is pressing down on the body to help. Abra is an equal in this task, and not just a stander-by. Judith herself is older too, more mature and ample-figured, as she leans into her task. Shockingly, blood is spurting from Holofernes’s presumably still-pulsing jugular vein, flecking her arms, dress and breast. Depicted realistically, the limbs of the murderers and victim are entangled, with Holofernes vainly clutching at Abra, whose furrowed brow and rolled-up sleeves reveal her own muscles, telling us that these are women who are fully capable of overcoming male strength and power. Judith, with her victim’s hair clutched through her fingers, pushes his head into the blade. These additional details lend weight to the forcefulness of the women, as they bend to their task implacably. The treatment of the subject is much more visceral, and the gritted purposefulness of the women themselves in an act of butchery was shocking to 19th century critics like John Ruskin, who referred back to an earlier depiction of the story by Botticelli, describing that painting as ‘slight…but true to her’, whereas Artemisia’s painting of the subject was seen as ‘vile’. (Ruskin 1875-77)[1]
This painting, in contrast to Caravaggio’s version, is less about Holofernes, and is more clearly focused on the women. It is worth noting that Artemisia herself suffered at the hands of men. Aged just seventeen, she was raped by one of her father’s artistic collaborators, Agostino Tassi, who was eventually prosecuted and found guilty of the crime. While it would be too glib to claim that Artemisia was acting out some kind of revenge fantasy in her rendering of Judith Slaying Holofernes (the first version of which was painted in the same year as the trial), we can at least state unequivocally that Artemisia shows her female characters not as victims but as strong and resolute, the equal of any man.
The female solidarity and allegiance shown to exist between Judith and Abra is further demonstrated in Artemisia’s earlier painting Judith and Her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes. Here, Judith and her servant are again of a similar age, caught while their attention is distracted elsewhere, away from the horrific basket contents carried by Abra. They are shown in close proximity, and the artist has shown Judith’s hand on her accomplice’s shoulder in tender solicitude. The head of the victim is almost incidental, and shocking though it is, the chiaroscuro technique means that it is the women who are illuminated as living and breathing players, thinking about their next move, whereas Holofernes is now inanimate, his grey and lifeless head half obscured by the basket, almost fading into the background and into insignificance. Judith casually holds the sword over her shoulder with a practiced ease, as if this were a normal, everyday event, unafraid to have physical contact with the instrument of death.
In another subject, Susanna and the Elders, Artemisia depicts the story of a false accusation and blackmail by lascivious voyeurs. This is from the Book of Daniel, and had been treated by other male artists, notably Alessandro Allori (1535-1607), but in a way which suggests complicity rather than the recoil shown by Artemisia.
Allori’s Susanna is young and beautiful and gazes at the older man above her with a smile, twisting towards him, her fingers stroking his beard while her other hand rests on the head of a second, lower male figure, his hand resting on her thigh while his other hand wraps around her waist. The main point is that the artist has shown her to be enjoying the attention, bathed in the honeyed warm glow of a benign light, with an abundance of fruit and greenery, symbolizing fecundity and ease.
By contrast, Artemisia’s view of Susanna and her plight is very different. The light is cold and grey, reflecting the mood of distress shown on the face of the central female figure as she twists away in alarm, shrinking away from their disgusting threats and coercion. The male figures are not kindly; they are lecherous conspirators, intent on corrupting the target of their malicious intentions. For the first time in the history of art, a woman artist has shown something of a woman’s true feelings when faced with the menacing predicament of unwanted attention turned into cruel and intimidating duress. As Amanda Vickery commented, ‘At age seventeen, Artemisia is trying to give expression to something that doesn’t even have a name – the violence of the male gaze.’ (Vickery 2014)[2]
[1]Ruskin, John. Mornings in Florence.London: Colonial Press, 1875-77.
[2]The Story of Women in Art.Directed by Amanda Vickery. 2014.
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