Head Hunting

Yesterday’s article on Judith and Holofernes by Susanne Pearce generated considerable interest in my inbox. Most readers agreed with Susanne that Artemisia Gentileschi’s ‘active portrayals’ of Judith dealing with the Assyrian head honcho, Holofernes, were ‘head and shoulders’ above other depictions. I wonder what this says about my readers? However, others reminded me that there were less violent versions of Judith’s story portrayed by artists ranging from Botticelli to Klimt.

The story’s ongoing popularity for artistic representation was due to it being perfect for the exploration of female virtue, beauty and power. In ‘How Judith Beheading Holofernes Became Art History’s Favourite Icon of Female Rage’ (https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-judith-beheading-holofernes-art-historys-favorite-icon-female-rage) Angelica Frey discusses how the story led to the creation of two particular versions of artwork – Judith as the strong, virtuous woman (femme forte) and as the sexually dangerous woman (femme fatale).

Frey points out that ‘Judith’ is particularly relevant during periods of cultural upheaval and that her various depictions reflect this. During the Middle Ages, Judith’s virtue and chastity were highlighted; in the power struggles of the Renaissance she took on the role of the warrior-goddess; in the Baroque era, Judith embodied female rage; and in the late 19^th/early 20th century Judith’s sexuality was paramount in her femme fatale representations.

The National Gallery of Victoria has eight examples of Judith and Holofernes in the collection. Most of these are early examples (16^th century) and highlight the simply dressed, virtuous and chaste Judith. None of them show Judith in the act of beheading Holofernes – but instead feature her triumph as she carries off her victim’s head.  In these, Judith represents the qualities that women were expected to display as the female ‘head’ of the family – loyalty, service, care and resourcefulness.

The cassoni in the NGV collection, with their four scenes of the story, also acknowledge Judith’s wisdom, humility and piety. For an extensive discussion of these wedding chests see Anna Drummond’s essay: ‘Marriage and murder: two wedding chests with representations of Judith’ in Art Journal 53 from the NGV at: https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/essay/marriage-and-murder-two-wedding-chests-with-representations-of-judith/

As Judith became a more politicised figure she was depicted when threatened populations needed to bolster confidence or muster resistance against an oppressor. The 16^th century small bronze sculpture of Judith with the head of Holofernes from Padua may well conform to this version of Judith. Padua was under the rule of the Republic of Venice from 1405 until 1797, except for a brief period in 1509 when the Holy Roman Empire claimed it. The takeover lasted for only a short period and the invaders were routed by the Venetian troops.   When Holofernes (Holy Roman Empire) ‘reared his ugly head’, Judith (Venice) simply lopped it off.

Similarly, the early ink and chalk drawing attributed to Moretto da Brescia from the 1500s may relate to the ‘Sack of Brescia’ in 1512 during the War of the League of Cambrai. Brescia experienced thousands of casualties at the hands of the invading French, before the city was liberated by the Venetians eight years later. In the drawing, Judith’s ‘armour’ is a prominent feature of her dress.

Over time the representation of Judith morphed to include a more seductive component. This shift began with Judith becoming the elaborately adorned noblewoman. These qualities are evident in the more finely-dressed, handsome and majestic depictions of her by Peter Paul Rubens in the 17^th century and Giuseppi Zocchi in the 18^th century.

Frey provides the example of the lavishly attired Judith by Lucas Cranach the Elder c. 1530  in which the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York describes Judith as ‘dressed to kill’.

The National Gallery of Victoria does not have images of Judith as the early 20th century femme fatale but it is worth looking at the depictions by Gustav Klimt and Franz Stuck to see how images immerse themselves in their zeitgeist.

However, Judith is not the only Jewish woman to rescue her people through killing a military oppressor.  The Old Testament ‘Book of Judges’ tells the story of Jael killing the Canaanite general Sisera by feeding him and then driving a tent peg through his temple (Jael was also painted as a ‘woman on a mission’ by Artemisia Gentileschi in c. 1620).

The National Gallery of Victoria has a 17^th century engraving ‘Jael’ featuring this fleshy determined heroine brandishing a substantial mallet and stake and a ‘you don’t want to mess with me look’ while her victim lies impaled and dead in the background.

Finally, there has been local renewed interest in Judith with the head of Holofernes by Melbourne artist, Matthew Harris. Presumably taking Lucas Cranach the Elder’s painting as a starting point, Harris presents a colourful, pared back and playful commentary on art history and art today through his series of ‘Judith’ works. As Zara Sigglekow points out in her essay: ‘Bad jibes: camp, humour, and taste in the art of Matthew Harris’ from UN Magazine 11.2, Harris’ paintings use artifice, exaggeration and stylisation to ‘dig at normative gender … [and] normative lifestyle taste, through its crass trash tropes’. His version of Judith is very much ‘at home’ in our animated post-Simpsons accessible and disposable world. As Judith’s gaze meets and mirrors that of Holofernes, I am reminded that we should all remember to quit when we are (a)head!