Taken at the Metropolitan Art Museum
On a recent trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan, I saw this sculpture and was taken aback by the sense of anguish. It mirrored the strain I sometimes feel when dealing with my responsibilities. Sometimes burden is so heavy that I actually feel physical pain between my shoulders blades.
I thought I was projecting until I discovered the name of the bronze sculpture by Auguste Rodin – Fallen Caryatid Carrying Her Stone. To be honest I had no idea what a caryatid was. I had to do some research to find out the meaning of the piece.
The caryatid, according to 1st century B.C. Roman architectural writer Vitruvius, originally referred to “women of Caryae” who were sentenced to hard labor because their city sided with the Persians during the second invasion of Greece. The caryatid was often used in Greek architecture instead of columns to support the balcony or roof of the temples. So I wasn’t so far fetched. The Sculpture was about a woman bearing burdens on her shoulders.
Rodin-web.org describes this particular caryatid as a damned woman, associated with destiny and sorrow. Personally, I don’t think the description really captures the complexity of this piece of art. There is also beauty and grace in the smooth curves of the bronze. It’s a metaphor for the intricacies of womanhood.
Women shoulder many burdens. We juggle career, family, friendships, and social/civic activities while trying to feel some sense of personal fulfillment. We feel genuinely conflicted when we can’t give everything our personal best. And yet at times we resent being pulled in so many different directions. We hold emotions, words and feelings in our hearts until they become additional burdens, affecting our thoughts and behavior. We take responsibility for people and situations that don’t belong to us. Our childrens’ choices become a personal indictment on our worth as mothers. We blame ourselves for the mistakes of others. Make excuses for poor behavior. And as a result we get weighted down. We hold on more than we are let go.
It’s no surprise our knees buckle.
I see the Fallen Caryatid Carrying Her stone as a cautionary tale. She reminds us to reserve our power and strength for the pursuit of that which we truly desire, not what is cast on us. And it lets us know that we don’t have to own every problem. We can care for others without sacrificing ourselves.
Maybe that’s a lot to get from a sculpture in an art gallery. But art touches something deeper than just our intellect. It speaks to our souls. I suppose that is why art and literature are so important to me. The arts help me to understand who I am. They clarify my thinking. I could go on about how art affects me, but it would be far more interesting to hear what you think.
What piece of art or literature has visceral affect on you?
Like many, I first heard of her in Robert Heinlein’s “Stranger in a Strange Land” (1961), in which a father-figure character describes her like this:
Now here we have another emotional symbol — wrought with exquisite craftsmanship, but we won’t go into that, yet. Ben, for almost three thousand years or longer, architects have designed buildings with columns shaped as female figures — it got to be such a habit that they did it as casually as a small boy steps on an ant. After all those centuries it took Rodin to see that this was work too heavy for a girl. But he didn’t simply say, ‘Look, you jerks, if you must design this way, make it a brawny male figure.’ No, he showed it… and generalized the symbol. Here is this poor little caryatid who has tried — and failed, fallen under the load. She’s a good girl — look at her face. Serious, unhappy at her failure, but not blaming anyone else, not even the gods… and still trying to shoulder her load, after she’s crumpled under it.
But she’s more than good art denouncing some very bad art; she’s a symbol for every woman who has ever tried to shoulder a load that was too heavy for her — over half the female population of this planet, living and dead, I would guess. But not alone women — this symbol is sexless. It means every man and every woman who ever lived who sweated out life in uncomplaining fortitude, whose courage wasn’t even noticed until they crumpled under their loads. It’s courage, Ben, and victory.
Victory in defeat, there is none higher. She didn’t give up, Ben; she’s still trying to lift that stone after it has crushed her. She’s a father going down to a dull office job while cancer is painfully eating away his insides, so as to bring home one more pay check for the kids. She’s a twelve-year-old girl trying to mother her baby brothers and sisters because Mama had to go to Heaven. She’s a switchboard operator sticking to her job while smoke is choking her and the fire is cutting off her escape. She’s all the unsung heroes who couldn’t quite cut it but never quit.
What a great passage! I get goosebumps reading it.