RECONSTRUCTING ARTEMISIA: TWENTIETH-CENTURY IMAGES OF A WOMAN ARTIST
She moved towards the bed,
dragging the cloak behind her
Like
a courtly dress. She no longer needed
anybody, only
Herself. Slowly, almost solemnly she lay down . . . "They'll
See who Artemisia is." And thus she fell asleep.
Anna Banti, Artemisia
ARMS STRETCHED OUT, sleeves
pulled up, a slightly disgusted expression on her face, Judith is cutting
Holofernes's throat; gushes of blood spurt from the huge body of the captain of
the Assyrians. Life is already escaping
from him, taken away by the imposing, long sword which dominates the Uffizi
painting like a cross. A revenge? For over two centuries, the painting had
been neglected, "banished to dark corners and inaccessible museum stairwells"
(Mary Garrard), apparently deserving, at best, [the famous Italian art critic
Roberto] Longhi's paternalistic remarks [in 1916]. Then the rediscovery of the 1970s. What need does Artemisia fill?
What motivates her representation as a relentless, uncompromising
celebrator of heroic woman? What lies
behind her portrayal as a romantic heroine desperately in love with [the
painter Agostino] Tassi , or Caravaggio?
Roberto Longhi, while
reluctantly admitting Artemisia's importance in the 1916 article that marked
the rediscovery of Orazio Gentileschi's daughter, could not hide his aversion
for such a strong and unconventional woman artist. Since the 1970s, feminist art historians have, on the contrary,
found in Artemisia a much needed example of female creativity that manages to
assert itself in spite of the formidable obstacles laid in its path.
The fascination exerted by
Artemisia has also made her the subject of creative works. Anna Banti, the art historian who-by her own
account in Un grido lacerante-turned writer
because of marriage, saw in Artemesia an ideal precursor, torn apart by the
same contradictions and struggles. But
because she did not lose sight of the risks implicit in collapsing past into present,
Banti constructed the first part of her novel as a struggle between a narrator
eager to find historical parallels for her experience and a character,
Artemisia, jealous of her individuality and skeptical about the narrator's
chances of success.
This self-criticism, this
awareness of the risks of interpretation, is all but absent from the other
[twentieth-century] works that center on Artemisia's life, be they plays,
novels or a film. The latest tendency,
demonstrated by [Agnes] Merlet's and [Alexandra] Lapierre's works [the movie Artemisia and the novel Artemisia:
Un duel pour l'immortalité, respectively], is to lessen the
antagonism between Artemisia and the men around her, especially Agostino Tassi,
while giving the illusion of a total adherence to history. Is this another example of a backlash
against feminism? Or a reaction to what
could be perceived as an excessive victimization of an exceptional woman? Whatever the answer to these questions, the
debate of Artemisia Gentileschi, a "gift to the twentieth century" in the words
of Mary Garrard, is likely to go on for some time.