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Rebecca Dugal ARTH 3145 Final Paper May 10, 2012
Hera Reflected? Carel Fabritius’ Hera, painted with oil on canvas circa 1643, depicts a woman lying on her
side. She is compressed into a small vacancy between the water and a large rock behind
her. The woman wears a loose white shirt and her lower half is swathed in a peach fabric
quite similar to the fair color of her skin. Her hair is long and blonde and a comb has just
slipped from her hand. To her left are the majority of her belongings: a pomegranate
shaped vessel, an ornamental piece atop a golden platter resting on a light blue folded
sheet, and her empty slippers. Above her are two peacocks perched on the rock and to her
left there is a parasol, also on its side. An animal, I believe to be an ibex, is running toward
her. The entire upper half of the canvas is filled with fantastical fauna in the form of a
forest, with trees lining an unclear path leading all the way out to the horizon line. On the
bottom portion of the canvas is painted a reflection of the scene in a waterhole.
The painting portrays the still moment of discovery. The lady has been startled and drops
her comb as she looks up to find the source of her fright. It appears that whatever lights
the painting has shaken her out of her grooming; her expression shows surprise. Her
eyebrows are slightly raised and lips faintly parted. She looks something akin to a deer
caught in the bright headlights of a car.
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Hera, Carel Fabritius, circa 1643
Without a title given by the artist, over the years scholars come up with one themselves:
Hera taking refuge from the battle of gods and giants. Though there is little written about
this painting, scholars have come to enough of an agreement on the identity of the heroine
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(Seelig 91). She is believed to be Hera because the two peacocks above her are signs
associated with both Hera and Juno, often portrayed pulling her chariot (Senzec 92). They
also are agreed that the story of Hera’s refuge during the legendary battle most closely fits
the painting, as there is no other story involving her that could apply. This painting’s
narrative is likely to be a mythological damsel in distress not only because of its connection
to the myth, but most notably for Fabritius’ connection to Rembrandt van Rijn. He was
studying with the Dutch master in Amsterdam when he painted it and the painting does
bear a noticeable resemblance to Rembrandt’s own mythological paintings, the Rape of
Proserpine and the Abduction of Europa, as well as to Rembrandt’s technique (Seelig 93).
Hera’s character looks awfully similar to both of Rembrandt’s blond beauties. She appears
quite fair and full-‐bodied. I speculate that this painting depicts a moment similar to
Persephone’s and Europa’s, right before Porphyrion the giant attempts to rape Hera during
the battle of gods and giants. This painting renders the moment the giant reveals himself to
Hera. However, I digress. I believe the narrative to be irrelevant to the understanding of
Abduction of Europa, Rembrandt, 1632
Rape of Proserpine, Rembrandt, 1631
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this painting. It is the technique that more obviously manifests Rembrandt’s influence
(Seelig 93). Fine detail is used sparingly and the trees are somewhat amorphous and
improvised. There is a large variance in style of brush stroke and the palette is quite
focused. Fabritius also incorporates Rembrandt’s talented understanding of light, creating
a soft radial gradient brightly focused on Hera’s figure and diffusing outward.
This detailed and masterful representation of
light was something unique to the Dutch. Karel
van Mander’s concept of reflexy-const and the
Dutch culture of painting were the foremost
authorities on the dimensions of the art of
reflection. Though reflexy-const encompasses
much on how light and color reflect off of and on to objects, the highest form of reflection is
spiegeling or mirroring (Melion 73). Van Mander discusses how nature is capable of
mirroring and representing herself through reflective surfaces like water (Melion, 74).
Fabritius has created a representation of a naturally occurring reflection. Taking up much
of the lower section of the painting, the viewer is drawn into the reflection by the skeletal
image of Hera’s reflected face. With its eyeless gaze pointed toward the viewer, this
surreptitiously haunting appearance is painted out of the shadows used to create the more
accurate features of a truthful facial reflection. A dark, well-‐placed brush-‐stroke illustrates
the crude mouth and completes the ghostly visage.
Once the viewer’s attention has been called to the reflection, other differences between it
and the image above the water become apparent. For simplicity’s sake, I will refer to the
Detail of reflected face
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image “above” the water as reality and the image in the water as the reflection, though by
no means am I asserting one is more real than the other or that either is real at all.
Detail of bottom portion of Hera 1 (flipped)
Above is a detail of the reflected image flipped upright so as to provide a different
perspective and assist in identifying and seeing past the more deceptive and illusionistic
details. Overall, there is a shift in color and value. In reality, Hera is light and almost
glowing in a heavily yellow and green palette, viewed above as below the shoreline. But
the reflection shows a darker Hera and a palette much heavier on peachy shadows. Hera’s
body is smaller in the reflection, as are the parasol and the vase. Even the shadows on the
rock suggest it to be smaller than its counterpart. The animal, however, seems not to have
changed size. In fact, the animal seems far enough away from the shore in reality that it
should not even be visible in the reflection, yet there it is. Though the reflected Hera’s face
is less descript, the rest of the reflection appears to be in greater detail, especially the
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animal, which I believe to be an ibex. In reality, the animal is fairly phantasmal. The
reflection shows an animal that is much sleeker, seeming to leap faster in its new predatory
form. Whereas in reality the animal could be on its way to the water or just crossing the
path, the animal in the reflection is clearly running toward the woman. In response, she
seems to be dropping her comb not in surprise, but in defense, preparing herself for the
attack. Her more truthfully reflected profile gazes back toward the ibex, but in reality it is
lifted toward the light source. In the reflection there seems to be much less of a light-‐
source, clearly reminding viewers which is the original image, and that the two images are
distinct.
Fabritius has presented viewers with two different representations
depicting two different narratives. In one, the reality, Hera realizes
she has been discovered, something or someone threatening has been
revealed. In the other, the reflection, the viewer can see the threat: she
has just heard the animal about to attack her. Everything about the
painting seems to point in two directions. The peacocks look in two
different ways; one toward the light, referencing the unknown threat to the “real” Hera,
perhaps ethereal in its connection to the light, while the other looks toward the attacking
ibex, referencing the reflected narrative. The path depicted in the painting connects the
waterhole and the horizon. The water is an endpoint, a destination. For the woman, this
path is both an avenue for escape and attack. In both images, she is blocked in both by the
fallen parasol, which in turn, seems to be the only barrier between her and the animal as
well as the only roadblock impeding her escape. The tips of the two parasols meet at the
edge of the water to point viewers’ attention back toward the imposing light. The peacocks
Example of an ibex
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are not even present in the reflected image, perhaps suggesting that the reflected woman is
someone other than the “real” Hera. Whether the reflection reveals an alternate reality, or
a depiction of Hera’s thoughts and feelings or something else entirely, I do not pretend to
know. However, though the painting is split into two images, they work cohesively as one
painting to circuitously point the viewer in two different directions.
Though the tromp l’oeil genre is a testament to the deceptive nature of painting, Fabritius
has gone further with this painting. Where tromp l’oeil paintings aim to deceive the eye,
attempting to pass for the objects they represent, Fabritius provides an untruthful
reflection. But who is to say which is truth? Though representations in general, like
paintings, are not necessarily free of bias or distortion, the same cannot be said for
reflections. One cannot see oneself without the aid of a mirror or other reflective surface.
Therefore we become rather accustomed to seeing ourselves the same way in each
reflection. However, where spiegeling marks the threshold between reflection and
representation (Melion 73), Hera does not fall on one side or the other; Fabritius
completely mars the line, disrupting viewers’ expectations by providing an alternative
representation in the reflection. But once the distortions and differences are noticed, those
very distortions and differences cause viewers to “reflect” more deeply on the painting.
How interesting that Fabritius chooses to include peacocks in this painting. Scholars have
assumed they are a reference to Hera, and I do not dispute that. However, I believe that
they have a further relevance to the image. A beautiful animal of nature, peacocks have a
unique skill. They are an example of nature’s ability to represent without reflection. With
their glamorous plumage, peacocks can create an image on their own without the use of a
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reflective surface like water. Fabritius does something similarly impressive, mirroring
without reflecting, deceiving while encouraging discovery. As Aristotle claimed, “all men,
by nature, desire to know” (Tredennick, 3), so Fabritius plays on this desire. And as he
plays, perhaps he suggests with his depiction of Hera’s anxious surprise and her reflection’s
much more spooky portrayal and frightening predicament, that discovery and knowledge
are not always pleasant things to desire.
Like everything about Hera, this can also be taken two ways. Are discovery and knowledge
disappointing or frightening in themselves? Or is it frightening that the desires to discover
and know are insatiable and impossible to ever fully realize? More frightening are the
suggestions this painting makes about truth. Just as Fabritius mars the line between
reflection and representation, so he does confuse viewers’ understanding of the truth. Is
there a higher truth hidden in plain sight, away from the light, an alternate to all that we
think we know? The unclear nature of this image allows viewers to find meaning in this
painting with an infinite number of dimensions, a perfect painting to feed man’s insatiable
and never-‐ending hunger for knowledge on his search for truth.
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Works Cited
In Hugh Tredennick, ed., Aristotle, The Metaphysics Books I -‐ IX, The Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1933, Reprinted 1936, 1947, 1956, 1961), Pg. 3.
Melion, Walter. Shaping the Netherlandish Canon: Karel van Mander's Schilder-‐boeck
(Chicago: The University of Chicago, 1991). Pg 73-‐74. Seelig, Gero. Carel Fabritius 1622-‐1654, ed. Frederik J. Duparc (Zwolle: Waanders
Publishers, 2004), 91-‐94. Seznec, Jean, The Survival of the Pagan Gods: Mythological Tradition in Renaissance
Humanism and Art, 1953. p 92.
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