ING: Bacchus and Ariadne, Titian

This work holds a special place in my heart, because it's one of the paintings that always reminds me to come back to the root of my art historical passion and studies: Classical mythology. Greek mythology and culture were what intrigued me as a child; and my decision to pursue museum and art historical studies was motivated by my desire to turn these stories of fiction, these tales of passion and romance, into my reality. When I saw it in person at the National Gallery, it truly hit me how important it is to see things in person rather than through a screen.

Bacchus and Ariadne, Tiziano Vecellio (Titian), 1520-3. Oil on canvas. 176.5 x 191 cm. National Gallery, London.

This work is Bacchus and Ariadne by the painter popularly known and recorded as Titian, an Italian (Venetian) painter who was one of the most commissioned, lauded, and imitated artists of his time and school. He was born circa 1480 and died in 1576, but these dates are still under scrutiny. He can therefore be categorized as a sixteenth century painter, and his works and relevant studies should be examined within that time frame. This painting examines the myth of Bacchus and Ariadne, the former a god and the latter a mortal princess, depicting the moment the god of wine fell in love and lust (cheers to that). The scene, however, does not evoke a moment of romance so much as a moment of passion: Bacchus, in all his emotion and entourage, takes over the composition and painting from right to left as he quite literally establishes his feelings towards a, needless to say, stunned Ariadne.

The god is dominantly present in every way. He descends swiftly down from his divine golden carriage to the ground and to Ariadne, who gazes upward with her arm raised in reflexive surprise while his garments billow away from him in a moment of directional and decisive movement towards his target. There is a chaotic ensemble of figures all of whom are dedicated to him: the leopards, his divine animal; the presence of the satyrs (half goat, half man) who are infamously the god's devoted companions of debauchery and frequent culprits of sexual wantonness; and a woman who might be a more elegant interpretation of the Maenads, or the grotesque and aggressive female followers of the god of wine. All of them form a cloud of activity and energy at the right that almost seamlessly melts into the brown and green background of trees and soil-- a peaceful palette, yet not so in content and meaning.

Bacchus is painted onto a blue, rich background of open sky while she stands on a small corner of soil that seems to be the only area untouched by his followers. And of course, her body turns away from not just him and his group but from us-- adding a heightened sense of mystery and apprehension from the female standpoint. We cannot see her face, or accurately discern her reaction. Myths are up to interpretation and there are many versions, as happens to oral and written traditions. Many suggest that Ariadne was saved by the god; and it does seem a likely interpretation compared to her prior fate as a princess of a cursed kingdom who was about to face the consequences of going against her father and divine will by helping a certain dashing hero (have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?). However, the fallen jug at her feet, her contorted body language, and compositional tense placement of the princess at left cannot help but suggest a sort of underlying tension. Amidst the beautiful textures of oil paint, the masterful use of colour, and level of detail truly symbolic of the Venetian method there is a subtle reminder to the viewer that Ariadne is yet another mortal confined to the wills of the heavens: a god who lusts after her, and ultimately turns her into a constellation. The constellation Corona Borealis floats above Ariadne in the sky, foretelling her doom-- or salvation, depending on how you see it.