THE STARS SET IN STONE

When I walk my dog in the evening and the sky is clear, I tend to come home with a sore neck. During the entire walk, I will most lightly observe the infinite sky and let my dog lead the way. 
I am not an expert in astronomy, but I do find the moon, the stars, and all the constellations fascinating and curious. One of the only constellations I can locate is Orion’s Belt, which is three stars on a line. The Belt is only a simple part of the entire constellation forming a hunter, but I cannot see the remaining parts of Orion no matter how hard I look. 
One of the oldest constellations is the Aquarius, the Water Bearer, which is also one of the 12 zodiac constellations. The Aquarius is most visible during the fall in the southern sky and consists of roughly 12 points when connected should resemble a man hanging in the sky. I have yet to locate this constellation in the sky, however, I did find the Aquarius in another place.

I recently visited the Thorvaldsen’s Museum in Copenhagen. I have seen the alluring yellow building multiple times when sailing through the canals, but I had never entered the building, which would prove to be a sad mistake. The museum was built between 1839 and 1848 in honor of the great Bertel Thorvaldsen. The building itself is both a painting of history as well as a display of excellent architectural design. Thorvaldsen lived for 40 years in Rome before he donated his entire art collection to his native country, Denmark, and the challenge of bringing his artwork across the ocean and into the museum is portraited on the building. Visitors can walk around the museum and follow a piece of history as the wondrous sculptures were brought into the impressive halls of Thorvaldsen’s Museum. 


I could dwell on the architecture for hours, the deep colors on the walls, the decorative ceilings in every small room and especially the breathtaking main hall. Once I entered that specific room it was as if the air left my lungs, and I became so very small. When you step through the heavy curtains, a certain suspense starts crawling under your skin, but you cannot prepare yourself for the tall, dramatic sculptures of the main hall. They are truly worth a visit.


Nonetheless, I will focus on a much smaller sculpture than the major ones in the main hall. The sculpture is placed in a smaller, green room where it is allowed to astound the visitors without the disturbance of other sculptures. In this little green room, the visitor will encounter the sculpture named Ganymede with Jupiter’s Eagle (1817).
 At first glance, you will see two characters: A young man kneeling while he offers a bowl to a great eagle. The two characters align in a triangular formation due to the position of their bodies. They both lean slightly forward maybe towards the bowl in the middle or maybe towards each other. Their bodies almost take up the same amount of space and yet the eagle appears more majestic and powerful than the slightly crumbling boy. 
The eagle is the embodiment of respectfulness and fearfulness due to its deadly claws and long beak. Its feathered body makes it appear wild and untamed and the shadows between the feathers add a dramatic element to the animal. It is almost as if the spectator can hear the eagle’s warning: you better keep your distance, or you will regret it.

The eagle appears calm while drinking from the bowl, but you will get the sensation that if you make too much noise, he will become angry. 
The young man, on the other hand, is lean and appears submissive to the eagle. His skin is incredibly smooth, almost as if the marble has been polished to such a shiny level that light would reflect on the surface causing the boy to shine bright. His neutral facial expression is encircled by curly locks of hair, which makes him look very young. He wears a Phrygian cap as the only clothing, which has become the man’s attribute, so when visitors see another young man with that type of cap they know it is Ganymede they look upon.


The sculpture contains so many contrasts that in collectedness the eagle and the boy become a depiction of harmony between the naked skin and the feathered body, the wild claws and the soft fingers, and the majestic and the respectful. As a spectator you become curious as to why the boy is kneeling before the eagle. Is a human not superior to a bird? Is nature not under the mercy of humans? Is it not possible for the boy to capture the eagle and tame it?
 Maybe those thoughts would be reasonable if the sculpture was named Man and the Eagle, but since the sculpture is named Ganymede with Jupiter’s Eagle the story is more enticing.

In Greek mythology, Zeus, who is named Jupiter in Roman mythology, descends to earth in the shape of an eagle to abduct the beautiful boy Ganymede. According to some accounts of this myth Zeus watched Ganymede from Olympia and fell so madly in love with him. As an excuse to keep the boy next to him in Olympia, Zeus made Ganymede his cupbearer.

According to other accounts, Zeus simply wanted Ganymede as the new cupbearer for all the gods. Whether or not love was involved, Zeus abducted the young man and flew him to Olympia. 
The star constellation of the Aquarius does therefore look like a man hanging in the sky, representing Ganymede hanging from the grasp of the eagle, on his path to become the Water Bearer for the gods. 
The beautiful sculpture portraits a myth about the power of the gods and the powerlessness of humans, and the more the spectator learns about the myth, the more the face of Ganymede changes from being neutral to fearful. 
Thorvaldsen managed not only to captivate the ancient myth but also the unfathomable occurrence of a star constellation in a material as simple as stone. This was his magnificent talent. He was able to turn something as insignificant as stones into an incredible artform and absorbing sculptures for visitors to gaze upon.

Cover: Bertel Thorvaldsen, Ganymedes med Jupiters ørn (1817).

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