The Birth of Venus

As the name implies, The Birth of Venus presents a narrative. One may surely find the brief synopsis with minimal Google skills. Like Foucault dismissed the titles of the characters in Las Meninas, it is important to momentarily set aside auxiliary resources and focus straight ahead.

Venus, goddess divine, is easy to pick from among the other characters. The nudity and magnificent shell set her leagues apart from the others. Looking closer, her eyes are like two-dimensional objects, separate from the face and pasted onto the painting. It’s as if they don’t belong to her face. Assumingly, a different shadowing technique is used to create eyes that are shallowly set like hers. In relationship to other facial features, the huge, almond shaped eyes seem out-of-proportion, but not a la Picasso; instead, speaking to the birth metaphor, wide eyed taking everything in.

In addition to size, shape, and shadow, the orientation of the eyes – slightly wide set and angled downward from the nose, constructs a feeling of soft sadness. It’s the dimension of sadness that draws the viewer into her gaze. As goddess of love is she disappointed in what she sees?

Zooming out beyond the eyes, the positioning of the other characters makes Venus the physical center of the painting, as well as the center of attention. The man and woman on the left are swooping-in; their hair is blown back by their own motion to center as well as by Venus. The attendant on the right, her hair is also blown away from her face, away by Venus. All hair in the picture is very similar in color. But the chestnut locks produce a feeling of light and energy coming from Venus; she controls a portion of her hair with her left hand and with her right hand on her chest, covering her heart, both hands have something to guard. Even with her body language building a guarded stance, energy radiates off of her porcelain body to blow back the cloak the attendant provides and the sashes of the angelic man and woman on the left.