Cleopatra VII’s nose has long been celebrated for its beauty, reputedly altering the course of history. French philosopher Blaise Pascal famously remarked that if her nose had been shorter, “the whole face of the earth would have changed.” However, a recent exhibition at the Palazzo Strozzi in Florence suggests that Cleopatra’s features may not have been the most remarkable among Egypt’s pharaohs. The exhibition, which opened last week, showcases over 80 artifacts, including a stunningly realistic sculpture of Akhenaten’s lips, dating back to the 14th century BC. This piece, resembling a seagull resting on soft flesh, captures a blend of sternness and sensuality, evoking an almost irresistible allure.
The concept that beauty lies in wholeness was first articulated by Thomas Aquinas. Yet, the Akhenaten sculpture’s allure is amplified by its imperfection; it is merely a fragment—a polished limestone shard discovered in the ruins of the Great Aten Temple in el-Amarna, depicting only the ruler’s nose and mouth.
CD Dickerson, a specialist in Renaissance and Baroque art, notes, “Fragments draw attention to specific details that might be overlooked in a complete statue. The nuanced carving of the lip becomes significant when viewed in isolation.” This exhibition, titled “Broken: The Power of Fragments,” co-curated by Dickerson for the Palazzo Strozzi and the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, delves into humanity’s historical inclination to damage or destroy meticulously crafted artworks. It also poses a fascinating question: why do some artworks evoke stronger emotional responses when they are incomplete?
The featured artifacts reflect significant historical upheavals. Among them is a decapitated statue of a kneeling prior from Romainmôtier, Switzerland, likely vandalized during the Protestant Reformation. Additionally, the remnants of a statue of King Louis XIV, consisting only of a dismembered foot and hand, serve as a testament to the revolution that swept through Paris’s Place Vendôme. Another striking piece is a bust of Mussolini by modernist sculptor Adolfo Wildt, marked by a bullet hole through the forehead after the fall of fascism.
According to co-curator Andrew Sears, this pattern of destruction is not new. “Historically, it has been common practice during regime changes or religious shifts to dismantle images of former leaders, as these images were believed to embody a sort of life force.” In some instances, these defaced artworks were intentionally displayed as warnings. For example, a bust from 19 AD depicting Germanicus had its nose hacked off and forehead marked with a cross by Christians opposing the deification of Roman emperors.
The exhibition also explores the notion of brokenness beyond mere historical violence. A section titled “Sculpting the Fragment” begins with a captivating dogū figurine from ancient Japan. Little is known about these clay figures, often found in fragmented states at burial sites, but recent studies suggest they may have served a purpose similar to contemporary piñatas, broken to celebrate both endings and new beginnings. “It’s evident that creating these sculptures with the intent to break them was part of their culture, which challenges our assumptions about ancient societies being inherently violent,” observes Dickerson.
In their exploration of museum collections, Dickerson and Sears found little support for the idea that brokenness equates to ugliness. Often, the reverse is true. For instance, a statue from the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, intentionally decapitated during temple reconstruction, reflects a cultural understanding of imperfection. The Mexica seemed to accept that completeness was unattainable, embracing brokenness as a more authentic representation of reality.
While the fascination with ruins and broken sculptures may seem like a Romantic obsession, Dickerson points out that this sentiment was present in Renaissance art and literature from the 13th century onward. A notable exhibit in Florence is a terracotta model by Michelangelo, depicting a headless and armless woman. Dated around 1533, this piece looks damaged but was intentionally crafted as a fragment, a nod to the ancient relics being unearthed in Rome during that period.
The exhibition concludes with modern interpretations of broken sculptures, featuring a foot in a leg brace by Louise Bourgeois and a collapsible equestrian statue of Chancellor Otto von Bismarck by German artist Julius von Bismarck. This exploration reveals that the dichotomy between wholeness and brokenness permeates contemporary culture, evident in various aspects of modern life, including far-right social media accounts that champion classical beauty.
