Bestraffing van Prometheus 1703

Curator: Here we have "The Punishment of Prometheus" by Charles François Silvestre, dating back to 1703. What leaps out at you? Editor: Oof, brutal! That bird—eagle, maybe?—really goes for the gut. It’s such a stark image; the poor guy looks utterly vulnerable against that rocky backdrop. Curator: Indeed. The piece is an engraving, a print. Notice how the line work defines everything, from Prometheus' tormented expression to the textures of the crag he’s chained to. Silvestre really wrings emotion out of what is fundamentally just ink on paper. Editor: Right. I'm thinking about the process. Creating this—all that controlled etching, the physical act of making copies... Prometheus was punished for giving fire to humanity, but engravings make images infinitely reproducible. Curator: You’ve nailed it. The allegory of Prometheus, who challenged the gods, speaks volumes about the ambition of humans to push against the established order, doesn’t it? Making and distributing images could also be interpreted as defiance in a society still ruled by patronage. Editor: I see Prometheus, I think, "rebellion, individualism, knowledge," you know. But those cuffs around his wrists—that's also about control. This is image IS printed FOR someone, by someone. Who? For what purpose? It invites us to ponder this circulation, this network. Curator: Fascinating! And speaking of invitation, the landscape almost dwarfs Prometheus. There is the sense of nature indifferent to his plight. Perhaps Silvestre is saying there are consequences when humanity steps out of its prescribed role, as they would see it back then. Editor: Consequences enacted through material processes, too—etching tools, printing presses, commerce. You can't extract the myth from the means by which it reaches the public. Each impression implicates labor. Each print sold speaks volumes. Curator: I see what you mean. What a clever and intricate meditation on humanity. Editor: Exactly. There is always more than meets the eye with such enduring figures. The physical life of art constantly changes as new hands touch the work.