Dear Nike
Dear Nike,
Since your birth in the minds of the men of Ancient Greece, you have become a cultural symbol so prominent in Western thought, that you are inexorably entangled in layer upon layer of grievances I’m afraid I barely know where to begin. It’s not by any fault of your own of course, and I hold nothing against you, but I thought you might want to know what I’ve been reflecting on after our encounter the other day.
I remember when I first met you in a high school art history class. You stood out among the slides: a graceful monument to the skill of the Greeks.
Title: Nike of Samothrace (Nike, or winged victory, which, fun fact, was the inspiration for the brand. I didn’t know that.)
Artist: Unknown (whew…don’t need to remember that for the exam)
Material: Marble (Of course)
Time Period: Hellenistic, 2nd century BC. (Easy to remember. You had contrapposto and all that, flowing robes like wet drapes. I could even see your belly-button through the fabric.)
Your headlessness was not much of an issue. In fact, it made you all the more memorable. Your beauty was impressive. You seemed to radiate feminine power.
But since our initial introduction, I have come to learn your history is heavy. You have been retrieved, removed, repaired, re-appropriated, replaced and replicated time and time again. I remind you, not by any fault of your own, but by the same powers that created you, who called on you as their goddess of victory, their embodiment of power, dominance, and superiority. Your image has perpetuated throughout time and now finds itself in countless civic buildings, entertainment venues, souvenir shops, and even where I am now, at an unassuming bedside table.
You were retrieved from the ground as raw material, on the island of Paros on the Aegean Sea. This material was known as “Lychnitis” from the word “lamp”, because you were quarried in underground long shafts where slaves labored by lamplight. You are thought to have been carved on the island of Rhodes, commemorating a successful sea battle; your draped clothing appears to whip back with the wind and the sea, as if at the bow of a ship.[1] A symbol of domination and Western masculine power.
You were removed from your original location in Samothrace by the French in 1863 and later sent to Paris. You were taken captive and separated from the familiarity of your land and people. A mere replica stands where you once did, adorning the ruins of the Sanctuary of the Gods. Locals, not satisfied by this half-hearted gesture from the Europeans, have been eagerly calling for your return.[2]
You have been repaired according to the discretion of who knows, your right wing a symmetric plaster version of your left one. You were always to look complete, classical, and perfect. In 1883, you were placed at the top of the grand staircase in the most famous museum of the world [3]; symmetric vaults and architectural experience bowing to your grandeur and unquestionable value in this capital city of lights.
You have been re-appropriated by artists and architects to advance their agendas, harnessing the connotative power of your cultural symbolism. The most haunting of your replicas I’ve seen is in the Darwin D. Martin House complex, designed by the famous American architect: Frank Lloyd Wright, who often used your likeness to touch off his “genius” masterpieces.[4] Your pristine figure towers at the end of the greenhouse garden, claustrophobically stuffed between architectural beams and a geometric skylight. Here you are captured in static form as purity in idea and beauty from the “enlightened” perspective: a forever infallible Western classic.
You have been replicated and spread throughout the world. You stand stranded in front of Caesar’s Palace Casino in Vegas, tolerating doting tourists, the beating sun and the wet spray of the fountain behind you. You have been miniaturized into thousands of cheap plastic key-chains and small statues, proof of a cultural pilgrimage for the consumer, eventually destined to accumulate dust, to become lost or forgotten.
I am sorry it’s been this way. It is disheartening, and foundation-shaking even, to consider these layers of your past and present, of which I have now only scratched the surface. I really do hope that one day people who see you more transparently, through inquisition, reflecting in a more critical manner the story of your origins and movement. And I would be the first to say that it took me some time to even consider the unseen complexities of who you are. For years I couldn’t see beyond the art history slide canon or the checkbox on the masterpiece guide to the Louvre. Here’s to more thoughtful and considerate futures.
With love,
A good friend.
[1] https://mymodernmet.com/winged-victory-of-samothrace/
[2] http://www.hri.org/news/greek/mpab/1999/99-02-03.mpab.html#10
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace#cite_note-23
[4] http://felicecalchi.blogspot.com/2012/05/genius-and-his-victory.html