Portraiture in ancient Egypt

Egyptian death mask from the 18th dynasty. Louvre, Paris
Egyptian death mask from the
18th dynasty. Louvre, Paris
The  origins  of  portraiture in  ancient  Egypt  no  doubt lie in the belief in eternal life. In the early phases of Egyptian history known collectively as the Predynastic period,  there  were  attempts  to  preserve  the  body.  In  the Old Kingdom, the cadaver was wrapped in linen that was stiffened with  resin or plaster. Lifelike details were molded or modeled, creating a  sculpture  from  the  body.  Throughout  Egyptian  history,  the  ever- increasing elaboration of funerary equipment reveals the desire to  prepare  the  deceased  for  eternity;  tomb  sculptures  represent  a  personal  ideological  imperative  that  preserves  the  identity  of  the  deceased as a self-presentation of a virtuous life, both to the deities  and to humans.

The  ancient  Egyptians  required  abstract  qualities  or  physical  correspondence,  and  often  both,  in  their  portraiture,  which  was  limited almost exclusively to sculpture. A pensive or contemplative  expression,  for  example,  is  a  frequent  component  of  a  lifelike  rendering.  Still  more  than  outward  appearance,  the  virtue  of  the  individual represented his or her reality. Foremost in the Egyptian  value  system  was  a  principle  known  as maat ("harmony,  cosmic  equilibrium"),  which  all  persons  were  expected  to  preserve.  Idealizing statues must have been portraits because they created a  necessary fiction; they revealed the admirable qualities, especially  the  adherence  to  maat,  by  which  the  deceased  wished  to  be  remembered.  They  are  the  three-dimensional  equivalents  of  the  paintings  of  the  judgment  of  the  dead  found  on  cartonnages  and  sarcophagi. In both sculpture and painting, the deceased is always  represented as a sinless, upstanding individual. Unlike later artists,  the Egyptian sculptor had little opportunity for personal expression  or  deviation  from  convention.  Many  strictures,  including  the  patron's wishes, controlled the portrait's content.

Tomb sculptures were private and directed primarily toward the  deities. Public statues, particularly of royalty, were erected in and  around temples and palaces to serve as the official images or self- presentations  to  both  mankind  and  the  theological  pantheon.  Although the context and purpose of public sculpture often explain  the variation in facial types, especially in royal statues, the aspects  or  character  traits  were  not  necessarily  different  between  private  and public statues. Furthermore, the official image of a ruler was  but  one  element  of  the  ideological  program  of  his  sculptures,  regardless  of  context.  His  dress,  insignias,  and  crowns—even  the  dazzling paint or luster of the highly polished stone—were critical  elements in the dramatic presentation of his stature.

A few scholars deny the existence of portraiture in Egyptian art,  claiming that idealizing sculptures cannot possibly be realistic and  that lifelike sculptures are formulaic or pastiches. Others insist that  any  lifelike  attributes,  particularly  in  the  facial features,  qualify  a  sculpture  as  portraiture.  To  be  a  portrait,  the  reasoning  goes,  an  image must be recognizable and unable to be confused with the representations of other individuals. Advocates of this argument do  not necessarily require complete verisimilitude. They admit stylistic  conventions—a unique configuration of the eyebrow or the outlines  of the eye—as markers of identity, along with more specific details  such as facial musculature. The problem with this interpretation is  that  it  implicitly  requires  a  physical  correspondence  between  the  subject  and  the  sculpture.  It  also  precludes  a  common  means  of  association by an individual with a group or, in the case of royal  portraits, with an earlier ruler. The genealogy of portraiture and the  association  of  an  individual  with  an  earlier  period  contain  a very  specific  political,  social,  or  theological  message.  Therefore,  the  continuation  of  a  portrait  type  may  indicate  a  desire  to  be  associated with a previous person or era rather than being proof of  physical  similarity.  Despite  the  denial  of  an  individual's  "real"  appearance,  sculptures—  as  well  as  paintings and  reliefs—of  this  type  are  portraits  because  they  reveal  the  qualities  by  which  the  person wished to be known.

There  are  other  factors  that  must  be  taken  into  account  when  considering a historical portrait in isolation. For example, a statue  can be identified with a particular individual in several ways. In its  original context or through an identifying inscription, the identity  would have been clear, regardless of the stylization, idealization, or  similarity to earlier representations. Then again, the great majority  of Egyptians would not have seen the pharaoh; hence, the degree of  realism  of  a  royal  statue  would  have  been  lost  on  them.  Furthermore,  most  sculptures  have  by  now  been  removed  from  their  settings,  and  many  either are  un-inscribed  or  have lost  their  original identifying text. Because the facial features of so many of  these  sculptures  are  non-individualized,  they  remain  anonymous.  Many sculptures were appropriated by later persons and transported  to distant locations. Sometimes they were recut and reinscribed for  the  new  owner,  but  occasionally  they  were  simply  reinscribed.  Because the original face was left untouched, the recognition factor  seems  irrelevant.  The  new  inscription  gave  the  sculpture  a  new  identity;

hence, its inner qualities now applied to the new owner. Even when  naturalistic details appear, the identity is often difficult to determine  without  an  inscription.  Although  these  works  seem  idealized,  stylized,  or  formulaic  to  us,  to  the  ancient  Egyptians  they  were  portraits  because  they  conformed  to  the  prevailing  style  that  was  appropriate for expressing the inner character of individuals or the  role that they fulfilled.

Thus,  three  different  types  of  portrait  are  found  in  ancient  Egyptian art: idealized and realistic portraits of real individuals and  depictions  of  Fictitious  or  nonspecific  individuals,  such  as  a  "foreigner."  The  third  category  combines  the  first  two  types  because it is a "study" of a more  general  nature,  often  with  a  seemingly  realistic  appearance.  Realism does not consist of surface appearance;  otherwise,  any  photograph  would  be  a  portrait.  What  makes  a  portrait is the artists elucidation of an emotional, psychological, or  intellectual  component,  an  inner  life  that  transcends  physical  correspondence.  Those  components  are  not  always  recognizable;  artists often transmit them in a personal code decipherable by no  one  else.  In  modern  times,  the  artist's  perception  becomes  the  defining  element  of  the  portrait.  This  luxury  of  personal  inter- pretation, however, was a freedom that the ancient Egyptian artist  did not enjoy.

Statue of Raherka and Meresankh. Raherka is depicted with realistic looking musculature
Statue of Raherka and Meresankh. Raherka is
depicted with realistic looking musculature
That  portraiture  resists  a  single,  all-purpose  definition  is  not  surprising, because it encompasses at least four sometimes opposing  impulses: the publics expectations, the subject's wishes, the artist's  vision,  and  artistic  conventions.  Despite  the  difficulties  of  interpretation, in very simple terms a portrait is a character study. It  probes beneath the surface and reveals not the full range of the indi- vidual's psyche but one or a few aspects, which differ according to  the needs that the portrait satisfies. Frequently a portrait is a labored  or  artificial  study,  especially  when  it  serves  an  official  or  public  purpose.  Most  often,  a  portrait  captures  a  passing  but  revelatory  mood and transfixes it for all time. Because the artist, subject, and  viewer  have  different  perceptions  of  the  finished  product,  some  scholars  have  rightly  questioned  the  validity  of  the  specific  label  "portraiture"  and  have  suggested  simply  "representation"  or  "approximation" as alternatives. "Likeness" is another option, if it  includes works that evoke the psychological or intellectual qualities  of the individual and not merely the physiognomic details.

Consequently,  portraiture  is  one  of  the  most  confusing,  ill- defined, and controversial terms in the study of ancient Egyptian art.  Part of the problem is the overemphasis on and misunderstanding of  realism,  which  generally  conforms  to  the  modern  expectation  of  anatomical  verisimilitude.  Realism,  however,  remains  the  greatest  obstacle  to  the  understanding  of  portraiture  and  is  the  focus  here.  Before the importance of realism to the Egyptological controversy  can  be  assessed,  some  general  observations  on  portraiture  are  necessary.

The  style  or  type  of  portrait  varies  according  to  the  intended  audience.  A  portrait  created  for  public  display  relies  heavily  on  physiognomy. Because the portrait is an official image, however— most  often  of  government,  business,  and  academic  persons—the  artist  acquiesces  to  formulaic  exigencies  and  endows  the  representations  with  heroic  qualities,  such  as  the  abilities  to  lead,  make difficult decisions, and endure crises. Individual qualities are  subordinated  to  expected  roles,  and  it  is  sometimes  questionable  whether correspondence exists. Realism thus serves an ideal or an  expectation, but it does not necessarily portray the individual. Realism is not an objective quality; it is  subjective  and mutable. The  realism  of  a  portrait  depends  on  the  viewers for whom it was created and the function that it served.

Correspondence  is  perhaps  more  evident  in  portraits  intended  for  the  subject's  personal  enjoyment  because  something  of  the  individual's inner qualities appear. Nonetheless, uncertainty about  the realism remains. The artist may defer to the patron's vanity by  subduing some features and emphasizing others. The subject may  specify the qualities to be expressed or the manner of representa- tion.  The  descendants  of  an  illustrious  ancestor  sometimes  commission a flattering portrait, as if to create an official image.

Because the majority of human representations in Egyptian art  appear to contemporary sensibilities as idealizing, generalizing, or  even  formulaic—slim,  youthful,  physically  appealing  figures  devoid  of  lifelike  features—  they  are  not  often  regarded  as  portraits.  By  contrast,  the  slightest  personal  flourish—a  furrowed  brow,  a  pensive  look,  a  distinctive  nose—supposedly  makes  the  representation the genuine item. Quite apart from the unwarranted  primacy  accorded  to  realism,  this  reductive  reasoning  is  unfortunate on at least two counts. It omits the many nuances of  realism,  and  it  completely  overlooks  an  intriguing  related  issue.  Why  are  lifelike  human  representations  generally  confined  to  sculptures of men? Although numerous exceptions exist, Egyptian  paintings  and  reliefs  of  both  men  and  women  are  usually  not  individualizing,  or  fall  within  the  category  discussed  above.  Not  until the Ptolemaic period do individualizing sculptures of women  appear  with  any  regulai-ity,  and  even  then  the  artist  depends  heavily on iconographic attributes to portray the identity  of  an  individual  queen.  Before  then,  that  women  are  generally  depicted  in  all  three  media  as  beautiful,  svelte,  young,  and  flawless  may  seem  an  enlightened  aesthetic,  but  an  equally  valid  interpretation  is  darker  and  pessimistic:  the  individuality  of  women was unimportant. The lack of evidence for individualizing  portraits of women is as much a social as an artistic commentary  because  it  demonstrates  that  their  role  was  limited  and  minimal.  The sculptures and reliefs of Hatshepsut illustrate this point well;  this female pharaoh is typically portrayed in the guise of a male.  The only compromise that convention allowed is Hatshepsut's very  occasional portrayal in female form in some of her portraits.

The  third  portrait  type  is  the  most  intensely  personal,  a  representation intended neither as an official image nor as a private  commission,  but  as  an  independent  work.  It  is  a  category  that  either did not exist or was rare in ancient Egypt. The artist is free  of  constraints  and  expectations  and  endows  the  portrait  with  whatever  qualities  and  sensations  come  to  mind.  Because  these  images  are  occasionally  unflattering  to  the  individual,  they  may  seem  more  honest  and  realistic.  For  example,  caricatures,  espe- cially the political and social varieties, are freighted with prejudice.  Nonetheless,  the  majority  of  "independent"  portraits  are  more  benign,  and  on  first  consideration  they  are  ostensibly  the  most  important  of  the  three  types  because  they  represent  a  personal,  unbound, and therefore objective response; but they are no more  realistic than portraits commissioned as official images or as more  private  and  personal  works.  The  representations  of  the  same  individual are subjective aesthetic responses that may differ from  one artist to the next. Which portrait is the most realistic? Whether  physical  or  internal,  realism  in  portraiture  is  not  an  empirical,  objective  quality  grounded  in  consensus.  It  is  an  ethos,  a  preference,  or  an  interpretation,  an  ever-shifting  variable,  whose  validity and  expression  depend  on  the  audience,  the  subject,  and  the artist.

Few ancient Egyptian portraits are free of stylization. The best  illustration consists of the plaster masks found in the workshop of  the  sculptor  Thutmose  at  Tell  el-Amama,  the  capital  of  the  eighteenth dynasty pharaoh Akhenaten. Some of the masks seem  unretouched,  but  the  majority  are  reworked  or  stylized  to  fit  the  prevailing artistic style. Although part of the individual's outward  appearance  is  preserved,  the  alterations  suggest  that  realism  was  not  as  important  as  the  assimilation  of  the  individual  with  the  pharaoh by adopting his official style.

Stylization occurs in even the most seemingly realistic portraits.  From  the  fourth  dynasty  come  numerous  sculptures  known  as  "reserve  heads,"  which  display  highly  individualizing  features.  Among  the  most  "realistic"  of  all  Old  Kingdom  artistic  works,  these  sculptures  are  regarded  as  true  portraits.  In  one  case,  evidence exists for their anatomical veracity: the hooked nose on the head of Prince Nofer, now  in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, recurs among his tomb reliefs.  The  function  of  the  reserve  heads  has  been  debated,  but  it  is  generally agreed  that they  preserve  the deceased's  vital character.  Interestingly enough, that character or inner life is less in evidence  than  the  meticulous  surface  treatment.  However,  on  a  related  sculpture, the bust of Ankhkhaef, also in Boston, both the internal  and external aspects are revealed. The significant point is that on all  these  realistic  heads,  stylization  is  also  crucial.  The  eyes  and  the  eyebrows are rendered in an artificial manner that is not lifelike but  is a traditional aesthetic style. The awkward proportions of some of  the heads, the peculiar treatment of their mouths, and their overall  ungainly  appearance  indicates  stylization  or  at  least  suggests  that  the heads are not completely lifelike.

Because the mummies of numerous kings survive, a comparison  between  their  heads  and  their  artistic  representations  is  often  instructive. The aquiline  noses  of  the  mummies  of  the  nineteenth  dynasty pharaohs Sety I and Ramesses II are prominent throughout  not only their sculptures but also their paintings and reliefs, which  are among the most individualizing royal representations in these  two media. Nonetheless, they display the same stylization around  the eyes found in the reserve heads.

Even  the  most  anatomically  detailed  Egyptian  representations  can  be  deceptive,  sometimes  they  are  almost  caricatures.  The  idealizing  images  of  the  deceased  as  slim  and  athletic  have  their  counterpart in remarkably corpulent figures such as the renowned  Old Kingdom statues of Kaiaperu in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo,  and of Hemi-unu in the Pelizaeus Museum, Hildesheim. Although  physical  correspondence  is  a  possibility,  these  statues  may  have  been  shaped  by  a  class  distinction.  Both  persons  held  important  positions that freed them from need and from hard manual labor.  Their  dramatic  bodily  presence  may  have  been  a  visual  conceit  manifesting their affluence. At the opposite extreme, the depictions  in painting and relief of pot-bellied fishermen, emaciated and lame  cowherds,  bald  and  bewhiskered  laborers,  and  carefully  observed  foreigners  are  probably  more  genre  figures  born  of  social  commentary than actual individuals. The famous relief of the queen  of  Punt  from  Hatshepsut's  temple  at  Deir  el-Bahri  and  the  innumerable  scenes  of  other  foreigners  are  meticulous  in  their  detail;  yet  it  is  the  peculiarity  of  the  subject  matter,  its  non- Egyptian otherness, that captured the artist's attention. The image of  the queen of Punt may seem at first to be extraordinarily realistic,  but  it  could  well  be  a  caricature.  Unless  the  artist  accompanied  Hatshepsut's  expedition  to  Punt,  he  would  have  relied  on  eyewitness  reports,  which  no  matter  how  reliable  would  have  resulted  in  exaggeration  and  stylization.  Likewise,  for  all  their  ostensible realism, the representations of foreigners surely served as conventions or stereotypes;  they  are  not  necessarily  realistic  portraits  of  actual,  historical  foreigners simply because they seem to be individualizing.

Still, not every secondary character is formulaic. From the tomb  of Horemheb at Saqqara come  several  reliefs  depicting  stock  figures  such  as mourners,  some  of  whom  have  anatomical  details  (receding hairlines, everted navels) that are unparalleled in similar  scenes  and  probably  indicate  actual  persons.  These  surprising  individual  flourishes  in  ancillary  figures  provide  much  of  the  liveliness of Egyptian art and serve as reminders of the profit to be  gained  from  close  study  of  even  the  most  formulaic  or  repetitive  phenomena.

Realism  can  be  misleading  also  among  representations  of  historical persons. The well-known statues of Senwosret III and his  late twelfth dynasty successors in various collections, for example,  have very lifelike, careworn faces, lacking the usual stylization of  the eyebrows and eyes. Most remarkably, indications of advanced  age are manifest in these statues as never before. Nonetheless, their  expressions  and  appearances  seem  to  be  idealizations,  evincing  a  quality or aspect of the king that was part of his official image, his  self-presentation to deities and the public. Although the rulers of the  waning  twelfth  dynasty  may  have  had  family  resemblances  that  were  accurately  rendered in  their  sculptures,  the  close  similarities  between the sculptures of Senwosret III and his successors indicate  that more than genealogy is at work. Actually, the rudiments of the  style  successfully  exploited  by  Senwosret  III  first  appear  in  the  reign  of  Senwosret  II.  A  new  ideology  expresses  itself  in  the  ponderous,  haggard  faces,  which  have  their  analogy  in  several  pensive didactic texts related to kingship.

The phenomenon of appropriation is the clearest indication that  physical  correspondence  was  not  essential  for  portraiture.  In  the  thirteenth dynasty and about a millennium later in the twenty-fifth  dynasty,  private  persons  followed  the  late  twelfth  dynasty  royal  style. The physiognomy of these nonroyal persons obviously had no  importance in their self-presentation. Their borrowing or adaptation  of the official image of earlier kings allowed them to share some of  the  ideological  aspects  inherent  in  the  royal  sculptures.  Similarly,  portraits of the early Ptolemaic rulers are often hard to distinguish  from those of the thirtieth dynasty. This similarity may have been a  deliberate  royal policy to link the  Ptolemies  with  Egypt's  past  or,  alternatively,  the  continuation  of  a  stylistic  convention.  The  type  was then copied by private individuals, who commissioned portraits  that demonstrated a desire to be associated with the royal house.

Exactly the same process recurs throughout Egyptian art, royal  and nonroyal, not only in sculpture but also in painting and relief.  Once a new official royal style was established,  it  became  the  archetype  among  kings  and  commoners,  who made their own modifications through successive generations.  Among  many  examples,  there  are  a  Thutmosid  and  a  Ramessid  style.  Sometimes  the  official  image  had  an  antiquarian  aura.  Because  Ahmose  and  Amenhotpe  I,  the  first  two  kings  of  the  eighteenth  dynasty,  restored  native  rule  after  the  Hyksos  domination  and  saw  themselves  as  the  heirs  of  Nebhepetre  Montuhotpe,  the  late  eleventh  dynasty  pharaoh  who  reunified  the  country after a period of civil strife, they depicted themselves in his  image. Many pharaohs, particularly Ramesses II of the nineteenth  dynasty,  appropriated  the  sphinxes  and  other  sculptures  of  much  earlier  kings;  sometimes  the  only  alterations  were  not  to  the  face  but to the identifying cartouche.

In  many  respects,  portraits  filled  a  general  role.  It  was  not  necessarily  just  the  facial  features  of  an  individual  that  mattered,  but  rather  the  role  that  was  fulfilled.  When  the  pharaoh  died,  the  portrait  could  be  reused  acceptably  by  his  successor  because  it  represented the ideals of kingship and not merely the actual features  of  the  individual  ruler.  New  portrait  types  developed  in  order  to  show  a  ruler's  desire—such  as  association  with  the  previous  pharaoh and the promotion of a dynasty—rather than his features.  The  representation  of  women  in  Egyptian  art  follows  a  similar  pattern: their continual idealization indicates the limited social role  of the eternally youthful, slim, beautiful woman.  Portraiture enabled the Egyptians to promote themselves to their  deities  and  their  fellows  alike  in  a  desired  or  prescribed  manner.  The evidence for "realistic" representations of individuals needs to  be treated with the utmost caution, because they potentially account  for  the  most  stylized  type.  Idealizing  images  at  least  portray  an  individual in a specific role, and as a consequence they should not  be misleading to the modern onlooker.

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