The Rape of Proserpina

This sculpture features the “softest marble skin” in all of art history; its squishy, fleshy thighs compel an involuntary gasp of awe from anyone who gazes upon it.

Currently preserved in Rome’s Borghese Gallery, it was originally commissioned by the arrogant Cardinal Borghese who gifted it to his biggest political rival in the Vatican, Cardinal Ludovisi—a stunning flex to prove he commanded the most god-like artistic talent on Earth (it was later re-purchased for the gallery).

The piece captures the explosive tension of a violent abduction: Pluto, God of the Underworld, brutally hoists the maiden Proserpina into the air as she pushes his face away in a desperate struggle. The staggering physical pull between his greedy strength and her raw terror is palpable.

Focus your eyes on Pluto’s right hand digging into the girl’s thigh. The marble magically transforms into warm, subcutaneous human fat; the pressure of fingers sinking deep into the flesh, the tensed muscles, and the folds of skin are chillingly realistic. Bernini, who carved this hand, understood human anatomy better than any medical dissector.

This is the ancient Roman version of a dark romance involving kidnapping. Pluto forcibly abducts Proserpina, the daughter of the Goddess of Agriculture, dragging her to rule the underworld. As the furious mother strikes the earth barren, the gods compromise: the girl spends half the year above ground (bringing Spring and Summer) and the other half in the underworld (bringing Autumn and Winter).

Walk around to the back of the sculpture and look closely at Pluto’s feet. There’s a three-headed dog barking aggressively (Cerberus, the hound of Hades). Besides adding to the story, what crucial, physics-defying structural purpose do you think this dog serves for the marble block?

17th-century Rome was the battleground of Baroque style. The Catholic Church desperately needed visual explosives to overwhelm the senses of believers; these exaggerated poses, intense chiaroscuro, and theatrical freeze-frames were the era’s ultimate weapon for cultural propaganda.

This was the 23-year-old Bernini’s first large-scale multi-figure composition. You wouldn’t believe that the ultra-realistic marble tear rolling down Proserpina’s cheek was Bernini’s audacious way of proving to the world that, before turning 25, his chiseling skills had officially surpassed the peak of the Renaissance: Michelangelo.