Ice Age Venus

Ice Age Venus

The Venus of Galgenberg • Photo by Don Hitchcock (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Originally published 15 January 1990

From Aus­tria comes word of one of the world’s ear­li­est known sculp­tures, a female fig­urine, exca­vat­ed from Ice Age sed­i­ments at Gal­gen­berg, near Krems. This delight­ful arti­fact is about 3 inch­es tall and is carved from green ser­pen­tine stone. It has been dubbed the Danc­ing Venus of Gal­gen­berg.

Paul Bahn reports on the dis­cov­ery in a [Novem­ber 1989] issue of Nature. Accord­ing to Bahn, the Gal­gen­berg site has pre­vi­ous­ly yield­ed the bones of Ice Age ani­mals, includ­ing rein­deer and mam­moths, togeth­er with char­coal and flint flakes. New exca­va­tions direct­ed by arche­ol­o­gist Chris­tine Neuge­bauer-Maresch tuned up the frag­ments of the fig­urine. Char­coal sam­ples from the same lay­er of sed­i­ments have been car­bon dat­ed to 30,000 years ago.

The new stat­uette is lithe and sauci­ly posed, a real pin-up among the many oth­er female stat­uettes caved by our Cro-Magnon ances­tors. More than 60 of these fig­urines, called Venus­es by arche­ol­o­gists, have been dis­cov­ered from France to Siberia. Not only is the Gal­gen­berg Venus old­er than the oth­ers, but she dif­fers from them in star­tling ways.

Thought to be fertility symbols

The typ­i­cal Ice Age Venus is shaped in clay, or carved in stone or ivory. She is grotesque­ly rotund and rigid­ly sym­met­ri­cal, with drop­ping breasts, bulging bel­ly and exag­ger­at­ed but­tocks. The head and limbs are usu­al­ly mere­ly sug­gest­ed by the sculp­tor as knobs or stumps. Most arche­ol­o­gists believe the Venus­es were fer­til­i­ty sym­bols, or icons of a Moth­er God­dess revered by the Cro-Magnons as source of life and protector.

The Danc­ing Venus of Gal­gen­berg is unique. Her head and limbs are care­ful­ly depict­ed, and even accent­ed with open­ings in the stone. Her left arm is raised with the hand behind the head. She stands with her weight rest­ing insou­ciant­ly on one foot, and the right hand is placed on the hip in a famil­iar Bet­ty Grable pose. One breast is shown in pro­file, the oth­er is carved in low relief.

Except for obvi­ous lim­i­ta­tions imposed by carv­ing in stone with prim­i­tive tools, the Danc­ing Venus of Gal­gen­berg might have stepped right out of a Hol­ly­wood poster. This is no Moth­er God­dess. She has def­i­nite­ly got sex appeal.

But where does she fit in the his­to­ry of art?

In his book on fem­i­nine beau­ty, art his­to­ri­an Ken­neth Clark states, “The dis­cov­ery of fem­i­nine beau­ty, like so much else we val­ue in civ­i­lized life, was made in Egypt in the sec­ond mil­len­ni­um B.C.” He is think­ing, of course, of those lov­ing­ly ren­dered tomb paint­ings and sculp­tures of women that reached their cul­mi­na­tion in the famous sculpt­ed head of Queen Nefer­ti­ti. The Egyp­tians clear­ly val­ued the same kind of beau­ty that we might admire today on the cov­er of Vogue.

Stan­dards of fem­i­nine beau­ty in West­ern art and cul­ture have remained remark­ably con­stant. A con­tin­u­ous ide­al links Nefer­ti­ti to Gre­ta Gar­bo, and the eye that admires the Venus of Bot­ti­cel­li might also appre­ci­ate Michelle Pfeiffer.

So who carved those grotesque­ly bulging Venus­es of the Ice Age? Cer­tain­ly not the same sort of artist who shaped the swan-like neck of Nefer­ti­ti. Nor any­one like the anony­mous Greek sculp­tor of Venus de Milo, or the Velasquez who paint­ed the Toi­let of Venus.

Invention of beauty

Typ­i­cal Ice Age Venus­es are sex­u­al but not sexy. They may have served some rit­u­al pur­pose, but they cer­tain­ly don’t appeal to the mod­ern eye. So per­haps the Egyp­tians real­ly did invent our idea of fem­i­nine allure. Or maybe it was already there in the Ice Age.

The Danc­ing Venus of Gal­gen­berg is a first hint that Nefer­ti­ti or Michelle Pfeif­fer might have been admired by the fur-clad mam­moth hunters who lived at the edge of the ice. Grant­ed, the fig­ure is crude by stan­dards of lat­er art, but the feel­ing is there, the appre­ci­a­tion of fem­i­nine form — the turn of thigh, the curve of breast, the provoca­tive pose.

Paul Bahn, author of the report in Nature, believes that the Danc­ing Venus must her­self be the prod­uct of long prac­tice. The artist demon­strat­ed con­sid­er­able skill in shap­ing the del­i­cate and brit­tle stone. Two open­ings — under one arm and between the legs — show a pro­fi­cien­cy at sculpt­ing unknown in the lat­er Venus­es. The limbs are prob­a­bly about as thin as the artist could carve them with­out mak­ing the fig­ure undu­ly fragile.

The sophis­ti­ca­tion revealed in both tech­nol­o­gy and com­po­si­tion can only be the end-result of a long tra­di­tion in carv­ing, per­haps of per­ish­able materials.

The Danc­ing Venus of Gal­gen­berg may not be the first female image in West­ern art, but she is the first we know about. And what we see is strik­ing­ly famil­iar — a real Ice Age Bet­ty Grable. For bet­ter or worse, humans have appar­ent­ly had a taste for cheese­cake since the dawn of time.

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