(Picture courtesy of Stanbury on flickr.com.)
The figure of an ephemeral rider almost detached from his horse stands above and near the entrance from the north at the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C.
The figure is distinct for its playful surreal quality, a greeting to the visitor. Its balance is precarious and urges us to resolve its problem, a weight almost dangerously thrown back on a dangerous path. The sculpture is one of a number of studies the artist, Marino Marini, made of the reckless rider on a figurative horse.
The evolution of the subject of the horse and rider reflects Marini’s personal response to that changing context. The theme first appears in his work in 1936, when the proportions of horse and rider are relatively slender and both figures are poised, formal, and calm. By the following year the horse rears and the rider gestures. In 1940 the forms become simplified and more archaic in spirit, and the proportions become squatter. By the late 1940s the horse is planted immobile with its neck extended, strained, ears pinned back, and mouth open, as in the present example, which conveys the qualities characteristic of this period of Marini’s work—affirmation and charged strength associated explicitly with sexual potency. Later, the rider becomes increasingly oblivious of his mount, involved in his own visions or anxieties. Eventually he was to topple from the horse as it fell to the ground in an apocalyptic image of lost control, paralleling Marini’s feelings of despair and uncertainty about the future of the world.
Marini is a major modern artist of the early twentieth century who is much associated with Etruscan work. He was a major influence in archaising form, simplicity to the point of abstraction, associated with the ancient world.
Marini’s sculptures appear in leading museums and are part of most collections of modern art. Intriguingly, there was little information about the artist, his life seems to have been directed mostly toward producing works of art, quite a nice touch. A museum of his works is located in Florence, Italy.
(Photo courtesy of genebee at flickr.com.)





16 Comments

Thank you, Ruth. This is wonderful.
Eventually he was to topple from the horse as it fell to the ground in an apocalyptic image of lost control, paralleling Marini’s feelings of despair and uncertainty about the future of the world.
Goodness, artists are So Sensitive. I know.
I see that somewhat differently, as representing how he perceives what’s going on around him rather than a reflection of what’s going on inside himself. Wait, that also applies to Sensitive.
ok, now that’s just wild. i was just looking at one of my art books this morning at a very similar sculpture.
the thing is, i can sort of paint. but i stand in awe of sculpture artists. i have no idea how they do what they do.
Slowly? Agree, it’s awesome, and something I do not think I have skill or patience to come close to.
When I first examined your art offering for the week, I found my intellectual and emotional response rather intriguing.
Having recently and thoroughly reviewed/analyzed what is quaintly referred to as’ Custer’s Last Stand’, I saw in Marini’s work an indigenous warrior of the plains stripped to his soul asking the Great Spirit:
Why have you forsaken us?
Thanks again Ruth for bringing through the purifying prism of art the gifts of truth and beauty into the precious days of our lives.
As a brief historical aside: Custer was an unmitigated plick (I tend to write with a Chinese accent).
Interesting, mounted men are historically associated with warfare, I guess. Still, there’s a note of symbiotic relationship above that, too.
Art uses all its elements. Plains Indians, incidentally, sometimes warred on neighbors to get more horses, something they saw as wealth in itself.
Business is business.
Ever since the first hungry hominid reached for the sun as something to eat, and ended up empty handed, it has been business as usual: no exceptions.
Man’s uncontrollable desire to exercise dictatorial control over his fellow man through the amassing of great wealth and hence power, be it horses, bits of shiny metal, land, or his fellow human beings is nothing new under the rather inedible sun.
It is the true nature of the beast.
And the beast is always ravenously hungry.
Reaching for something beyond our understanding makes us create art, also.
Ah yes: the sky above and the mud below.
The eternal, intimate dance macabre between the passions of the mind and the baseness of the beast.
Sometimes it also makes us a little crazy.
Sometimes I think we confuse the art with the crazy, maybe because it’s all outside our everyday experience and a bit awesome. Or maybe because we feel more comfortable critiquing than we do when we just admire.
Tweeted. Recommended. Thanks Ruth.
Thanks, glad you enjoyed it.
I meant the reaching and the super sensitivity pushes the crazy buttons.
It seems were talking past each other.
Sorry.
Thanks, Ruth. Another enjoyable art show.