Why are artists obsessing over Medusa?

The image of Medusa is instantly recognisable: a monstrous vision of a misunderstood figure. While retellings of the story vary, most begin with a beautiful, mortal Medusa who attracts ravenous sexual attention. After being raped by the sea god Poseidon in Athena’s temple, into which she fled for safety as one of the goddesses’ priestesses, she is punished, her hair is turned to venomous snakes and her petrifying gaze transforms those who catch it to stone. Eventually, she is beheaded by the demi-god Perseus who uses a mirrored shield to avoid her stare.

To a contemporary reader, Medusa appears to be the victim of her fate, punished by Athena for her own rape. Perhaps this is why so many artists are retelling her story. Last month, Marianna Simnett reimagined the Gorgon myth with a flute opera presented by Berlin’s LAS Foundation which combined live performance and AI. She was inspired by the cries – so formidable that they could kill – emitted by Medusa’s sisters when she was decapitated, and Athena’s desire to mimic this sound for her own violent aims.

“Athena gave Perseus her mirror shield, aiding him in the fateful deed,” says Simnett. “The ‘woman against woman’ narrative is still a rarely acknowledged component of patriarchal abuse.” She highlights the role of Athena throughout the myth, punishing Medusa for being raped and aiding in her demise. The work also draws parallels with the evils of big tech. “Athena’s attempt to mimic a sound, to use it non-consensually for her pursuit of power: this could just as easily sound like a global tech corporation appropriating someone’s voice, image or song, and dispersing it through nefarious schemes.”

Filmmakers have also used contemporary technology to explore the myth. Youssef and Ismaël Chebbi’s 2021 film The Black Medusa features an office worker who kills men by night, luring them in by pretending she needs a voice app to speak. “It creates a void that all these men need to fill, and they find it easier perhaps to talk about themselves because she doesn’t answer,” said Youssef when the film launched. The Black Medusa plays on men’s attraction to female vulnerability and weakness. But Nada, the protagonist, is not depicted as a straight-forward victim of this gendered power dynamic, she is vengeful and violent, in one scene raping an unconscious man with a broom handle. Other films released this year allude to Medusa’s story and symbolism, including Anita Rocha da Silveira’s Medusa, a tale of feminine fury in contemporary Brazil, and Medusa Deluxe (directed by Thomas Hardiman), in which a web of characters navigate jealousy, resentment and murder in a competitive hairdressing contest.

This November, Galerie Judin opens an exhibition exploring beheading. Lydia Pettit, whose horror-inspired paintings evoke the psychological experience of sexual trauma, is revisiting Medusa’s story. “To me, it hurts to think about,” she says. “It’s this story about how a victim was punished by everybody, and how her punishment was to take away her ability to interact with people. It is especially painful that another woman punished her.” Pettit has created a self-portrait as Medusa, but she has also considered Medusa’s discarded body. “It’s just left behind,” she says. “Women are seen as being so disposable in terms of our sexuality.”

Paloma Tendero explores chronic illness through the Greek myth, with her series Medusa featuring tendrils of blood-red hair. Medusa’s blood was said to have healing properties and venom, and the artist addresses her dual power and vulnerability: “the frontier between life and death, inside and outside, horror and beauty”. The potential for complexity is important to Tendero, who avoids simplifying the tale.

It is precisely this complexity that makes Medusa so compelling. She is both victim and monster; ferociously powerful and tragically victimised. “Medusa is an image of something that is so awful that we cannot face it directly. When we look at it, it petrifies us. To me, that could be an image of a psychic complex, in particular a trauma complex,” says psychoanalyst Lisa Marchiano on This Jungian Life podcast. “It’s a poignant example of how the same story can be viewed so differently as culture progresses,” considers Pettit. “I think a lot of people look on her as an icon to speak on their own experiences.”