One uncharacteristically warm September afternoon, I found myself strolling through the National Portrait Gallery looking for an exhibition to wander through. Something about the promotional poster for ‘Yevonde: Life and Colour’ intrigued me; there was something so intentional, so vivid and expressive about the photograph. Almost overpowered by the oversized daisy in her hair, the model holds a mask before her whose painted makeup matches her own. The subject of her placid gaze is uncertain; surely it is the mask, whether with displeasure or subdued acceptance we cannot be sure.
Perhaps this work represents Yevonde’s rejection of persisting Victorian attitudes within her contemporary society. As a female photographer in the early 20th century art world, Yevonde challenged traditional expectations not just of her gender but of photography itself.
Enabled by her privileged position in an England ruled by classism, Yevonde refused to conform to photographic conventions of monochromatic formality. Through her pioneering commitment to the complex Vivex colouring system, Yevonde unleashed a cascade of entrancing hues and vivid shades into her work. In turn, her subjects also became more theatrical as props, styling, and costume elevated each photograph far beyond the rigid sepia portraits of Edwardian society.
Where better to turn to then, than the world of Greek mythology? Glorified by history, these stories and characters are tragic yet ostentatious. Embellished and satirised in equal amounts (even in antiquity) these heroines and goddesses simultaneously embody gravitas and melodrama. Yet there is a distinct vividity and depth to Yevonde’s portraits that brings them to life. Dramatic and daring, the works celebrate femininity in all its forms and offer a rare glimpse of the female gaze in the early 20th century.
© The Yevonde Portrait Archive
The exhibition in its entirety presents a variety of Yevonde’s works, from her black and white beginnings as an apprentice under Lallie Charles to her later works produced after the Vivex colour process was decommissioned. Together, they constitute a compelling narrative of an artist who, driven by her determination for originality, brazenly dismissed artistic conventions of the time and created a collection of enchanting, dazzling works which duly deserve the platform such an exhibition provides.
Curated by Clare Freestone, ‘Yevonde: Life in Colour’ successfully spotlights Madam Yevonde’s pioneering contribution to colour photography and her determination to succeed as a female artist in a patriarchal society. Presented roughly in chronological order, her early monochromatic photos at the start quickly give way to an influx of colour, excitement and ingenuity. The bright vividity of each photograph works smoothly to intensify the emphasis on her daring spirit, while various display walls are painted in block primary colours, adding to the overall impression of bold brilliance. With pigments, poses and props that diverge completely from the photos of Edwardian tradition, the works establish Yevonde as a true trailblazer amongst the likes of Paul Outerbridge and Ferenc Berko.
My own personal classical biases aside, the highlight of the exhibition remains the ‘Goddesses’ collection and this seems duly recognised by its presentation within a separate section: resembling a night sky, the walls and ceilings are black and studded with starry lights, reflecting and enhancing the enchantingly mystical quality of the photos themselves.
Each and every iteration of an ancient figure is intriguing in its own way, yet Yevonde has infused these portraits (and by extension, the mythical women themselves) with a character, depth and agency that seems to breathe new life into individuals that have appeared in art for over two millennia. Through the variety and breadth of these pieces, she lifts the veil exposing the true spectrum of female emotion, from gentle serenity to malevolent threat. Whether they have been sexualised or vilified, Yevonde strips each figure of their historical associations and presents to us an alternative, fully realised view of these iconic women. Let’s have a look at them.
© National Portrait Gallery, London
Adorned by white petals and a delicate veil, Yevonde’s gentle Muse resembles one of Cicely Mary Barker’s Flower Fairies, all grown up. Whilst it is unclear which specific Muse is portrayed here, the styling seemingly points to Erato. The goddess of Lyrical poetry commonly appears in art wearing a flower wreath and playing a lyre; both Lawrence’s veiled headpiece of white flowers and the painted guitar nod to these pictorial associations. Regardless of her intended identity, the photograph’s subject exudes a whimsical majesty appropriate for a deity capable of stirring the human imagination.
© Victoria and Albert Museum, London
Yevonde’s portrait of Flora (the goddess of the Spring) conveys a similar ethereality and otherworldliness. Once again, muted shades of dreamy pale pastels encompass the subject, while sheer material creates a sense of floatiness and delicacy. Both portraits possess a gentle, tranquil quality reminiscent of previous artistic depictions of the two immortals, such as Poynter’s Muse of Poetry or Botticelli’s Primavera.
While Yevonde’s portraits of the Muse and Flora align with their historical depictions, not all the photographs are quite as predictable. Persephone’s image initially appears simplistic but closer inspection finds that the piece is loaded with symbolism, all enabled through the artist’s distinctive use of colour, styling and props.
© Victoria and Albert Museum, London
Modelled by Mrs Longdon, Yevonde’s Persephone stares defiantly upwards, her hair crowned in a wreath of flowers. At first glance, this could be a nymph or indeed any of the nature-related deities, but a closer look reveals the woman’s true identity. Her flower crown is fading from pink hues into shades of brown and orange, appearing dry and lifeless upon her head. In the myth, Persephone’s mother is Demeter, goddess of the harvest. When her daughter is snatched away to the Underworld by Hades, Demeter’s grief causes her to abandon her duties, leaving the plants to die and the land to turn cold and desolate. Although Persephone is eventually freed from her entrapment, the six pomegranate seeds she had consumed in the Underworld result in her having to spend six months of the year underground with Hades. Demeter’s yearly mourning is hence a mythical explanation for the changing seasons and the presence of winter.
With the narrative in mind, we can see how the fading wreath represents Demeter’s anguish, and for good reason: Persephone both wears and is surrounded by the colour black, implying her presence in the Underworld. Her gaze, both defiant and wary, must be toward her captor and husband, Hades.
Yevonde’s theatrical style of photography has been dismissed as ‘deeply silly’ and ‘camp’ (Apollo Magazine), yet this portrait demonstrates its function as a sincere and moving form of storytelling. The dramatic quality of her photographs only add to their dynamic spirit: the innate playfulness of Yevonde’s use of props, costume and colour signals her originality compared to the rigid gravitas of conventional Edwardian portraiture. Moreover, it illustrates how art can be both flamboyant and meaningful at the same time – glamour does not eliminate depth.
Another portrait which leans into the narrative-rich aspect of these mythical figures is that of Venus. Yevonde’s goddess of love, just as with Flora, the Muse and Persephone, exudes a whimsical, gentle quality amongst a soft pink and white palette. The blue of the background, the clam and pearl details and the opaque fabric are all indications that what Yevonde is portraying here is Venus’ birth. Even the model’s positioning reinforces this: her head resting on her hand and a dreamy expression etched onto her face, this Venus seems dazed as if she has just woken up for the first time.
© Victoria and Albert Museum, London
The story of her oceanic origin has been told throughout history: Hesiod’s Theogony, composed over 2,700 years ago, recounts how she was born from the foam produced when Uranus’ genitals were violently hacked off by Cronus and thrown to the sea. Whilst perhaps not the most delightful origin story, it seems apt for Aphrodite, the goddess of sexual pleasure.
Nonetheless, Yevonde’s colours and styling seem to reference Botticelli’s far more picturesque portrayal – The Birth of Venus; one of the most iconic paintings of art history. However, it wasn’t the Italian Renaissance painter who originated the deity’s association with scallop shells. An entire catalogue of art exists titled Venus Anadyomene (‘Venus rising from the Sea’), in which a scallop shell often accompanies the goddess, seemingly symbolising a vulva. Typically completely nude and wringing out her hair, this iconic representation of the goddess appears across both Greek and Roman art and is described in Pliny’s Natural History. With the Italian Renaissance came an resurgence of interest in the Classics and an abundance of Venus Anadyomene appeared once more in contemporary art.
Many portrayals of the love goddess foreground her sexuality; we think of Venus as flirtatious, seductive and cheeky, perhaps slightly shallow or vain. Often, the focus is on her body and her representation of the idealised female form rather than her character or her story.
As such, the scene of Venus emerging from the sea even became the basis of the standing female nude in the 19th century and has been reproduced innumerable times. Yevonde, however, refrains from objectifying Venus, fully clothing her in a floaty pink dress.* Perhaps this was the model’s request, or simply intended to display the intricately designed costume. Regardless, the viewer is barred from ogling her body in a stark contrast to many Venus depictions: Titian’s reclining Venus of Urbino is seductive and brazen, while Bouguereau’s painting directs the viewer’s eye to focus entirely on her naked body. Yevonde foregoes Aphrodite’s usual boldness in favour of a softer, more tranquil version of the goddess, captured in a rare moment of vulnerability. The portrait hence both subverts and conforms to artistic traditions surrounding Venus, providing us with a refreshingly alternative and thoughtful version of an iconic representation of the love goddess.
*It’s worth adding here that there is nothing inherently sexual about a naked female body; that idea stems purely from a patriarchal projection of desire. But the subtle ways in which some artists paint Venus indicate their perception of her as something merely to be admired.
1935 © National Portrait Gallery, London
Many mythical women have similarly been sexualised in antiquity and throughout history. One such figure is Circe who is frequently presented as a seductive and jealous villain. In Homer’s Odyssey, she appears as a cunning witch who deceives many of Odysseus’ men. Encountering her while exploring a mysterious new island, the sailors are invited into her home but her warm reception turns quickly cold as she enchants them and turns them into pigs. Homer’s detailed description of Circe’s array of bronze, silver and gold objects (Odyssey, 10.355-400) has established a common interpretation of her to be ostentatious. Yevonde’s portrait reflects this: Circe is decorated in ornate jewellery including gold and pearl bracelets and large dangling earrings while gilded curls adorn her head. She clutches a large Baroque porcelain goblet, likely full of drugged wine intended for her victims. Wearing an off-the-shoulder green dress and an ever so subtle smirk, Yevonde’s Circe is confident and calculating as she sizes up her prey.
Across stories from antiquity, Circe is defined by her sexuality. In Homer, once the equally fiendish Odysseus arrives to exact vengeance for his men, she quickly distracts him by offering to sleep with him. Ovid’s Metamorphoses recounts how she transformed Picus, an Italian king, into a woodpecker as punishment for rejecting her advances. In a similar vein, she transforms the nymph Scylla into a monster out of jealousy over the sea god Glaucus. Both tales characterise her as possessing a dangerously envious and proud disposition, contributing to her unjust reputation as the archetypal predatory female. The sex-averse nature of Christian teachings only magnified this, and she become a symbol for the female vice of evil temptation. Nonetheless, proto-feminist attempts to reclaim the figure began in the 19th century with Augusta Weber’s poem, which finally gave a voice to the sorceress herself. As the feminist movement has grown, so have sympathetic imaginings of mythical women. Once the embodiment of the ‘femme fatale’ ideal, Circe has developed into a multi-faceted and complex figure full of intrigue and depth, leading the way for many other women of literature to be re-examined through a feminist lens.
Similar to how Circe exists as an obstacle to the success of Odysseus’ return home, Dido is a mythical woman whose relationship with Aeneas, the hero of Virgil’s Aeneid, poses a threat to his divinely fated journey to Italy. Yet, Dido’s character contrasts strongly to Homer’s mysterious enchantress: rather than wielding dangerous magical powers, she is a victim of Venus’ divine interference. The goddess of love casts a spell over the Carthaginian queen, causing her to become infatuated with Aeneas. The Trojan warrior then departs Carthage after Mercury firmly reminds him of his Roman destiny, leaving Dido to take her own life in a fit of rageful despair.
1935 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London
It is apt then, that Yevonde’s portrait is wholly one of a tragic figure. The piece is overwhelmed by hues of solemn blues, reflected onto human subject and statue alike and causing Dido to resemble one of the stone sculptures that surround her. These sized-down copies of the Venus di Milo (foreground) and the headless winged Nike of Samothrace (background) are intriguing additions to the portrait; as two of the most famous and recognisable ancient statues, both carry with them an association of eminence and prestige. By including them, Yevonde creates the impression of a museum, displaying Dido as one of the pieces. Through her sombre, formal positioning, serious gaze and cohesive styling, the photographer transforms Dido into a living statue, attributing her with a dignity sometimes absent in other portrayals of the Carthaginian queen.
Contrastingly, Yevonde’s portrait of Medusa lies far from a sympathetic portrayal of victimhood, which would be plausible given her backstory.* Her pointed stare into the viewer’s gaze is unabashedly threatening and her clear malice causes her to stand out from the rest of the mythical women. The sharp change from gentle pastels and floaty dresses to dark greens and black lipstick underpins how Yevonde’s Medusa is no ethereal goddess but a murderous, furious entity. Any façade of feminine coyness is wiped from this photograph and there are echoes of her original gorgon appearance as an apotropaic symbol within her face-on glare. As with all of Yevonde’s ‘Goddesses’ portraits, the focus is entirely on the subject themselves, not her enemies or her victims. She subsequently holds a significant amount of power over the viewer, in contrast to artworks such as Cellini’s statue which depicts Perseus’ victory over her.
*For a more in-depth analysis of Medusa’s victimhood and villainy, see my previous blog post
A similarly dark and menacing part of the collection is the portrait of Minerva, goddess of wisdom and war. Yevonde emphasises the latter here, presenting her as both a divine woman infused with immense power and a stalwart death-dealing deity. There is something quite unnerving about this piece; whether it’s the crinkled black blackground, the model’s stern yet detached expression, or her emblematic owl’s darkened face staring right into the viewer, this picture belongs to a time that had recently witnessed the horrors of war firsthand. Yevonde’s use of modern props propels Minerva out of a faraway era of hoplite armour, spears and shields and into the early 20th century with all its bleak memories of the First World War. Instead of her typical Corinthian helmet, the goddess wears a Brodie helmet from the trenches and her red fingernails are wrapped confidently around a menacing revolver, not a spear.
1935 © The Yevonde Portrait Archive
This Minerva is an intimidating one to behold, her ominous malevolence an uncomfortable lurch away from the honourable goddess we see championing peace and prosperity in other artworks. But it is one to be welcomed. She is the goddess of war after all, it seems apt that she be portrayed capable of the mass destruction and suffering that military conflict results in.
Her clear power and threat, alongside Medusa’s, only elevate the value of Yevonde’s work; she has presented women in all their forms, eliciting sympathy and commanding our respect. Some convey a gentle femininity, all soft colours and serene expression. Others showcase emotional extremes: Circe is mischievous and cunning. Dido is a statuesque tragic figure, memorialised for eternity. Medusa’s cold and menacing stare feels truly threatening. Athena, often reworked as a kind of feminist symbol in contemporary times, is a militant killer.
Part of the collection’s success lies within each portrait’s singular focus upon the woman herself, leaving out the men they are so often associated with or presented in the context of. It is not Niobe’s hubris or the angry gods that Yevonde draws our attention to, but her tears of maternal grief. Penthesilea is captured in her moment of death, excluding Achilles, her killer who falls in love with her as she dies. The only indication of his presence is the arrow lodged in her throat, accentuating her own death and suffering above any notions of tragic romance. Yevonde’s conceptualisation and artistic realisation of these photographs provides us with a fresh perspective on these mythical women, rooted firmly in empathy and understanding.
These portraits are not only a refreshing take on the women of ancient myth, but a testament to the creativity, innovation and colourfulness of the artist herself, Madam Yevonde. Each work is brimming with vivid personality and shines a light on the intricacies of the female goddesses, pulling both classics and photography out of a restrictive bygone era and into the vibrant, ever-changing world of the 20th century.
Yevonde: Life and Colour is on display at the Laing Gallery in Newcastle until Saturday 20th April 2024
Musings 
Leave a comment