Rape is pervasive across various mythologies and within the zeitgeist of today. The fascination with sexual assault in Greco-Roman mythology is demonstrative of this, and art depicting rape narratives from classical mythos throughout time reveal historical attitudes about gender and bodily autonomy. Rape is used to masculinize gods and is portrayed as a necessary, valorous act through which femininity is often subdued and/or transformed. The phenomenon of the “heroic rape” goes beyond minimization and justification of sexual assault: it normalizes and reframes it, frequently through the lens of unrequited love. As interest in classical mythology was renewed during the fifteenth century, rape remained a common and celebrated subject matter. Not only gender, but power dynamics, too, have been insufficiently explored in art about sexual assault, even though these stories often feature gods as perpetrators and humans as victims. This essay examines representations of rape in European art from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries, considering how narratives of sexual assault have evolved into the twenty-first century and asking why the rape motif prevails in modern art, media, and life. Conceptions of love and gender politics within the United States are derived in many ways from Greco-Roman notions of masculinity and desire, and as discriminatory legislation and restrictions on reproductive rights sweep the United States, it is imperative that art historians consider the implications of rape narratives in art that is now considered classic – the art that has contributed to the pervasive rendering of sexual assault as mythic in its own way.

This paper explores the concept of talismans between fourteenth- and sixteenth-century Europe, through the analysis of two objects: the Primavera by Sandro Botticelli and a fourteenth-century inscribed sapphire ring. With a focus on their potential as talismans within the cultural and intellectual frameworks of their time, this paper examines how European talismanic practices were influenced by the reinterpretation of Arabic and Latin occult, hidden, knowledge, creating a distinct European tradition of talismans that was cautiously validated by religious institutions.

Talismans, as objects that could attract celestial powers represent not only a continuation of Arabic and Christian occult traditions but also the emergence of a European talismanic conception that reflects a change in intellectual and religious landscapes. While the process of creating talismans in Europe diverged from traditional methods, this paper will show how the Primavera and the sapphire ring remain symbols of a cultural synthesis.

This project explores the art, architecture, and sociopolitical context surrounding the convent of San Zaccaria in Venice in a particularly productive period of patronage, including the renovations of the old church (1442), a series of altarpieces by Antonio Vivarini (1443), the new church (1458-1515), and Giovanni Bellini’s altarpiece (1505). Much different than our associations with monastic life, life at San Zaccaria from its founding in the 9th century to its suppression in the nineteenth was neither ascetic nor cloistered. In fact, as the most important and richest—in ducats, relics, and buried Doges—convent in Venice, the women of the convent experienced extreme levels of freedom and an overwhelming level of influence from outside the convent walls. As the price of patrician marriage dowries increased exponentially, increasing numbers of Venice’s richest women became nuns for practical rather than religious reasons, entirely uninterested in adhering to any of the rules of “clausura”.

The convent space was thus permeable to a series of outside influences: aesthetic, as commissions were directly inspired by a series of local and non-local source materials; monetary, as patrician nuns brought with them their family names, connections, and wealth, personally bankrolling commissions; personal, as the Doge and international visitors were invited inside the grate supposed to separate the monastic and non-monastic worlds; and political, as the structures inside the convent, such as the position of Abbess, were directly inspired by the values and structures of the democracies Venice and the Vatican as well as political interference as figures put their thumbs on the scale of convent elections and appointments.

In the 1510s and 20s, greater policing measures by the Patriarch, and subsequently the Pope, sought to limit the freedom of San Zaccaria’s community. These interventions continued this attitude of anti–clausura, as male interference continued disrupting what was supposed to be a homosocial, self-governing space, and acknowledged how nervous authorities were made by a female community with huge swaths of power, wealth, and stubbornness. 

The trope of the “mad” artist is a widespread cultural phenomenon. Today this image is almost comical, but in earlier periods, writers like Giorgio Vasari stereotypes artists as “mad” to distance them from God. According to Vasari the most famous artists like Michelangelo Buonarroti and Leonardo Da Vinci are chosen by God himself and have predetermined fates that can be seen in astrological charts. Vasari states that Michelangelo brings life to cold, dead marble in a way that no other sculptor can, which separates him from all his peers and brings him closer to the divine. Vasari also writes about how Michelangelo sculpts figures that are a challenge for nature itself to form, which reinforces his proximity to God. Artists like Michelangelo can create life from mundane objects so successfully that they do not just compete with each other, but with divine forces of nature and God. However, genius was not the only quality that defined these artists; Vasari consistently describes these artists as temperamental and difficult to work with. Michelangelo and Da Vinci are quick to abandon artistic projects out of paranoia or because they impulsively start new projects. Their “madness” or inability to adhere to social norms made them undeniably human. For example, Michelangelo ran away from Pope Julius more than once to avoid painting the Sistine Chapel. In another instance Donatello became disgruntled with a patron about the price of a sculpture and Donatello decided to throw the sculpture out a window. Vasari, then, uses “madness” to separate even the most accomplished artists from God.

This paper examines Lucretia by Artemisia Gentileschi through feminist and psychoanalytic lenses to explore Gentileschi’s agency, trauma, and artistic reclamation. It aims to explore how Artemisia transforms Lucretia, both as an artistic subject and within the context of the story itself. Structured in two parts, the analysis first investigates how Gentileschi subverts traditional depictions of Lucretia, comparing her work to male predecessors such as Titian, Botticelli, and her father, Orazio Gentileschi. By focusing on the portrayal of Lucretia’s hands, the paper highlights how Artemisia’s women are imbued with agency, contrasting the ornamental passivity typical of Renaissance representations with deliberate and active volition.

The second section delves into the body-mind conflict in Lucretia’s narrative using interoceptive and psychoanalytic frameworks. Gentileschi captures this body-mind conflict with kinesthetic realism, while also considering how the act of self-killing becomes a metaphor for the act of rape that precedes the portrait itself. The analysis further examines how Gentileschi’s own experiences, including the trial with Agostino Tassi, heightened her sensitivity to her rendition of hands, and how, in their metaphorical significance, these hands embody female agency and movement.

In addition to the two-part analysis, this paper substantiates its arguments through a detailed examination of the biographical record of Artemisia Gentileschi and the literary tradition surrounding Lucretia. Gentileschi’s Lucretia builds on these biographical foundations and literary narratives while reclaiming the story as Lucretia’s own, and hence, renders that we linger in the tension between violence and virtue, in the space where art transcends pain and becomes a defiant act of creation.

During the Renaissance, aeolipiles were objects of curiosity and have remained this way since, as through time their purpose has become increasingly enigmatic. In their simplest form, aeolipiles are mechanisms by which water can be heated and pressurized steam is forced through a small hole. Their design changes throughout time and is, in this period, often crafted into the head of a man blowing air. In one unique example, however, the aeolipile takes the form of a sphinx, blending both decoration and symbolism found in earlier Quattrocento architecture and the popular Mannerist literature of the time. This particular piece, attributed to the school of Riccio, belongs to a group of eccentric bronzes that were equally as useful as they were novel works of art. These small household objects took the form of composite animals, people, or mythological creatures and quickly became popular trinkets among the wealthy. However, the sphinx aeolipile statuette remains unique due to its historical functions and rarity. Additionally, its inclusion in a group of daily objects can imply ideas about its purpose during the Renaissance, while its design reflects contemporary views about the outside world.

The fork has been present at the dining table for centuries. But looking at the fork as more than an object or utensil, through the lenses of material culture and social history, could provide new insight into the ever-changing culture in France as early as the fifteenth century to the seventeenth century. Looking at how both the physicality and symbolism of the fork evolved sheds light on the culture around it during different times. By focusing on a fork made by the French Ferronione-Argent Louis Nicolle in 1683-84, we can learn much about the material culture and social history of seventeenth-century France. The material culture of the fork can tell us about types of trade and the economy; the physical appearance of the object and when, how, and by whom the fork was used can indicate the cultural beliefs of the time. To understand the impact of the fork in the seventeenth-century France we must also look at the history of its design and usage by earlier generations back through the fifteenth century. By looking at the forks that came before the one made by Louis Nicolle, we can see the impact that society had on the object when it came to the materials and look of the seventeenth-century fork.

Deep in the bowels of the Philadelphia Museum of Art exists a 1780’s English snuff box, with iconography resembling that of a pocket-watch on the face with a portraiture of a spaniel pooch on the reverse. Observing this artifact, I questioned: Why this iconography? Why create it in such a small size? Which social class did the owner belong to? To answer these questions, I first had to unravel snuff culture in eighteenth-century England. Once unboxed, and applied alongside related items in the Museum’s collections, I was able to answer the questions I had posed. Stemming from a final project for an undergraduate art history course – with instructions to select an object our of choosing from the Philadelphia Museum of Art and via close-looking determine what our object is and how it was used – I conducted my research. Using the resources of the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s catalogue of snuff-boxes and researching common pocket watches of eighteenth-century England, I was able to compare and contrast key characteristics of these objects to my selected artifact. Through my findings, I concluded that the shape and iconography mimic the style of pocket watches of eighteenth-century England, while its compact size relates to it being a travel-sized snuff box that allowed its user to discreetly engage in snuff on the go. The snuff box’s material – enamel on copper with brass mounds – hints at it belonging to either an upper or middle-class individual. Knowing these factors, this object successfully portrays the influence and importance of wealth and luxury assimilated within upper-class societies and imitated by middle-class societies.

While thrones in Western contexts often symbolize power and domination, the Luba royal caryatid stools embody a different conception of authority. These royal stools supported by anthropomorphic sculptures—typically featuring kneeling female figures with scarification and coiffure—symbolized the divine legitimacy of kingship while reflecting the central role of gendered artistry in Luba society. This paper examines the role of caryatid stools in legitimizing royal authority, expressing cultural identity, and contending with colonialism in the Luba Kingdom of Central Africa (c. 1585–1889). Drawing on post-colonial art historical methodologies and the writings of scholars such as art historians Alexander Bortolot and Mary Nooter Roberts, this paper contextualizes the stools within the broader nineteenth century Luba socio-political environment. It investigates how sacred kingship (balopwe) and the role of female spirit mediums (Mwadi), reinforced the kingdom’s governance model and cultural resilience. Additionally, the paper engages in the interplay of feminine and masculine motifs within Luba art, as well as the symbolic use of scarification, beads, and posture to express cultural identity, and represent spiritual and ancestral connections. This research examines the challenges faced by Luba political traditions during the colonial period, as Belgian authorities seeking to centralize power struggled to dismantle the decentralized and spiritually-driven Luba governance system. The persistence of practices like the Mwadi spiritual transference through the late twentieth century highlight the resilience of Luba cultural identity amidst colonial rule, a sentiment perpetuated by existence of the stools. By analyzing the symbolic and functional aspects of Luba royal stools and their socio-political context, this research contributes to decolonial scholarship and studies of the interconnectedness of art, power, and spirituality in pre-colonial Central African societies. It underscores the enduring significance of these artifacts as embodiments of Luba history and values, offering critical insights into the artistic and cultural heritage of the region.

In my art historical studies at the University of New Mexico, I was given the opportunity to view and analyze a sculptural work of art from the Yoruba culture of present-day Nigeria titled “Helmet Mask (ere gelede)” and construct a corresponding paper under the guidance of my instructor, Dr. Ray Hernández-Durán. Created in the twentieth century, this mask is currently housed in the University of New Mexico Art Museum as part of the Mulvany Family Collection of African Art. Masks such as this one have historically been used in Gelede performances, which pay tribute to the believed spiritual powers of women including elder, ancestral, and deified female figures. Through analysis of the mask’s formal elements and examination of Yoruba cultural beliefs and practices, the work reflects themes in Yoruba artistic style, the object’s performative nature and the significance of women within this West African society. The ceremonial, dynamic function of this artwork is reflected in its material construction, incorporation of both organic and geometric shapes within the composition, stylized figural imagery representative of spiritual and societal dynamics, and the addition of red and black pigment that reflect an association of color with temperature, temperament, and certain deities or ancestors within Yoruba belief systems. Additionally, I will explore the mask’s significance within the Gelede ceremony which combines reverence, humor, expressiveness and community through vibrant and elaborate masquerade performances. Ultimately, this analysis provides a detailed overview of the connection between this mask as an art object and its intended purpose by connecting visual and physical elements to cultural practices, spirituality and belief systems of the Yoruba.

The big names demand the large prices in, and command the respect of, the art world. But how important are accurate biographical details and the true identity of ‘great artists’ to the status and appreciation of their work? Some of the most creative minds and successful creators have been incredibly successful under false identity. In literature for example, Mary Ann Evans wrote under the pseudonym ‘George Eliot’, and J.K. Rowling wrote under the pseudonym ‘Robert Galbraith’ for many years. In both these instances, false identification was used to try and avoid the negative impact of prejudice against women in the creative industry. To focus on art in particular, the black American sculptor Edmonia Lewis created a very specific racial character for herself. She both exaggerated her native “Indian” identity and purposefully played up to racist, white American beliefs. I will demonstrate how Lewis managed to sculpt a somewhat fictitious biography for herself through the way she presented herself to the media and dealt with the individual subjects of her art. Specific comments will be made upon Lewis’ use of characters and stories from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem The Song of Hiawatha, and the way Lewis contends with broader ideas and associations of ‘blackness’ in her 1867 sculpture The Death of Cleopatra. Going beyond the cynical points about Lewis doing all she could to make money and using existing racist opinions to do so, I will suggest her sculpted, ambiguous identity was necessary for the recognition of her work. Thinking morally, Lewis’ ability to achieve such recognition played a key role in paving the way for women and black artists to enter the exclusive realm of white, male artists. While little of her work remains today, Edmonia Lewis must not be forgotten.

This study examines the rhetorical strategies employed in the slogans of the Black Panther Party’s political cartoons, featured in their official newspaper, The Black Panther: Black Community News Service, focusing on the cartoonist work of Emory Douglas. I consider the historical context of the Black Power and Civil Rights movements, integrating protest rhetoric and Burkean frames as dynamic elements. The rhetoric in these slogans and political cartoons challenged the passivity often associated with the Civil Rights movement, particularly in the context of prevalent nonviolent civil disobedience. Drawing upon a content analysis approach, the study analyzes the Black Panther Party’s political cartoons and their slogans to create an ideological rhetorical criticism. My research identifies common themes and rhetorical strategies to understand how such structures cultivated an ideology that represented a counter-narrative to mainstream public beliefs. The study addresses a gap in the scholarly literature regarding the impact of political cartoons internally within the Black Panthers. The main findings highlight that Douglas showcased themes such as Black masculinity, police violence, and trauma through his use of iconography and animal portrayals. The slogans accompanying his cartoons employed various rhetorical strategies. The study also explores the ways Douglas uses slogan and political cartoons to conceptualize Black Nationalism and the way he evolves the imagery to align with the Party’s goals. The study has limitations. It is challenging to incorporate public opinion and account for biases in interpreting political cartoons due to time constraints. Additionally, not conducting a survey limits the study’s claims regarding the effectiveness of the party’s counter-narrative, since no polling was conducted to gauge public opinion. Nonetheless, this study aims to spread awareness and recognition of Douglas’s work in this field and the party’s efforts in using visual communication for political advocacy.

This presentation analyzes the multimedia sculptural work The Doll House (Peter Norton Family Christmas Project 2002) by Yinka Shonibare. Through its materials and form, The Doll House utilizes the house as a location of converging geographies and histories that inform and contest our understandings of British and African identities. By producing a miniature model of his own home, The Doll House also specifically references and is informed by Shonibare’s personal experiences as a British/Nigerian artist. His inclusion of reproductions of a photograph from his series Diary of a Victorian Dandy and Fragonard’s The Swing which he sculpturally recreated in his work The Swing (After Fragonard) further tie the house to Shonibare and his combination of African and European aesthetics.

Despite its abundance in collections due to its 3,000 editions, there is currently no scholarly research done on Shonibare’s The Doll House. Further, while much research about Shonibare’s work has focused on his use of African wax print fabric, Victorian aesthetics, and their reflections on authenticity and identity, none focus on the framing of these elements in the conceptual location of the home. Thus, this analysis of Shonibare’s The Doll House and its subsequent focus on the home as a conceptual approach will address this gap.

I first outline and define the methodological framework of home and hybridity which serve as the foundation for the presentation. Next, I describe the material (African wax print fabric) and form (Victorian house) of The Doll House, then analyze how these materials and forms function in The Doll House. Last, I outline The Doll House’s connection to Shonibare’s personal identity and then detail the two other works in The Doll House that reinforce this personal connection and the themes discussed in earlier sections.

This talk aims to discuss the relationship between the contemporary fiber artist Bisa Butler and a history of Black American quilting dating back hundreds of years. It will look at Butler’s current body of work and stated modern and contemporary artistic and personal inspirations like that of Faith Ringgold and her own family. Additionally, it will explore the history and traditions of African American quilting practices like strip quilting and album quilts that exist within the natural progression that leads us to works like Butler’s. Looking at these works through the lens of conversations around fine or ‘high’ art and art deemed ‘low’ art or arts and crafts will provide an additional layer of complexity as many of these initial quilts were never made with museums in mind, while Butler’s work has been seen in exhibitions across the country. By providing an overview of Butler’s work as well as its conscious and subconscious elements within a history of Black American quilting, this talk will seek to synthesize an understanding of the practice of quilting within contemporary art and within Butler’s body of work.

The brazenly racist adaptation of the story of John Henry contains parallels between worldwide representations of Black characters and how we henceforth see Black people in reality. Disney’s adaptation, for example, points to John Henry’s desire to satisfy meritocracy for Humanness and worth. The difficulty to separate the facts from fiction of this story are glaringly intentional, as they are useful propaganda for both the internal and external communities’ thoughts about the. Media literacy requires analyzing the rhetoric and the conditions under which those in understanding the way are implemented layers in not only how the historiography of Black people can transform through generations, but also how important it is to analyze the changes in media portrayal of Black people over time. My grandfather’s name was John Henry Scott, and that is what made me think about the pervasiveness of John-Henryism. My grandfather worked in a steel factory and saw many of his friends in the factory die from the conditions of the factory and instilled those ideals of what it means to be qualified as a man in the United States. There is a direct correlation between the values portrayed in this story and how Black individuals are constrained alongst the gender spectrum. An important missing piece of this story is the lack of representation of Black women in this story. Pauline was a vital part of the story, and her voice only appeared to warn him of the danger rather. She only is important enough to carry the emotional baggage of John Henry. Her body did emotional and physical labor, but the idea is John Henry worked alone against “the machine.” The disposability of Black bodies when it comes to the labor force is reinforced by stories like these. Instead, it is a cautionary tale that black men are in fact still mortal but must work to death.

In Decolonizing Shakespeare, by Jason Demeter, Shakespeare is mentioned as a proxy Anglo Saxon. Jason argued that “…no longer [was Shakespeare] simply an avatar of English–and, by proxy, American—achievement; instead, he is imagined increasingly as an instrument of European ethno-consolidation: a means through which various newly arrived European immigrants might make themselves into proper white Americans.” Despite being worlds apart from Black culture, Shakespeare has managed to infiltrate different media forms within the Diaspora. Ronald Wimberly’s graphic novel, Prince of Cats is more than a retelling of the Shakespeare classic Romeo and Juliet. It is a case study of the effects of colonialism and the unbridled hardship of Blackness, set in Reagan’s eighties, that birthed a movement during immense social inequality. Hip Hop began amongst Black and Brown youth in the South Bronx, NY in the mid to late 1970s. The scene was dismissed as a passing fad but proved to be influential globally. Since its birth, it has been contested of its worthiness of being categorized with “…previous African American artistic and cultural movements such as the Blues, Jazz, the New Negro Renaissance, and the Civil Rights, Black Power, and Black Arts Movements.” Wimberly paid homage to the time by using mixed styles of illustration and colors. Graffiti, samurai swords, and track suits, aligned with Shakespearian mannerisms. Large formats of the comic were printed, allowing the reader to fully immerse oneself into the two-dimensional world. Wimberly credited his love for anime and 70s era illustrations for the novel, adhering to the pastiche of OuBaPo. “OuBaPo” is an acronym for the French literary movement, “Ouvroir de bande dessinée potentielle” (workshop of potential comic book art). There have been Black cultural crossovers with Romeo and Juliet before, however the enmeshment of Shakespearean English with Black African American Vernacular Expression was a first of its kind. In Prince of Cats, the reader is allowed to see another side of the ill-fated cousin of Juliet, Tybalt. Wimberly effortlessly weaves an imaginative narrative and a visually stunning homage to the source material, redefining a new era of Black illustration. Prince of Cats manages to appropriate different cultural styles with OuBaPo, promising new ideas for the next generation of graphic novels.

This research paper analyzes the relationship between woman-creature hybrid monsters and motherhood in ancient Greece through an art historical lens, showing how these monsters represent women found outside of acceptable Greek norms. I argue that visual representations of monsters found on vases, reliefs, and three-dimensional sculpture from ancient Greece, when viewed alongside depictions of women and childbirth, indicates a pattern of mistreatment inflicted upon mothers that created a divide between them and their children. This further isolates women and shows an attempt to control both how and which women are allowed to reproduce. The monsters’ physical strengths display their dominating power that insights fear over a potential female usurpation of the patriarchal democracy. To subside this fear, monsters are presented as violent beings in need of immediate removal and die in a grotesque, painful end. These monsters often have direct connections to motherhood, through childbirth and neglect or consistent child endangerment, that was used as accusations of women’s bad parenting. Producing an heir was the primary role for women in ancient Greece and was one of the few occurrences where women had greater power and respect within the community. Attacking motherhood was parallel to degrading womanhood all together. Therefore, woman-creature hybrid monsters offered a warning to women to conduct themselves as was expected while also showing what could happen if a woman stepped out of line. The monsters represent the denial of motherhood amongst women, typically of the lower class, who did not comply with the expectations of the social norms. As well, they provide an example of control through threat and removal that was inflicted onto the maternity of elite women. This relationship between women’s social value and monsters’ deliberate depictions as bad mothers shows an influence of misogyny in Greek culture that impacted feminine expectations for Greek women.

After conquering Ptolemaic Egypt in 31 BC, the emperor Augustus faced the problem of integrating himself into a culture with deeply established traditions and convincing Egyptians he belonged as their ruler. One way to investigate this effort is by analyzing Augustus’ influence on art and architecture in Egyptian temples, as Egyptian rulers were traditionally associated with religion. Analysis of temples built in this period demonstrates distribution of temple projects in urban centers and temple complexes where they were likely to be viewed by large audiences. Temple decoration from this time depicts Augustus as a traditional pharaoh while inscriptions often mention Augustus’ foreign origin. In sum, religious material from Augustan Egypt presents a complicated picture that can be better understood by analyzing wider patterns in order to reconstruct the agency behind these projects.

Textiles from Late Antique Egypt—whether made for personal adornment or defining soft architecture—involved resource-consuming processes that relied on the environment. These processes—including the growing and collecting of linen, the cultivation of wool, and a variety of natural resources for dyeing—were involved in a Neo-Platonic relationship with the Earth known as sympatheia. These textiles, requiring considerable quantities of water in a desert environment, were an important aspect to defining space in dwellings and sacred architecture, holding meaning through patterns, imagery, and placement. This paper will examine half a dozen textile fragments from Late Antique Egypt in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, specifically woven fragments of garments and interiors, from an ecocritical perspective. This paper will demonstrate that Late Antique textiles were more than just adornments for the body but participated in a visual and material sympathetic relationship that was deeply intertwined with spiritual and practical life.

Vine scrolls inhabit every nook and cranny of the complex palimpsest that is Rome, whether it be the iconic Ara Pacis which hails from 9 BCE, or the streetlamps that light up the city’s streets in the present day. Perhaps because of this very ubiquity, the vine scroll is often sidelined in art historical analyses, especially within the context of medieval mosaics. Since this motif is not figural and has no specific biblical association, the vine scroll’s significance is often underestimated in favor of traditional iconographic analyses that focus on the identification of human figures or the dissection of narrative scenes.

This academic bias is particularly apparent in scholarship on the mosaics in the Lateran Baptistery. The seventh-century mosaic in the Baptistery’s Chapel of S. Venantius, for example, is more frequently discussed in regards to its figural depiction of saints and their connections to relics. In contrast, there is relatively little literature about the fifth-century mosaic in the Baptistery’s adjacent Chapel of SS. Cyprian and Justina, which is largely composed of a sprawling vine scroll and features no human figures in its apse. With such a composition, the vine scrolls at SS. Cyprian and Justina are impossible to ignore. This paper thus investigates the role of the vine scroll motif at SS. Cyprian and Justina as a mode of religious expression and meaning making in itself, rather than as a supplementary ornament to human figures. Instead of labeling the mosaic’s centralized treatment of the vine scroll as an abnormality, this paper analyzes its depiction in the Lateran Baptistery through its formal qualities, symbolic origins, and iconographic influence. As a result, the vine scroll can be better understood as an evocative and meaningful visual motif that has both traceable historical roots and an enduring, impactful legacy.

The Sutton Hoo shoulder clasps (produced between 560 and 610 CE) are a typologically unique piece of jewelry, without parallel or clear precedent, set apart even from the rest of the gold regalia in the Mound I burial. The intricacy of the clasps supports the theory of a “Sutton Hoo Master” smith, while the materials and techniques used in their construction suggest established complex relationships between the Anglo-Saxons of the British Isles and foreign powers as distant as Byzantium into at least the mid-1st millennium. That the Sutton Hoo Shoulder clasps were originally mounted to armor emphasizes their connection to the belt mounts and sword-harness pieces found in the Mound I burial and indicates their role as symbols of wealth and power in a militaristic but nonetheless artistically sophisticated society.

The ornamentation of the Sutton Hoo shoulder clasps has traditionally been interpreted as a series of unconnected motifs: crossed boars in the end panel; serpents on the borders; geometric tessellations filling the central panel. However, in this paper, I present the possibility of another, previously overlooked motif–that of a hulking bear, composed from the crossed boars and the delicate filigree serpents which fill the negative space between them. The presence of this bear motif would not reduce the legitimacy of previous interpretations and scholarship but rather could enrich them with the further analysis of a new symbology and visual motif. Furthermore, the presence of a bear-figure fills the awkward, otherwise unusual gaps between ornamental motifs, developing a clear, intentional visual and narrative connection between individual motifs and panels. Though this identification is dependent largely on comparison to other, similar clasp and buckle pieces, largely from the Roman period, the presence of an additional motif, though unconventional, is entirely possible and should be explored.