Mythology

I've expressed my admiration for Ovid before, and I will recite it again. For one of the greatest collections of classical mythology, Metamorphoses is a treasure mine of stories fit for psychoanalysis. So, I present to you today the story of an naïve mortal and a wicked erotic god, cursed with loving (in whatever sense of the word) each other.  Psyche was the most beautiful girl on Earth. Suitors, both mortal and divine, came to seek out Psyche from all corners of Greece. Wo

Some readers like to interpret the story of Alcyone and Ceyx as a tender tale of how love trumps tragedy, but others think of it more as a caution against hubris. In my opinion, love is a form of hubris in itself. Ceyx was the king of Trachis, a region in central Greece, and was revered by his subjects for his kindness and generosity. Alcyone was the daughter of the wind god Aeolus and the faithful wife to Ceyx. The two of them ruled Trachis side by side. They were admired by

There aren’t many myths which surpass the story of King Tantalus in terms of gruesomeness. In my opinion, Tantalus is the greatest waste...

Artists are obsessed with ideal forms. As one myself, I would know that the relationship between creator and creation is one that is extremely intimate. The classics take that to another level.  In classical societies, the body was seen as a physical manifestation of one’s characters and status. Every man wanted to have the ideal masculine body fitted with abs and strong muscles, and they wished for all their women to have the ideal soft curves and slightly chubbiness symboli

Bartholomeus Spranger's painting of Hermaphroditus and Salmacis, who is hiding behind the bush (1585). In 1583, the Holy Roman Emperor...

During Arachne and Athena's competition There’s nothing that the gods hate more than getting humbled. If you’ve read my post on...

Narcissus staring at his own reflection Narcissus was a young man of inexplicable beauty. Born from a god and a nymph, Narcissus came into the world with looks so divine and otherworldly that they could kill. Worried about him, his mother takes him to the seer Tiresias. The seer tells her that her son would live a long life, as long as he does not look at himself. The young Narcissus goes about his life, not knowing what he looked at. Everywhere he goes, men, women, satyrs, a

Apollo had a crush, things got messy, and now we have a flower. When modern meets myth, the “truth” gets muddled. I’ve noticed that queer stories tend to have especially polarizing receptions: one which firmly believes in the romantic nature of a same-sex friendship and one which will deny it any cost, so a queer romance as uncontested as Apollo and Hyacinthus’s is like a breath of fresh air—or perhaps a westward breeze?—for such an undermined genre.