Sculptures

Some time ago, we published the story and work of The Rape of Proserpina by Bernini in La vida es Arte, a marvelous sculpture where unbridled passion was frozen in marble with the fervor of the Baroque. Now, it is the turn of another scene of abduction and sacrifice, that of Polyxena, a much darker story, charged with tragic love, vengeance, and the fatality that marked the bitter end of the Trojan War.

In the firmament of mythology, there exists a constellation of figures whose light lies not in destructive power or martial glory, but in the subtle, yet essential, vibration of amiability and beauty. They are the Three Graces, or Charites in the immortal language of the Greeks, and their legend is not one of conflict, but of perfect harmony. They are the rhythmic pulse of existence that celebrates the gift, the joy, and the radiant manifestation of grace. Their story is, in essence, the poetry of life itself, distilled into three female forms whose embrace has been perpetuated through the centuries.

En el corazón de la enigmática Capilla Sansevero de Nápoles, una figura de mármol capta la luz con una fragilidad casi imposible: La Modestia (Pudicizia), también conocida como La Modestia Velada o Castidad Velada. Creada en 1752 por el escultor veneciano Antonio Corradini, esta obra no es solo un testimonio del virtuosismo barroco, sino la pieza central de un profundo y personal drama familiar envuelto en un velo de filosofía oculta.

Once upon a time, there was a giant, a Titan, who made a decision that would forever change the destiny of humanity. He dared to steal a tiny bit of the sacred fire from the Olympian gods. The gods, by their very nature, possessed everything in large quantities, but Prometheus took that fire—that knowledge, that spark—and gifted it to humans, who, in their initial state, lacked even the most essential things for survival.