I would like to have met Thutmose, the
sculptor. Without him we would never have known of Nefertiti, nor
known what a beautiful woman she really was. His real genius would
not be realized for 4,000 years, but like Michelangelo, even during
his own lifetime he was recognized as a great artist, entrusted with
the public image of the two most important politicians in his world,
the Pharaoh Akhenaten and his Great Royal Wife. But more than that,
like Leonardo da Vinci he was also an intimate witness to a major
revolution in technology that literally built the world we live in.
With few hardwood trees, what humans in
the Nile Delta first used to build shelters with was mud, malleable
mud, sometimes formed into bricks, dried solid by the sun. But each
adobe brick swelled and contracted separately with the daily
temperature swings, and thus larger structures tended to separate and
crack. Stone, the other building material available in Egypt, would
last forever, but was hard to work with and if the joints where one
stone met another were not a perfect fit, the entire structure was
unstable. And the fit was never perfect. The solution was a
combination of the two materials; a malleable stone. In the building
trade this is called mortar.
In the Old Kingdom, a thousand years
before the birth of Nefertiti, mortar was not used to bind stones
together, but merely provided a level surface for their meeting. The
fingerprints of ancient Egyptians were recorded as they pushed mud
into nooks and crannies, leveling the joints between the great
sandstone blocks of the Pyramids of Giza. But over the next centuries
mortar became the subject of a great deal of study, which is when the
ancient Egyptians discovered Gypsum.
It was lying about all over Egypt. Its
what you get when you dry up an ocean, and other then the bleaching
skeletons of ancient whales, large deposits of gypsum are the
strongest evidence that the Sahara desert was once an ocean basin. To
a modern chemist it is calcium sulfate, and is the primary ingredient
in dry wall. Deposits of gypsum so aided the creation of the city of
Paris, that the formula used there gave rise to the ubiquitous phrase
“Plaster of Paris”, and it can even be used as a fertilizer.
The ancient Egyptians were unaware of
any of this, but they did know the material was soft, gritty and
eager to dissolve in water. And when blended with limestone or chalk
(calcium carbonate) in water it produced the sought after malleable
stone. During the middle of the 18th dynasty (1400 –
1300 B.C.E.) the use of gypsum mortars became standard throughout
Egypt. Now houses and smaller temples could be built of standardized
mud blocks, joined by and coated with a binding agent of similar
properties, so the entire structure expanded and contracted as one.
It made the construction of Aketaten much quicker and cheaper. And
with a few modifications to the formula, it made Thutmose a better
artist.
Perhaps someday a new generation of
Egyptoligist will open a tomb and find the name Thutmose on a
painted mural, with his mummy resting securely beneath. But I doubt
it. I fear it far more likely that we will only know him by the few
examples of his works that survived in his workshop on the southeast
corner of a slum lined street in the southern section of Aketaten.
What if the only evidence we had of Leonardo Di Vinci was the Mona
Lisa and his crumbling masterpiece, “The Last Supper”? What would
we think of him if we did not have his notebooks on anatomy, or his
drawings of a flying machine? That is where we are in our
appreciation of the world's first identifiable great artistic genius.
He must have begun with a plaster mask,
poured directly on the subject's face. This is an indignity suffered
by Hollywood actors today, and was possible here only because the
Pharaoh Akhenaten (above) had endorsed Thutmose's “naturalistic” artistic
revolution. Once the plaster cast had been created, it was used as a
guide for carving limestone busts. Nefertiti's bust was 19 inches
tall and weighed 44 pounds, or probably almost half of what the Queen
weighed in life. Several busts of members of the court have survived,
and provide an opportunity for living humans to look half way back to
the invention of agriculture, directly into the real face of our
ancestors. What returns your gaze is a human, very much like people
you know.
The limestone busts were a major
technical achievement, but it was now that Thutmose the artist
stepped up, as he “worked from life”, applying plaster to the
bust, to perfectly match the person sitting before him. In the case
of Queen Nefertiti, Thutmose captured “laugh lines” around the
corners of her mouth and cheeks, a bump on her nose, bags under her
eyes and wrinkles beginning on her neck. He even flattened her cheek
bones a little, indicating perhaps a slight change in weight between
the casting, and the carving of the stone. This was a great beauty in
her middle age, the mother of six girls, with gravity taking its
toll, as it does to all of us. And when the plaster additions
satisfied the artist, Thutmose then added yet another layer of
stucco, smoothing the lines, straightening the nose, perhaps to
please his model. She was, after all, the Queen, and vanity is a very
human trait.
And then he painted the face to life,
using black quartz held in place with beeswax for the iris of her
eyes. For the blue of her jewels he used ground glass with copper
oxide. For the yellow bands in her crown he used arsenic sulfide (the
mineral orpiment), and for the green crown of Egypt, powdered glass
and cooper and iron oxide. The black eyeliner was coal and beeswax,
with red chalk for the lips. Her rich skin tone was recreated by
adding red chalk to lime spar, AKA our old friend mortar.
The assumption is that the bust which
survives today in a Berlin museum, was created as a guide for
apprentice artists to produce the many copies that would have sat in
the offices of bureaucrats and in temples from the Nile Delta to the
southern reaches of Kush, beyond the cataracts of the Nile. This
was not the image of a queen on a coin, but the real face of a real
woman, who you would recognize if you saw her on the street or sat
she sat next to you in a restaurant. And this is the first time in
human history that such a face was created and survived for 4,300
years, half way back to the birth of agriculture.
Gaze into her face. This was the woman
whom the Pharaoh declared to be his co-ruler in the 12th
year of his reign, equal in power with himself. No King had ever
named his wife as co-ruler. Now her word was law, just as his was. A
hundred years previously the widow Hatsheput had successfully ruled
for 22 years as Pharaoh, establishing the wealth that ensured the
survival of the 18th dynasty. But she had first been
regent for her young nephew, before taking power herself. Nefertiti
had no such justification. Why would Akhenaten promote her to power?
He must have trusted her with his life, and more, with his
revolution.
By 1338 B.C.E, it must have been clear
to Akhentaten that his revolution had failed. The new faith had not
spread beyond his new capital. Worse, his orders were being ignored,
within and without the empire. His border with the Hittite empire,
centered in modern day Turkey, was crumbling. What could have cause
him to let go of his power at such a crucial moment? There are hints
and rumors that the King, beloved of Aten, the Sun God, had gone
blind.
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