When I was young and beginning my first steps towards art appreciation, I never found myself drawn to sculptures. On visits to the Art Gallery of Ontario with a school trip or even just on my own, I would always skip the sculpture gallery. I was spending most of my time in front of the paintings, drawings and modern art installations. It was only as I got into my twenties and started studying Art History at University that sculptures began to take on a new meaning. Suddenly I couldn’t stop looking at them, collecting books on the subject and creating endless Tumblr blogs on my favourite pieces.
My first pilgrimage to Italy was influenced mainly by my desire to see these ancient art forms in person, to be able to look into their eyes and, in some cases, even touch their cold marble flesh. But throughout all my time researching and studying sculpture, a name I never came across was “Thorvaldsen.” It wasn’t until I stumbled upon the Thorvaldsen Museum‘s steps in Copenhagen that I knew how deep my love for the craft of sculpture could go.
The Thorvaldsen Museum is unique because it houses works from one single artist, that of Bertel Thorvaldsen. The art displayed in the museum spans Thorvaldsen’s entire career. It even contains commissioned pieces the museum had to fight to bring home their collection. The museum is a lovingly curated experience and takes you on an intimate journey throughout Thorvaldsen’s life through moments frozen in marble.
The museum is open Tuesday-Sunday from 10 am to 5 pm & Thursdays from 10 am to 9 pm. It is closed on Mondays and Dec 24, 25, 31 and Jan 1.
Admission to the museum is 90DKK ($14 USD) for adults, and youth and children under 18 are free. The museum is also free to enter on Wednesdays.
The museum is located in the centre of the city. It is relatively easy to get to on foot, but if you need to take the metro, just get off at the stop ‘Gammel Strand,’ across the river from the museum.
Bertel Thorvaldsen was born in Copenhagen. From the moment he could pick up a piece of stone, he seemed to find an affinity with the material and used it as his canvas. His father was a woodcarver, and from watching him at work, Thorvaldsen developed a great sense of how to work with his hands. From the age of eleven, Thorvaldsen was making waves as a child prodigy. He was admitted into the Royal Danish Academy of Art.
After winning several academic awards and receiving mass recognition in Denmark, Thorvaldsen was offered a space to study with some of Rome’s best artists. It was in Rome that the young sculptor quickly found notoriety and fame. He arrived in Rome on March 8th, 1797. Because Thorvaldsen grew up relatively poor, and his birth date was never recorded, he used this date, his “Roman birthday,” as the one he would celebrate for the rest of his life.
Thorvaldsen loved Rome, as everywhere he seemed to look, he was surrounded by the great masters of sculpture’s lessons. He lived at the Via Sistina in front of the Spanish Steps. He had his workshop in the stables of the Palazzo Barberini. His very first commission was a model of the Greek mythological hero Jason. The work was so impressive it drew the eye of Antonio Canova, the most famous sculptor in the city. With this mark of approval from his peers, the commissions began to come in in a fury, and he was able to stay in Rome for over 16 years, working on his remarkable oeuvre.
Thorvaldsen was quite the lover, and perhaps his sensual nature can be seen in his art. His first wife, and mother of his daughter, was previously married to another man. Soon after meeting, Thorvaldsen stole her away from her previous husband with his winning charm. When Thorvaldsen fell ill in 1818, he fell madly in love with his nurse. Still, he called off that engagement when he became enamoured with yet another woman, Miss Fanny Caspers. In the end, he was unable to leave the mother of his child but continued to dabble in affairs of the heart his whole life.
After a long career working for the nobility in Rome, he retired in his hometown of Copenhagen. After attending a performance at the Copenhagen Royal Theatre, Thorvaldsen suffered a massive heart attacked and died. In his will, he had bequeathed a significant part of his fortune for the creations of a museum in Copenhagen. Thorvaldsen left detailed instructions to fill it with all his works of art, his models and even his collection of books and drawings. Thorvaldsen’s tomb rests eternally amongst his masterpieces, buried in the centre of the museum’s courtyard.
Canova wasn’t just a fan of Thorvaldsen; he significantly influenced the artist’s style. Thorvaldsen was a neoclassicist. While Canova’s neoclassicism had more expressive poses, Thorvaldsen stuck to a more traditional approach. His neoclassical sculptures were inspired by the Greeks. The poses and motifs are drawn from Greek mythology as well as classical art and literature. Neoclassicism came as a revolt against the Rococo style, which was popular at the time. While the Rococo embraced ornamentation and asymmetry, neoclassicism focused on homogeneity and balance.
The hallways and rooms which houses the various works of art are stunningly decorated. The architect who designed the building was Michael Gottlieb Bindesbøll. Bindesbøll was inspired by the patterns and colours of ancient cities like Pompeii and Herculaneum. He used these references to create the interiors of the museum.
Bindesbøll visited Thorvaldsen at his studio in Rome multiple times. The architect was inspired by the high, diagonal light which flooded into the artist’s studio. When creating the windows in the museum, he wanted to replicate this same effect. This bright sunshine that floods the museum changes the light and shadows that fall on the sculptures. Sculptures are so dimensional, and the way they are lit is so unique compared to matte paintings. Depending on what time you visit the museum, the light will change your viewing of each piece.
The first room you come across seems larger than life. The sculptures housed inside the tower over the viewer and fill the almost impossibly large room. The beautiful red, black and yellow tiled floor evoked that same neoclassical style presented in his sculptures. The walls are painted a deep maroon, which contrasts fantastically against the light marble sculptures along the walls.
Throughout the rest of the museum, brightly coloured walls frame and contrast the white marble perfectly. The ceilings are decorated with richly detailed reliefs, and even the floors are inlaid with intricate mosaics.
In one of the first rooms, you’ll visit, walk to find the dominant sculpture of Józef Poniatowski, made in 1827. Józef Poniatowski was a Polish freedom fighter who fought for Poland’s independence against Russia. During the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, Poniatowski was wounded. When he saw his enemies coming to capture him, he swam off into the water. Poniatowski knew he wasn’t a strong swimmer and would have rather drowned rather than be captured. His martyr-like efforts captured the hearts of the Polish population, and the statue of the great man was commissioned. They could think of no better man than Thorvaldsen to complete the job.
Thorvaldsen wanted to portray the great warrior like the ancient statue of Marcus Aurelius, which sits in the capitol in Rome. Just like Aurelius, Poniatowski sits on his colossal warrior horse. Instead of having his hand in a gesture of “adlocutio” used to address the troops, he holds out a pointed sword, in a more aggressive pose than Aurelius. Similar to the Roman statue, Poniatowski sits on the horse with no use of stirrups. Although this was done on the original figure because they had not yet been invented, on Poniatowski’s statue, the lack of stirrups makes the man seem more powerful. It implies he doesn’t even need them to stand sturdily on his great horse.
Sitting on a large throne, surrounded on either side by two beautiful women, is Pope Pius VII. This incredible piece was perhaps Thorvaldsen’s most outstanding achievement, as it was commissioned for St. Peter’s Basilica in 1831. Thorvaldsen is still, to this day, the only non-catholic artist to have his work featured in the great Cathedral. While Thorvaldsen might not have been a catholic, he held great reverence for the Pope and the church. Thorvaldsen even had the chance to meet Pope Pius VII in person while he worked in Rome. The details set into the gentle Pope’s face here are very notable, proof of the artist’s personal relationship with the subject.
The women on either side of the Pope, dressed in classical flowing drapery, represented the allegorical virtues of Divine Power and Divine Wisdom. The Pope represents the human vessel into which god’s enlightenment is conveyed to the people. Still, this mortal body will age and die. Contrastingly, the two virtues represent the eternal nature of religion. The woman who represents divine wisdom holds her head down, looking intently at the Bible in her hands. The woman representing divine power can be seen looking up towards the sky and heaven above. Her face is much softer, and her hands clutch her chest as if in a moment of ecstasy.
Because Thorvaldsen was not a catholic, he was not allowed to sign his sculpture. Despite this, he couldn’t refuse an opportunity to have his work featured in the Vatican. But Thorvaldsen came up with the idea to sculpture his own faces into the Pope’s shoulder. In this way, he still managed to memorialize himself into the work.
Just down the hall from the large entrance are a series of smaller rooms containing various Thorvaldsen collection pieces. Most of the rooms are centred around a particular theme or character. One of my favourite of these pieces is the sculpture of Cupid and Psyche from 1891. The couple is wrapped up in a loving embrace. Where their shoulders meet, the two parts of marble almost looks like it is melting together. As if Cupid and Psyche are becoming one person, one whole piece.
The myth of Cupid and Psyche is one of the most touching of the ancient stories. Psyche was the third daughter, born to a mortal woman. As she grew, she became known as one of the most beautiful people on earth. Her loveliness seemed to rival that of even the god’s people would say. Venus, who held the title of goddess of beauty, was enraged at hearing this. She demanded that Cupid shoot Psyche with one of his love arrows and cause her to fall in love with a hideous monster.
Cupid obeyed, but when he went down to perform the task, he mistakenly pricked himself on the hand fell in love with Psyche himself. Knowing Venus would be furious with him if she found out, Cupid put Psyche on an island where he secretly visited her each night. He would kiss her under the veil of darkness, and when she asked to see his face, Cupid told Psyche never to look upon his face.
Psyche was badgered by her jealous sisters into discovering who this mystery lover was. They claimed he must have been a monster to hide his face from her. So one night after Cupid fell asleep, Psyche picked up a lamp to gaze down upon the man who lay with her. He was beautiful, and she was stunned. In her frozen state of awe, a drop of hot oil accidentally fell from the lamp and woke Cupid up.
Cupid was furious that she had disobeyed his orders, so he fled in the hopes that Venus wouldn’t find out. Psyche was heartbroken and angry with herself that she had been so foolish. She walked the earth endlessly, searching for Cupid. Until one day, she ran into Venus. Pleading her case to the goddess, Venus told Psyche if she accomplished a series of challenging tasks, she would bring her back to Cupid. But these tasks were impossible and caused Psyche much pain and suffering, but she never gave up. Cupid, watching her misery from above, pleads her case to the gods. Psyche was granted immortality by the gods, and Cupid and Psyche were married in heaven.
On the walls of this room are additional relief carvings of the life of Cupid. They present the moment of his birth by his mother Venus to his youth with his father, Mercury, the winged messenger of the gods. It even details more scenes from the love story of Cupid and Psyche.
Down the hall, you’ll find a small room dedicated to Maria Fjodorovna Barjatinskaja and Elizabeth Alexey Tarakanova. Maria Fjodorovna Barjatinskaja was a Russian princess who visited Rome with her husband in 1818. While in Rome, Thorvaldsen was very taken with the princess and asked her to model for him. A copy of the sculpture Thorvaldsen made was sent to St. Petersburg after the princess’s death.
Princess Tarakanova, on the other hand, was a pretender to the Russian throne. But Thorvaldsen found himself just as enamoured with her. Both of these sculptures represent Thorvaldsen’s skill in capturing a moment of thoughtfulness. You can almost see these women as learned people who consider the world around them instead of just arm candy for their husbands. Their portraits have great dignity while also being wonderfully sensual and languid. Thorvaldsen was a great admirer of both these beautiful women, and his affinity for them can be seen in the work.
In this incredibly sensual group, we see the Three Graces. They stand in an almost lovers’ embrace, their hands encircling each other. Their fingers gently caressing each other’s bodies, so delicately, their fingertips seem to just graze the skin. The Graces are the daughters of Jupiter but are servants of the goddess of love, Venus. Below their feet sits Venus’ son Cupid, playing the lyre. The three women’s position seems to form a protective circle around the child, ensuring he is safe from harm while he plays.
The three graces represent “beauty, love and modesty.” Beauty and love can clearly be seen on display here, and modesty is represented by the swath of cloth, draped over the column behind the grouping. If someone should enter and come upon them, they could quickly cover up with this cloth. And yet here we are, gazing upon them as if unseen by any of the women. And yet Cupid stares directly at us as if he was catching us in the act.
This sculpture captures the moment Venus received the golden apple from the mortal King Paris, which crowned her “the fairest goddess” of them all. Eris, the god of strife, created this golden apple and inscribed it with the pronouncement “the fairest goddess.” During a party on Mount Olympus, Eris asked the gods to vote on who should receive the apple. None of them could decide, so the gods asked King Paris to choose between Juno, Minerva and Venus herself. Paris was head over heels for Venus and immediately gave her the golden apple. In this scene, we can see Venus taking the apple, her hands raising the fruit towards her face to get a closer look. Her opposite arm reaches back to grab her clothes to cover her naked form.
Her expression is a curious one. You would imagine that being named the fairest god would bring someone joy, but her appearance is reasonably demure. There is just the slightest hint of a grin beginning to form on the corners of her mouth. This expressive choice is a crucial characteristic of Thorvaldsen’s work. He can perfectly capture in marble even the briefest moment or fleeting glance. Venus wants to appear polite in front of the other women who have been scorned by Paris but allows herself this minature little celebration.
This sculpture of Jesus Christ is one of Thorvaldsen’s most famous pieces. It was so impressive that it was copied multiple times, and versions of the statue can be seen in various castles and churches around Denmark. Christ stands before us, the moment just after he has been resurrected has been captured in marble. He holds his hand towards the viewer, almost in a pose of gentle assurance. His feet and hands still bear the crucifixion’s painful marks, but his face is peaceful and unaffected by such wounds. His face is angled straight down. To meet his eyes, you must stand almost directly under the statue. But by doing so, you have this one-on-one moment with the great man. Unlike other figures that stare straight out and anyone can meet their eyes, this sculpture forces you to get up closer and personal. You are then rewarded by this intimate experience.
This sweet scene depicts the mortal Ganymede‘s, giving a bowl of water to a great eagle, the god Jupiter in disguise. The eagle’s enormous size is exemplified as it seems to practically mirror the size of Ganymede. Ganymede was described by Homer as “the most beautiful of mortals.” Zeus had fallen in love with his beauty and sent Jupiter down to earth in the form of an eagle to abduct him and bring him back to Olympus to serve as Zeus’ cupbearer.
But Ganymede was a gentle and kind soul, and even when he was approached by this gigantic fearsome bird, he simply knelt down and offered it some water. Ganymede is practically perfect. The smooth, unblemished marble in stark contrasts to the eagle’s rough, harsh feathers and sharp-pointed beak.
A few doors down, you’ll find another statue of Ganymede. This time presented by Thorvaldsen as an older young man. In this portrayal, Ganymede now lives on Olympus acting as Zeus’ cupbearer. He is caught in the act of pouring the precious nectar of the gods. His eyes are focused solely on the pour to ensure none of the costly liquid is lost or wasted. We cannot see anyone gathered to receive the drink, so we can imagine he is pouring it out for us in a brief moment of fantasy.
The sculpture of Jason was the one that Canova saw in Rome and was overcome by. This Thorvaldsen’s break out work which made him a household name! But it was not just the beauty and craftsmanship of the sculpture that Canova was so drawn to. It was the message that was tied into the statue as well.
The story of Jason is also the story of democracy. Jason was the son of the Greek King Aison. When his father’s throne was stolen by his wicked uncle, Jason set out on a journey to find the Golden Fleece. It was a legend that anyone who obtained the Golden Fleece and brought it back to their home country would acquire great wealth and a fertile nation.
Jason took an army with him to this far off land, fought in many battles, and overcame many obstacles to finally find the Golden Fleece. The moment Thorvaldsen captured here is as Jason is caught carrying the fleece back down to his ship. Jason will set off back to his homeland and rule as the rightful ruler. But not just because it is his birthright, but because he had proved himself worthy of the task and will bring prosperity to his people. This democratic ideal that human abilities are the proof of a sound ruler, not just your bloodline, was a sentiment washing over all of Europe during the 1800s when Thordvalsen sculpted this piece.
Before Ganymede’s was Zeus’ cupbearer, the goddess Hebe previously held the position. Hebe was the goddess of youth, and her job was to pour the drink of immortality, made from the nectar of ambrosia. This would be poured out to the gods to preserve their long life. In the one hand, Hebe holds the cherished pitcher and, in the other, the bowl from which the gods would drink. Her eyes are laser-focused upon the bowl. But this intense focus was going to be all for naught as her story is a sad one.
One day while serving the precious nectar, her dress became undone, and she accidentally exposed herself to the audience of gods on Mount Olympus. When she went to cover her naked form, she spilled some of the nectar out on the floor, a great sin. Apollo cast her out for her insolence, and this was when Ganymede was abducted to replace her.
Her dress is a classical design, the only part of the drapery, giving her a shape is the belted waist. The lines in which the dress forms almost take the shape of a marble column. Thorvaldsen created two versions of Hebe in this pose, one where her breasts are exposed as in the story and one where her form is fully covered like we caught the moment just before her fall from grace.
Cupid is another of one of Thorvaldsen’s favourite characters. Although Cupid might not be one of the physically strongest gods, he wields tremendous power. Thorvaldsen truly believed that love was one of the world’s strongest influences. Here we see Cupid, looking triumphantly at his arrow, which could subdue all the other gods despite being so small. Below Cupid are items from the rest of the gods’ pantheon. These tokens were left behind, perhaps to serve as a reminder of Cupid’s great superiority. You can make out the helmet of Mars, Jupiter’s thunderbolt, Hercules’ lion skin, and finally Apollo’s lyre.
Cupid’s eyes seem to focus on the arrow’s sharp tip. Cupid appears wrapped up in a moment of awe, that such a small thing could imbue such authority. Despite this moment of triumph, there is a tinge of sadness in his eyes as she realizes the weight of his powers, which will weigh on his shoulders for eternity. This sculpture is perhaps the best interpretation of the classic quote, “with great power comes great responsibility.”
Another portrait of Cupid features his relationship with the God of War, Mars. Cupid is vastly dwarfed by the enormous figure of Mars, towering above him. Mars was Cupid’s father. This appears to be a classical scene of father and son bonding. Perhaps Mars is in the process of teaching Cupid about the responsibilities of being a god. Mars holds out his massive and sturdy hand towards Cupid. In it, Mars holds one of Cupid’s arrows, and Cupid looks up at the pointed tip with a quizzical appearance, his finger on his chin in contemplation.
Mars being the god of war, must have found himself to be at odds with his son, whose strengths lay in the polar opposite arena, that of love. This is a well-told part of life for many people who share juxtaposing passions with their parents. Yet, there is still hope for connection in this scene as their bodies seem to almost fuse together at the bottom of the sculpture where Mars’ leg meets Cupid’s shoulder. Proof that even polar opposite can still connect.
One of my favourite pieces is this sculpture of the Goddess of Hope, Elpis. She is almost always depicted as a young woman, carrying flowers in her hands. The flower in her hand is a pomegranate flower, which symbolizes fertility and eternal life. Her body’s shape reflects Thorvaldsen’s love of antiquity and the very archaic and stiff poses that come out of that era. While her stoic face leaves much to be desired, the draping of her clothes is phenomenal. On her left leg, the fabric seems to cling to her body like a second skin. You can almost feel in your fingertips the delicateness of the cloth from just looking at how he carved the fabric atop her body.
One of the most essential pieces in the museum is the sculpture of Bertel Thorvaldsen himself. Seeing him in person is like being greeted by the man for whom this entire building is dedicated. He is leaning on a minature version of the previous statue, the Goddess of Hope. We catch him here, taking a break from his work, posing in front of his sculpture. But he clearly isn’t stopping for too long as his tools are still in his hand. His expression is rather stern, almost as if he is still concentrating on his work of art. It’s hard not to take notice of the lightly hung shirt he is wearing, which has casually fallen open, revealing his taut chest to the audience. Another suggestion of the pride that Throsvaldsen took in his appearance.
With his iconic winged hat, this suspenseful and tense scene of Mercury, drawing his sword in anticipation of slaying Argus, is perfectly captured by Thorvaldsen. Argus was a terrifying many-eyed monster who had captured Jupiter’s lover Hera. Jupiter had sent Mercury to go and kill Argus and free his love. This might seem a puzzling choice at first, especially when we look at Mercury, as presented here. He doesn’t look the part of a strong, powerful fighter, able to defeat the great beast. No, Mercury was the god of trickery and thieves. Jupiter thought that instead of sending a mighty warrior, he would send Mercury, who would come up with a plot to fool the unbeatable beast. Being the cunning god he was, Mercury played his pipe for the beast and lulled him to sleep, closing all those watchful eyes. Once he was asleep, Mercury was able to draw his sword and put an end to the great monster.
One of the most affecting statues in the gallery is that of the dying lion. The lion is splayed out on top of a shield with the fleur-de-lis symbol etched upon it. This sculpture was design to commemorate the six hundred Swiss Guards who died defending the Tuileries during the French Revolution. The lion almost seems to be in the morning atop this shield. Such a powerful, evocative human emotion is coming from the animal’s face.
In addition to sculptures, the museum houses hundreds of sketches, drawings, and miniatures that Thorvaldsen used to prepare for his incredible sculptures. It’s fantastic to see the process in which he painstakingly would create to come up with his final sculpture.
On the second floor of the gallery, you’ll find hundreds of reference books that Thorvaldsen used to study to perfect his interpretation of the neo-classical sculptures.
I hope you enjoyed this tour of the Thorvaldsen museum, and if you’re never heard of him before, that you thoroughly enjoyed discovering his work as I did. Let me know in the comments if you’ve ever visited this museum before or what your favourite piece of art from the collection was.
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