Sculptures

Zeus, the sovereign of Mount Olympus, the one who wields the thunderbolt and rules the sky, was the most powerful god, but also the most prolific. His insatiable appetite for love—whether with goddesses, nymphs, or mortal women—made him the father of a vast progeny. This is not a simple biographical detail; Zeus's offspring is, in essence, the structure upon which all mythology, theater, and art of Western civilization are based. Each of his children, whether Olympian gods or mortal heroes, represents a fundamental facet of human and divine existence.

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.