Beyond compare

At the time they were made, neither of these sculptures was an autonomous artwork, instead they both formed part of larger compositions used for religious or ritual purposes.

The statuette from the Kingdom of Benin represents the goddess Irhevbu or the Princess Edeleyo and probably formed part a memorial altar or a shrine for the archer Ake, who was worshipped as a god.

The Benin sculpture had probably been in its original African context until 1897, the year when British troops marched into the Kingdom of Benin, plundered the royal palace and sent the king into exile. Many valuable objects were plundered, brought to Britain and sold.

Donatello’s putto was one of a group of six figures crowning the baptismal font of Siena Cathedral. Four of these sculptures are still in place.

In the early twentieth century, both of these works were acquired for what is now the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin on the London art market Donatello’s putto was bought and sold by a number of collectors before its acquisition by Wilhelm Bode, director of the Berlin museums, in 1902.

Why does the goddess have two numbers on her back?

The African figure has two codes on its rear: III C 10864 and 9794. The first is the accession number assigned by the museum, meant to clearly identify it within the collection. The second is probably an older number given to it by a dealer.

Donatello’s putto bears the accession number 2653. But the number was not placed on the back of the piece, but on the underside of the shell, where it would be invisible to the viewer.

The mangaaka’s protective power was based on its deterrent force – and on its use of spiritually charged medicinal matter.

This material was installed by a ritual expert in its navel cavity as well as in the chin and head.

When oaths were sworn or agreements of peace were made, nails were driven into the figure. If someone did not hold to an agreement thus sealed, the mangaaka would wield its power against this person.

The Virgin of Mercy was probably part of an altarpiece before which worshippers kneeled. Mary is supernaturally large compared to those seeking protection under her cloak, and this emphasizes her importance and the hope placed in her.

Mary acts towards the faithful as the caring Mother of God. With a gesture of love, the Virgin spreads her cloak over those she is protecting like a hen taking her chicks under her wings.

From the early Middle Ages on, depictions of the Last Judgement commonly appeared on the main western portals and entrances of churches.

Every time believers entered the church they were reminded that one day they would have to account for their actions before Christ, the judge of the world. Paradise awaited the blessed, Hell the damned.

Among the Fang people in Cameroon and Gabon the Ngil society dealt with identifying and punishing evildoers well into the 20th century. Using terrifying masks the society carried out a kind of inquisition.

The masks, worn during dances, warned against defying societal order. At the same time they symbolized the Ngil society’s rights of jurisdiction. The mask resembles a skull, visually emphasizing the fact that certain offences were punishable by death.

The statue of Mary must have appeared even more life-like at the time of its creation.

The wood-brown sculpture we see today was once richly painted in different colours. In contrast to the vividness of their clothing, the delicate colour of the skin on their faces and hands emphasized the close bond between the mother and the child.

The pfemba figure has probably also lost its original colour. In the context of their ritual use, such figures were often coated with layers of mpemba (white kaolin clay) and tukula (red redwood soil).

The white colour represented the ancestors’ bones, the red their blood. European collectors later polished these figures, stripping them of an important layer of meaning.

The African sculpture expresses power directly, through its severe composition, the arms held out in front, and the overly large hands...

...and feet. Following the myth, Chibinda Ilunga is depicted as a hunter carrying a rifle, an ammunition pouch, and a knife. A tortoise shell, a staff, and an antelope horn bring luck to the hunter,

while three guardian spirits on his head grant him supernatural powers. The long beard and striking headdress identify him as a king.

Hans Leinberger, working around 450 years earlier, conveyed the power of the Christian saviour in a very different manner. Only the crown of thorns, placed on his head in scorn by the Roman soldiers who mistreated and mocked him, identifies the exhausted man as Christ.

The figure’s muscular body, reminiscent of characters like Hercules or Atlas from Classical mythology, thus appears all the more surprising. The Son of God is prepared to take the suffering of the whole world on his own shoulders. It is this that gives the Christian saviour his power.

In the creation myth of the Bamana of Mali the primordial being tyi wara, who took the form of an animal, taught agriculture to mankind. In his honour people wore antelope headdresses and performed a were danced at rituals associated with the clearing of the fields.

Tyi Wara sculptures are bound to the woven caps worn by dancers as part of their costumes. The sculpture in Berlin is probably a headdress for a related ritual, sogoni kun.

It skilfully combines the horns of the antelope with other animals of significance in the Bamana culture: the lower portion is reminiscent of an aardvark, while the middle part of the body resembles a pangolin.

The figure of a woman on the front identifies the mask as female.

The second object portrays Diana, the ancient goddess of the hunt, riding on a leaping stag. As a ‘drinking game’ it was filled with wine, and drinkers had to lift it to drain the cup.

Similar table decorations with Diana on a stag contained wind-up mechanisms allowing them to move across the table top.

The young woman on the ivory carving smiles seductively at us.

With her right hand she lifts a veil and points directly at her genitals with her finger. The gesture could hardly be more clear. She embodies sinful indecency.

The carving, made of ivory, was clearly a luxury object. It was presumably originally owned by a member of the nobility or of a wealthy merchant family. Whether the owner valued the piece as a ‘memento mori’ or perhaps more for its depiction of female nakedness remains an open question.

The objects in this pairing appear particularly similar at first glance. Both consist of two human figures standing back to back. The relationship between the two figures, however, could hardly be more different.

The Luba object presents two elements that harmoniously complement each other. The female and the male stand as equally valuable parts of a larger whole. Women were respected as the messengers and advisors of kings in the Luba kingdom, and seen as divine agents by the male rulers.

The European ivory object, on the other hand, uses the comparison of two antithetical concepts as a warning to its owner.

It can be read as an expression of Western modes of thought influenced by Christianity, focusing on sharp contrasts rather than reciprocal complementation.