Sisters of Anarchy by Edith Rimmington

a double image

Surrealism is full of double images, mirrored others and ghostly second selves. Here, the British surrealist Edith Rimmington plays with the primitive undertones of classical art.

The setting for this fantastical piece of statuary is very mysterious to me. I cannot decide whether is it an abandoned, archaeological site or whether Rimmington has re-situated her Greek/Roman figure in a 1930s/1940s-tiled room to indicate the current relevance of the image (which she created around 1940). What do you think?

Either way, these sisters from a distant past are speaking to us now, in our own age of upheaval and change.

Sisters of Anarchy by Edith Rimmington, 1941

When you first walk into this place you see me as an unremarkable ancient statue of a goddess wearing swathed fabric. The stone, you notice, is dirty and crazed with age, and lichen is growing in the creases giving the effect of rust. You know that once I would have been brilliant white and you try to picture me in my original state before the centuries of neglect in this half-ruined temple with its colourful floor. But my defects, rather than my lost beauty, draw your eye.

As you gaze, I begin to split into two linked identical forms in which the classical original shines cleanly but a shadowy other also appears and grows browner and stranger. You can see both of us now: my sister and I. A figure is detectable in the earthy folds of my sister’s body and her breasts became eyes. Embedded in the wrinkles of her tawny fabric, our true, double identity reveals itself.

I am white marble: an elegant figure displayed in museums representing the classical ideal that educated visitors find pleasing and comprehensible. But my hidden sister is older. She is the goddess within the stone. She is Athena, the savage goddess of war. Athena, who takes the form of an owl. She is the marauder of armies, the screech in the night chilling your blood. See her rapier beak, ready to eviscerate her prey.

She stands before you for an instant at a time and then I take her place again. Look at the neat toe of my shoe that peeps out from under the hem of my garment. Now see how, in my sister, it transforms into a reptilian claw that snatches its victims from above.

Ah yes, the classical tradition you treasure and trust as the basis of so-called civilization is a mirage, a smoke screen. Half-close your eyes and you will see the severe truth of the gods that sweeps away all comfortable ideals of proportion, beauty and docile femininity.

This will be the last Fur Cup encounter for 2024, and in 2025 I’ll be posting/sending out emails roughly monthly instead of fortnightly. The reason for this is that it’s time I got on with writing my next novel, but I shall carry on writing Fur Cup instalments because I still have lots more surrealist art to share with you.

So let me wish you and yours a very happy festive season and thank you very much for reading my Substack. The Fur Cup will remain free, but I would be very glad if you could share these emails and click the ‘like’ (heart-shaped) button or leave a comment to help me increase the number of my subscribers.