Pious Widow, Exotic Dancer, Murderous Whore: The Photo Art of Anya Roz

The Russian-born, New York-based artist photographer Anya Roz speaks about her childhood in the “aggressively atheist Soviet state, where religious literature was long equated to opium (oh, these ever-present quotes from the undead resident of the red mausoleum) and where biblical literature was a dangerous thing to own.” In that environment, she found that “the best place for learning the Torah stories was, strangely enough, the very secular classical art museums, condoned by the state under the banner of ‘culture.’”

For Roz, the narratives contained in paintings by Rembrandt, Velasquez, El Greco, and Michelangelo were “strange, exhilarating and demanded an explanation.” She noticed that they were important enough to be retold by the great masters again and again over the centuries, while styles replaced one another and cultures were transformed. Among the stories that most impressed her were:

those of David, tiny conqueror of giants, and Judith, the fearless girl sneaking out of the city to save it from doom—both pictured with their enemies headless and conquered. There was Joseph, his beauty so irresistible it lands him in prison, with mystical wisdom so deep it brings him the great power to save his people from death and starvation.

Rembrandt’s Balthazar provided Roz’s first glimpse of written Hebrew and made her inquire about the story’s true origins.

The stories weren’t presented as Jewish, and the rest of the world often claimed them for their own. The Soviet teachings allocated them to the realm of myth. But unlike other ancient tales (Egyptian and Babylonian, Roman and Greek), to me these seemed strangely relevant—hinting at their deeper meaning, their continuous mapping of the modern psyche, their connection to the living tradition. Only later, in the context of Jewish thought, did it become apparent just how alive these stories are, how ever-present in contemporary Jewish life, connecting generations thousands of years apart. . . .

Anya Roz, Abraham and the Angels (2013)

“In working on these stories,” says Roz, “I attempt the work of an archaeologist, unearthing the concrete proof of a mythic event in history, only in this case going backwards, digging for the mystical truth of some sort in the synthesis of classical imagery and modern photographic medium.” Originally, she planned a triptych of three famous biblical beheadings: David, Judith and Salomé, “a boy with the head of a giant, a heroine with the head of an enemy and a whore with the head of a prophet.” David and Goliath images are planned but not complete. With her staged portraits of Judith and Salomé, Roz fuses the visual language of classical painting with contemporary photography and reinstates the abiding relevance of these figures in a modern context.

Of Judith, Roz says: “Yes, Judith was a ‘pious widow,’ but the images of mourning and chastity conjured up by these words (at least in the modern mind) seem somewhat incongruent with her story.” She sees in Judith:

Anya Roz, Eliyahu (2013)

Anya Roz, Judith (2013)

a woman who uses her sexuality as a weapon—to tempt, conquer and kill a man who has threatened her life and her city. It is a trick of fragility and grace, lethal intent and immovable will. She does not ride into battle with her shield raised. She has no shield. Her defense is her fancy clothes and her nakedness, her jewelry and perfume, her tenderness, her loving voice. Her weapon is her murderous secret.

Here Roz sees a paradox:

Salomé arouses a man to ask for the head of a saint on a platter. The “pious widow” harnesses the power of her nakedness, while the “exotic dancer,” seemingly exposed, conceals herself in the safety of her family ties. And just as compelling is the predatory stripper’s innocence: Rather than receiving a king’s ransom, she gives away both her power and her reward. She plays into her mother’s obscure political games...