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Writer: Arthur Bruso
Arthur Bruso
2 days ago
4 min read
Gray-green box with a pink stopper above a lizard figure and pink pot on a white bottle silhouette.
Arthur Bruso; The Head of the White Crow; 2 1/2" w x 5 1/8" H x 2 5/8" d; plastic, mat board, acrylic paint, steel wire, acrylic medium; Box Construction

 

 

Its blood is the most precious Medicine upon earth,

The same has not its like in the world.

For this blood drives away all disease

In the bodies of metals,

Of men, and of beasts.

From it the Sages derive their science,

And through it they attain the Heavenly Gift,

Which is called the Philosopher's Stone,

Possessing the power of the whole world.



In this passage from The Book of Lambspring, Nicholas Delphinas is explainimg the folkloric belief that the salamander was impervious to flames. It could not die in the fire because its blood contained a precious component that would cure all ills and could regenerate body parts. The salamander with its seeming magical abilities, immunity to fire, and its ability to renew itself became a symbol of the ultimate goal of the alchemist.


How this damp, soft-bodied, little creature, which is indeed very vulnerable to heat and dryness, was perceived to possess this extraordinary ability was because of association and misunderstanding. The salamander, being amphibious, with delicate skin that needs constant damp and shade, often finds a home in logs stacked for firewood. When the log that the salamander has chosen for safety from the harsh, drying sunlight, is then tossed into the fire of the household fireplace, the creature will scurry out of the flames in desperation to escape and find other shelter. People misunderstanding the salamander’s needs and situation misinterpreted this survival behavior. They believed that the salamander was being born of the flames and therefore immune to them.


Through this belief, the salamander became a symbol of fire and the purification property of fire. Alchemists took this symbol of the salamander and applied it to their work. It became the way of referencing the Rubedo, the final stage of the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone. After the material in the alchemical furnace has been purified through the Albedo stage, called the White Bird because the material in the vessel has been distilled to its pure whiteness, it was then ready for the intense red-hot heat that would convert it into the Philosopher’s Stone. Heating the pure white material to the red-hot stage to form the Philosopher’s Stone is called the Rubedo.

 

This small box is my interpretation of that final stage of success where the material in the alchemical flask has crystallized out of the flame into the “nature of the salamander” or to have become unaffected to further distillation, making it ready to become the Philosopher’s Stone. The small toy salamander is hovering over reddening (pink) material at the base of the box. It is held in place by the downward pointing stopper of the flask. The flask itself is represented by a painted silhouette on the back of the box.


I had become interested in the imagery of alchemy when my partner and I began looking for a name and a logo for the gallery we were founding. The imagery of alchemy seemed fertile ground to explore because we envisioned our gallery to be a workshop of transformation, a place where artists transform their raw materials and concepts into the distilled completeness of their art. We were also interested in the concept of the Cabinet of Curiosities where all the world’s wonders were collected to be seen in one place.

In researching the imagery, I became fascinated by the allegories and symbols that surrounded the Great Work of the alchemists. It was frustrating that much of the process was obfuscated behind these dense images and obscure terminology. But this mystery was also part of the appeal. Mystery allows a broader interpretation of an idea.

I keep a growing collection of varied odd objects that I hope will find places in my art. Coming upon the small salamander among my collected objects had my mind jump immediately to the folklore of the salamander. I had made the salamander when I was a child with my Creepy Crawlers Thingmakers set. The other objects came together out of my collection because they fit the purpose of the idea as it grew from the incombustible salamander to the alchemical symbolism of the process of purification. The presence of pink in the coloration of the plastic salamander allowed the pink (or as I propose, the reddening) objects to cohere into a visual whole.


It was never my intention to practice alchemy. Despite the many treatises and books on the subject, it did not appeal to me as a practice. It was clear that for all the words and philosophy written about alchemy, it was ultimately unsuccessful at turning base matter into gold or finding the Philosopher’s Stone. These two pursuits were it highest goals. The entire system was flawed from the start because of Aristotle. He believed in the philosophy that one element could change into another. He was convinced that metals grew inside the earth like plants, maturing from base metals like lead into perfect metals like gold. It became the lasting belief and understanding of the alchemical process. This is in contradiction to the contemporary scientific understanding of the extreme geophysical and astrophysical energy necessary for the creation of elements. I was mainly interested in the surfeit of highly imaginative images that we found through our research and the allegorical interpretations that accompanied them. My interest was purely atheistic. My toy salamander was the inspiration that provided the cascade of ideas fueled by the research I had been carrying out. This confluence of objects and images converged into this piece that is a culmination of my thoughts on transmutation and an impossible goal.


Black-and-white engraving of a muscular man spearing a salamander inside a blaze, with hills and a castle in back.
A Salamander Lives in the Fire, Which Imparts to It a Most Glorious Hue.

Arthur Bruso ©2026


 
 
 
Writer: Arthur Bruso
Arthur Bruso
6 days ago
2 min read
Portrait of a seated man in a white uniform and black bicorne hat against a gray background, painted in a solemn style. Painted by Picasso.
Pablo Picasso; Harlequin Sitting (Portrait of Jacinto Salvadó); oil on canvas; 51 3/16 in. h × 38 3/16 in. w; 1923

After WWI, Picasso and other European artists began painting in a neoclassical style. This movement was called the Return to Order. Artists began to take their inspiration from traditional European art as a reaction to the war. Cubism was partially abandoned even by Picasso. Futurism, which had praised machinery, dynamism, violence and war, was rejected by most of its adherents.


“Harlequin” is a painting from this period. The Commedia dell’Arte figure of Harlequin was a significant character to Picasso. For him, Harlequin plays the role of a melancholic double, embodiment of the artist’s isolation and fragility. This painting is deliberately planned to look partly finished with the under drawing exposed. Picasso deftly balances the painted part with the drawn part, while placing the emphasis on the portrait with the lighter grey halo around the sitters face. The work is also a showcase for Picasso’s drawing skills.


The sitter is Jacinto Salvadó, who was an aspiring artist, and also originally from Spain. Picasso had lured Jacinto away from his place as assistant to Andre Derain to sit for a series of Harlequins. In return, Picasso introduced Jacinto to his art world contacts, and helped him become established in the Parisian galleries.


Book page with text and a black-and-white Picasso Harlequin portrait, captioned 177. Pablo Picasso. Harlequin. 1923. From the book An Artists's Notebook by Bernard Chaet.
I first saw this painting in the book An Artist's Notebook by Bernard Chaet, published in 1979. I found this book in the MFA studios when I started my program at the University of Pennsylvania. I saw it in life for the first time at the Metropolitan Musem of Art exhibition Unfinished.

Arthur Bruso © 2018




 
 
 
Writer: Arthur Bruso
Arthur Bruso
Aug 29
9 min read
Book page with a pencil sketch of the minotaur on the left, printed text about Minos and Theseus, page 186 visible.
The marginalia of the minotaur drawn by an anonymous draftsperson in my copy of Jean Cocteau's collected diaries, Past/Tense.

June 20, 1952

What Theseus saw as he approached Greece, we saw this morning around eight, a sun very dangerous for the wax of Icarus’s wings. Engine trouble. Anchor in a high swell. Paul overhauls. We are still fifty miles from Candia. We start up again at ten. Patches of snow on the mountaintops.


One o’clock. We turn off the motor, which is overheating. These necessary and unpleasant stops (because of the swell) keep us from arriving before dark. We wait on deck.

Minos in love with Theseus. Pasiphaë still infatuated with her white bull and furious that her son is imprisoned because he has his father’s head. Phaedra, who calls her mother a cow, her father a pederast, and thinks of nothing but escaping from the island. Ariadne in love with Theseus; Icarus in love with Ariadne and tells her the secret of the thread; Ariadne tells it to Theseus in return for a promise of marriage. Theseus conspires with Phaedra to abandon her sister at Naxos, etc. A nice play, impossible to write because of the exhaustion I feel at the thought of my contemporaries’ extreme stupidity. The closer Orphée gets to the coast of Crete, the more clearly the play looms in my mind, and the more certain I am to give up – I have had enough of imbecile Europe.


Scenario: The journey of the twelve young men and the twelve maidens, taken to Crete to be “devoured by the Minotaur.” Endless journey, judging by ours. Atmosphere of a tuberculosis sanatorium. Since the monster is herbivorous, it is easy to see that the twelve maidens and twelve young men are destined to serve other appetites.


Jean Cocteau, Past/Tense the Cocteau Diaries Vol. 1

 

In this 1952 entry of Jean Cocteau’s diary, we get a glimpse of Cocteau’s thinking as he sails to Crete, bored and stuck on the yacht of his socialite patron. The yacht is having engine trouble because the swelling sea is forcing the engine to overwork. To compensate fighting the waves and keep the engine from overheating and causing major damage, it was necessary for the captain to stop the engine to allow it to cool, then move forward until it grew hot again. This necessary approach to saving the engine was causing an eight-hour jaunt to last nearly twice as long. To make the fitful journey less tedious, Cocteau begins to imagine a play based on the myth of the minotaur. Crete is the home of the mythological minotaur and for Cocteau it activates his imagination in the direction of the island’s most famous denizen.


What makes this particular passage from Cocteau’s diary singularly notable for me, is that in my copy an anonymous doodler drew a very competent illustration of the fabled minotaur Cocteau is referencing in his account of the day. The bull-headed monster is peeking out menacingly from behind the wall of the text block into the margin of the book. In the passage, Cocteau is managing a fairly coherent and irreverent outline of the play he has in mind. While the brief lines he writes are impertinent and charming, he has taken several artistic liberties with the accepted narrative of the myth. Unfortunately, he abruptly cuts off his reverie as he succumbs to his persistent frustration and anger at the human insistence on war and destruction. He is writing in his diary seven years after the end of WWII, and he is still outraged at the devastation and loss of human life caused by the war.


It would be quite a deviation for King Minos to fall in love with Theseus and perhaps a boon to gay storytelling, but the original myth gives a different take. Minos is a tyrant and quite smug about bringing mighty Athens to her knees. When he does spot the tall, handsome, and confident prince of Athens among the 14 newly arrived sacrifices to the minotaur (7 male and 7 female, not 24 as Cocteau asserts), Minos believes he has scored a coup against his enemy. As the victor of the war against Athens and as compensation and humiliation for the loss of his son in battle, Minos has ordered the brightest and most talented Athenian youth to be sent into the maze as sport and feed for the cannibalistic minotaur.


The minotaur itself was a product of the unholy union between Queen Pasiphaë, Minos’ wife and the sacred white bull Poseidon had sent to Crete as a sign that Minos was the true and able ruler of the island. Minos is the son of Europa who was seduced by Zeus in disguise as a white bull. To escape Hera’s jealous wrath over another of her husband’s infidelities, Zeus carries Europa off to the island of Crete where he safely marries her to King Asterion the ruler of the island. Europa already has had two other sons fathered by Zeus in addition to Minos. Understanding his duty to the mightiest of the gods, Asterion agrees to be their stepfather and wife of Europa.


Not being a true heir to the throne of Crete and in competition with his two other brothers, Minos asks Poseidon (the patron god of the island) to send a sign that he is the worthy ruler. Poseidon bargains with Minos, proffering a white bull (there is a theme here) rising out of the sea as the sign of Minos’ authority to the throne. There is a caveat, the miraculous white bull is presented as the asked for sign, but Poseidon has made it clear to Minos that it must be returned as a sacrifice in gratitude for the sign.


Upon seeing the white bull in the flesh, Minos becomes fascinated with its pristine color and its perfect form and decides to keep the bull and substitute a lesser animal for the sacrifice of thanks. Poseidon is neither fooled nor amused by Minos’ act of hubris. In retaliation for Minos’ covetousness of the sacred bull, Poseidon causes Queen Pasiphaë to develop an unnatural lust for the sacred white bull. A lust that is not satisfied until she mates with it.

From Queen Pasiphaë’s uncontrollable indiscretion is born the minotaur, a half bull, half human monster that craves human flesh. The minotaur is the physical manifestation of human greed, lust and hubris. When the gods make an agreement, a mortal cannot renege or change the terms of the agreement. The result will be ugly and dangerous.


Even though Queen Pasiphaë birthed a flesh-eating monster, she still harbored maternal feeling toward her progeny. She was never comfortable with Asterion (she named the beast after her father-in-law) being bull-faced and difficult to keep under control. Still, she was also acutely aware that the only reason that this brut of a child survived was because of its royal blood, and that it served Minos as a way to keep the conquered Athenians terrorized and under his oppression. In the outline of his unrealized play, Cocteau is correct that Queen Pasiphaë was angry at the imprisonment and treatment of her son, but she also understood that it was the only way to hide the royal abomination and keep the citizens of Crete safe from its cannibalistic nature.


Cocteau adds Phaedra into his minotaur drama. Phaedra is a daughter of King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë, but she is not featured in the minotaur myth at all. He is reusing a line from his 1949 play Rinaud et Armide that he found sharp and humorously vulgar that pares down her parent’s legacy. Calling Queen Pasiphaë a cow reduces her to the mating receptacle for the white bull. Accusing her father of pederasty aligns with ancient sources that accuse Crete under King Minos’ rule of inventing institutionalized pederasty. To control the population on an island with limited space, it is claimed by Aristotle* among others that Minos encouraged same sex relations between men, and to have embedded the practice into Cretan law. It is true that Phaedra, like her sister Ariadne, viewed their native island as more of a prison that they desperately wanted to escape from, than a paradise they hoped to rule.


Ariadne is the true love interest in the myth of the minotaur. It was she who set her sights on Theseus as soon as she saw him among the Athenian youth sacrifices. While his attractiveness, height, and confidence were appealing, it was his status as a prince that mostly caught Ariadne’s attention. She could be a princess in Athens, keep her rank, and leave the confines of her claustrophobic island. However, it was not Icarus as Cocteau would have it, who Ariadne went to for the solution to help Theseus maneuver the maze. It was his father Daedalus, the designer and builder of the maze who gave her the string that Theseus should drop behind him in order to trace his way back. As Mistress of the Entrance to the Maze, Ariadne had access to the human sacrifices. It was easy for her to slip the ball of string and a knife to Theseus. She did not do this out of pure love for Theseus. She made him promise to take her with him on his return to Athens and make her his queen. Besides being desperate to leave the confines of Crete and her tyrannical father, she understood that what she was doing was an act of treason. He father would not go easy on his daughter’s act of rebellion.


Theseus agreed to Ariadne’s demands, not because he returned her feelings of love, but because he needed Ariadne’s help to overcome the minotaur and release the hold Minos had on his people. In some ways he found Ariadne repellant. She was pushy and demanding. Additionally, she was purported to be a follower or even a priestess of Dionysus the god of wine, which in ancient times was often a euphemism for a lover of drink. So, Theseus used Ariadne’s ardor toward him to his advantage to navigate the maze and kill the minotaur to free Athens from the tyranny of Minos.


Although it may offer more intrigue than the original myth, Theseus did not conspire with Phaedra to abandon the irksome Ariadne on the island of Naxos as Cocteau imagines. Theseus was only too ready on his own to relieve himself from his empty vow to Ariadne. As agreed, and out of pity for her treason, Theseus took Ariadne with him as a passenger when he made his escape from Crete. Stopping at the safety of the island of Naxos for rest and supplies for the ship, the crew and passengers also celebrated escaping the horror of the minotaur. When it was time to set sail again and continue to Athens, Theseus took advantage of Ariadne’s deep, intoxicated slumber to leave the intolerable situation of Ariadne’s demands behind.


As a heroic figure, Theseus’ abandonment is difficult to justify. A prince as perfect in body, mind, and deed would never simply solve his dilemma of Ariadne by abandoning her in a foreign land. The storytellers offer reasonings that try to ease the offense of desertion. He was ordered by another god such as Dionysus or Athena to leave her behind, or bad weather while reboa#pashrding the ship prevented Theseus from getting her on board. Whatever the motivation, the usual ending is happy for Ariadne, she is found by the god Dionysus, and he marries her and she becomes cause for a “new constellation” when Dionysus throws her wedding crown into the sky. Of course, for the cynical this can also be interpreted that Ariadne become more of a drunkard after her abandonment and treachery by Theseus.


Book cover of Jean Cocteau Past Tense: The Cocteau Diaries, Volume One, with a sepia portrait of a man in profile.

By adding the image of the minotaur as part of the Cocteau’s diary entry, the anonymous draftsperson brings not only a sense of the countenance of the half man – half bull monstrosity, but also how it may have terrorized the lost sacrificial youth by its lurking behind the next wall of the maze, by drawing him stepping out from behind the wall of text.

The minotaur is a symbol of all the fears and terrors we have when we navigate the unknown. It is a composite of all the imagined boogie men that we assume will thwart our progress as we try to move forward in life. We never know what we will encounter in the dark halls of fate or how we will vanquish the demons we are sure to find there as we grope our way to the center where the reward is supposed to lay. We cannot rely on a string to backtrack out of the maze, because life only moves forward. Our confidence and bravery may fail us in our attempts to inch our advance into the unknown. We have no Ariadne to goad us into the darkness. We may succumb to the minotaur at any turn, but there is no way but onward into the maze.


*Aristotle, The Politics, Book II, Chapter 10 (Bekker numbering 1272a 22–24).


Arthur Bruso © 2026


 
 
 
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