Leading the Ox

Stele of the Overseer of the Fortress Intef; c. 2000 – 1988 BC; Limestone; 30 11/16"h. x 55 7/8"w x 3 3/8"d; Metropolitan Museum of Art

I am one unique to his lord, free of disorder, who sets speech so that it is correct, who knows how to speak, who uses choice expressions, who sees far off, who plans for the future, who knows where to stand in the king’s house. From the inscription.

The Stele of the Overseer of the Fortress Intef

Intef was an important official of King Mentuhotep II of the 11^th dynasty who ruled c. 2040 – 2009 BC. Through Mentuhotep II’s power and strategy, he reunited the kingdoms of Upper and Lower Egypt after over a century of rebellion. Intef, was installed by the conquering king as the Overseer (or a General in modern terms) in the northern Egyptian city of Herakleopolis (called Henen-Nsut in ancient Egypt – Child of the King). Herakleopolis had been the capitol city and home of the Upper Egyptian kings. Intef was the official sent there by the King to ensure that the defeated citizens remained loyal to their new King Mentuhotep II, and that the Upper and Lower kingdoms remained united in one Egypt.

Because Intef was an important, high ranking official, but not royalty, he did not have the lineage of the gods like most Egyptian kings. With no hereditary status of King and God, when he died, Intef was not allowed a royal burial in a monolithic structure like a pyramid, or entombment in highly guarded and secret networks like The Valley of the Kings. Intef’s interment was sanctioned by the King for entombment within a saff tomb. A saff tomb resembles a modern family mausoleum. It was often modest in size, cut into a rock face with several other rock cut rooms in linear progression. These additional rooms would be used for the burials of family members or other high-ranking officials as needed. These burial niches were hidden behind a mud brick structure with a portico for shelter and a ceremonial false door or ka door. The ka door is the magical access point between the spirit world and the living. All communications and offerings for the dead would be left here, and the spiritual servants would access them for the deceased. Public steles were mounted under the portico, each identifying and commemorating the official or family member who was interred in the tomb.

The tomb of Intef the Overseer present day. Intef's tomb would be to the left of the ka door. Right: A detail of the ka door as it exists in present day.

By all official accounts and by the inscription on his stele, Intef was excellent at his job at keeping peace in Herakleopolis and much favored by the King. At his death this stele was installed as a public monument on his tomb. It is more than just an inscription commemorating Intef’s loyalty to the king and honoring his proficiency in his duties, it is also a powerful magic spell to ensure that Intef will be provided for for all eternity. Its power was activated by the authority and blessing bestowed upon the carving and the burial place itself by the King and his unlimited power and authority as a God on Earth.

Map of the site of Intef the Overseer's tomb. Intef's tomb chamber is upper left.

On the left of the stele is a depiction of Intef and his wife Iti. Iti is shown sitting behind Intef.* Her placement and smaller stature reveal her slightly lesser status and dependence on her husband. Her affection for Intef is demonstrated by the placement of her arm around her husband, with her fingers shown clasping his left shoulder in a gesture of intimacy. They are both sitting on a bench held up with legs carved in the shape of lion’s paws. The paws symbolize their power as the local rulers appointed by the king.

Intef holds a sacred lotus to his nose. The lotus blossom was considered by ancient Egyptians to be where the sun god Ra was manifested from the primordial chaos. As the beauty of the lotus grows from the undifferentiated mud of the Nile so the beauty and power of Ra was manifested from chaos. As a symbol of resurrection and transformation, it indicates that Intef has passed through the trials of death and has been reborn with his spiritual senses rejuvenated and is now able to experience all the wonders the underworld has to offer.

Iti is holding a closed lotus bud which informs the viewer that she still remains among the living. Behind her sits her cosmetic box indicating that she is ready and prepared to join her husband when it is her time. Under the bench rests a dog waiting and resting as a symbol of Intef’s loyalty to King Mentuhotep II. The dog’s presence signifies peace, security and the restoration of order and more pragmatically Intef’s wish to bring his faithful companion with him into the next life.

Next to the couple is a table piled with all the food, equipment, and household goods that Intef will need to prosper in the afterlife. All is presented in perfect order on a reed mat (the knife-like shapes at the bottom of the pile) visually signaling that the deceased lived a life of cosmic truth and would sustain that divine order in the afterlife.

The last two rows under the inscription on the bottom right are carved images of servants and assistants who Intef will need to sustain his status and welfare in the afterlife. The figure leading an ox in the bottom row raised my curiosity because his representation was in marked contrast to the formal Egyptian rule of depicting figures in strict profile. This oddly presented figure is the herdsman. In life he lived in the desert tending his herd of cattle. His devotion to his job and his master is shown by his thinness and his weathered physique. It was the herdsman’s job to care for the cattle for the overseer, which also meant that his excellent care to his charges would be at the expense of his own well-being.

The ox is an indicator of extreme wealth and military nobility. As an ox (a castrated bull), is spiritually clean making it the highest acceptable sacrifice that can be offered to the gods. This renders it an exceptionally noble and special gift.

Herdsman leading the ox on the Stele of the Overseer Intef

At the end of the procession is the lone women. She balances a jar (some say a loaf of bread) on her head. It is she who is the symbolic attendant for Iti, and who will assure that all the domestic needs will be met for Intef in the afterlife and later for Iti when she joins her husband.

Female servant at the end of the procession.

This entire relief is perfectly balanced between the hieroglyphic text and the imagery. In Egyptian art the major figures of status are always larger than all the less noble figures. Intef and Iti occupy the greatest space in the composition, second to the magic spell that manifests the stele’s magic. The attendants and servants are diminutive and form a visually smaller role in the composition, yet their presence is the reason for the magic. Without the attendants providing their necessary tasks, Intef’s life in the underworld would not be possible.

These necessary attendants and their tasks include, giving the water of libation to cleanse Intef for the afterlife; the ka- priest to take care of Intef’s soul at death and to continue caring for it for eternity; a maker of incense; an embalmer to prepare Intef’s body so that it is preserved for the afterlife; the lector priest performing the offering that the king gives – this is the high priest who under the divine authority of the King recites aloud the  magic words at the tomb and activates the magic that the stele will make possible; a servant carrying a haunch of meat for the offering table; a servant carrying a tray of figs to the offering table; a servant carrying an offering of ducks; the herdsman leading the sacred ox; a servant carrying an offering of geese; a servant carrying a tray of delicacies to the offering table; a servant carrying an offering of a bouquet of papyrus flowers; the woman servant who insures the continuation of the domestic household.

This stele is more than a depiction of ancient Egyptian upper-class domesticity. It is an assurance that the entombed Intef will be provided for and honored for his eternity in the afterlife as he was during his earthly life. It has been sanctified by the God King, activated by the lector priest, and placed in public on the wall of the Intef’s tomb for all who pass by to see and to understand how important he was and venerated he is. In this prominent position the stele will perform its magic of protection and abundance as long as time exists.

* Due to the constraints of the Ancient Egyptian concept of perspective, Iti appears to be sitting behind Intef. In reality, she would be sitting beside her husband.

Arthur Bruso © 2026

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Another Master

A review of the Prime of Life by Simone de Beauvoir

When we discover that our icons conduct their daily affairs and relationships with the same contradictions and messy abandon that we lesser mortals do, there is not the relief that we are all the same, but rather the disillusionment that even our idols make mistakes. This was my reaction after reading Simone de Beauvoir’s autobiography The Prime of Life.

The Prime of Life is the second installment of de Beauvoir’s series of autobiographies. This volume begins in 1929, with the 21-year-old de Beauvoir freshly graduated from the University of Paris. She had already established her lifelong association with Sartre and moved out of her parents’ house. She rented a room from her grandmother in the city of Paris, where she finally felt freedom from the constraints of her immediate family. This arrangement did not entirely sever her family ties, but her grandmother allowed her the independence to come and go freely. That there would be an understanding of propriety and a level of reportage from the grandmother to de Beauvoir’s parents should her behavior warrant it was assumed. Still, de Beauvoir felt independent and took full advantage of the lack of obvious constraints.

Having graduated and taken the teaching exams at university, she secured a part time position at Lycée Victor Durvy and supplemented her income with some private tutoring. This light working schedule gave her much time to explore Paris and its pleasures as well as reestablish her association with Sartre. And it was Sartre to whom she was most excited to spend her time. It should be explained that de Beauvoir wrote about meeting Sartre in university in her first memoir, Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter. One of the difficulties of reading The Prime of Life is de Beauvoir structured her memoirs with the intention that the reader would read them all in order. Therefore, she does not summarize or repeat information that was presented in previous volumes. This can cause confusion for those who attempt to read her memoirs as stand-alone works.

De Beauvoir encountered Sartre at university when they were both taking their final exams. She had been introduced to Sartre by a mutual friend. After hearing Sartre’s own philosophical rejection of the bourgeois, she believed that she had found an intellectual match who shared her devotion to freedom. Sartre was not immune to de Beauvoir’s attractiveness. He also found in her a peer who shared his philosophy. He understood that she equaled his intellectual brilliance; however, he was also quick to tell her she needed coaching. They each considered the other as a true soul connection in terms of an essential love rather than something determined by fate. Essential love was a term that Satre coined for the benefit of de Beauvoir. By naming Simone and his relationship with her as essential, he was convincing her that they had a special, unbreakable bond. As he explained, this did not exclude the exploration of other romantic interests for either of them, since they retained their independence and were thwarting the bourgeoisie. Sartre called these extraneous liaisons “contingent.”

De Beauvoir’s rejection of the French bourgeois society she was born into had its roots in her family’s financial failings. Her family had lost their fortune during WWI when the grandfather’s bank collapsed due to bad speculations and the fraud to cover them up. This resulted not only in financial ruin for the family, but also in a social scandal that would follow the various members of the family for years. Trying to regain their financial status resulted in a further series of failed investments all of which reduced Simone’s family to genteel poverty. While they might claim their inherited bourgeois social position, they could not provide the dowery necessary for Simone to marry within her station. Instead, she was encouraged by her father to pursue an education that would provide Simone with the means to find work and become self-sufficient. This further alienated her from early twentieth century French society, since a working woman was viewed as unseemly and a violation of the social code adhered to by the bourgeois. This antiquated social expectation de Beauvoir’s was born into, expected an eligible woman to be educated in the social graces and home management, not to attend university and seek employment to earn their living. Simone decided to reject the constraints of the bourgeois in defiance of a social code she could not be part of and was rejecting her. She was reaffirmed in her repudiation of the bourgeois by the plight of her friend Zaza. Zaza was being compelled into a union that was profitable for her family but repugnant to her. Before this alliance could be legalized, she fell ill with viral encephalitis and died at 21. De Beauvoir blamed the psychological stress for her friend’s fatal illness and was convinced that bourgeois society was a murderous engine of conformity designed to constrain a women’s freedom.

After having been found and chosen by Sartre, de Beauvoir abandoned her cherished independence and freedom by allowing Sartre to dictate the parameters of their relationship. In effect, she trades the misogyny of her father and the restrictions of bourgeois society for the misogyny and restrictions of Sartre. It was Sartre who decided that they would never marry. Instead, that they would enjoy “contingent” loves, and that they would continue to spurn the bourgeois that turned their backs on them. This all seems suspiciously self-serving for Sartre. Sartre lost nothing in this arrangement. As a man, with greater freedom of choice, his status and social standing would not be affected. De Beauvoir was well aware that she was the one who would suffer the most from Sartre’s pact. She endeavored to explain the inequities of Sartre’s plan, but he rejected her rationalizations as dated and cowardly. De Beauvoir accepted Sartre’s terms for a relationship not only because she viewed him as the intellectual superior but because it aligned with her desire to escape the constraints of the bourgeois. She bought into his concept of perfect freedom regardless of the glaring flaws because it defined an ideal she hoped for. Still, de Beauvoir’s acceptance of Sartre’s dictum seems out of character for a woman who advocated for the disassembling of a similar traditional chauvinistic bias and envisioned a new radical future for women. Yet yielding to his authority by allowing him to dictate the rules of their association would serve her future in other ways.

This is what makes the reading of The Prime of Life so infuriating. Through de Beauvoir’s own telling, she, time after time acquiesces to the will of Sartre even when she internally questions his authority. She relates a conversation they had regarding the existence of microorganisms. Sarte argued vigorously against the actuality of a microscopic world that had the ability to affect human life. Sartre’s premise was that something cannot truly exist unless it is directly perceived and given meaning by human consciousness. De Beauvoir tolerated these wild counter scientific arguments of Sartre’s as part of his cognitive machinery. She rationalized that they allowed for his greater and broader theories of human freedom.

De Beauvoir’s acceptance of his arguments seemed more than likely a way to avoid opposing Sartre, risking alienation, and losing access to his self-declared golden brain. De Beauvoir gained world-renowned status being the companion to the individual who was considered the greatest genius in mid-century France. Her pride in his designation and her need to retain her secondary position at his side becomes more obvious as the book goes on. De Beauvoir knew that as a woman navigating a deeply sexist society, she would face an impossible uphill battle against closed patriarchal institutions trying to access the global intellectual mainstream entirely on her own. By anchoring her life to Sartre, she gained immediate entry into the absolute vanguard of cultural, political, and literary life.

Sartre decided for de Beauvoir that she must become a writer. De Beauvoir had youthful ideas about becoming an author, but she described herself as too indolent (page 52, Prime of Life). When faced with the blank page, she found nothing worthwhile to say and little motivation. She was indifferent to writing about the past because there was no reason to relive it. With these rationalizations against writing, she decided silence was best. Except Sartre had no tolerance for idleness, a condition he relegated to the bourgeois. He ordered de Beauvoir to write because she needed to open her eyes to the manifest glories of life. Under his directive she did.

Her approach to writing her autobiography was phenomenological. Taking her instruction from Sartre’s existentialism lexicon, she presented her life through her actual, sensory lived experiences. Her aim was to capture the exact feeling of her existence as she had lived it. She was determined not to present herself in a stereotypical feminine way which she perceived as emotional and romantic. As a result, The Prime of Life is dense with detail. Using her diaries as source material, de Beauvoir describes the minutia of all her experiences, from the clothing her companions wore, to the decorations in the café’s she frequented, to the practically word for word retelling of various conversations she was part of. This insistence on her philosophy of the self as something chosen and constructed, becomes a test of endurance for the reader.

In the Introduction de Beauvoir explains that she will not attempt to explain or justify Sartre’s philosophy because only he can discuss his ideas with any authority. Then continuously throughout her book, she does exactly that; she explains and rationalizes Sartre’s philosophical ideas in an attempt to justify her decisions to follow his lead and his orders. She tries heroically to convince her readers that she is maintaining her autonomy and is freeing herself from the constraints of her bourgeois upbringing by her association with someone whose star she believes is on the ascendent. Sartre’s star is on the ascendent, but he needs someone to do his unpleasant, tedious tasks for him – including finding him nubile women for intimate assignations as part of his idea of contingent relationships. Through her teaching, de Beauvoir had access to young women. If de Beauvoir discussed one she found interesting with Sartre, he would, under the guise of psychological material to be analyzed, encourage de Beauvoir to allow him to meet her and have them join and form a trio. If she hesitated, he would weaponize Simone’s jealousy as the enemy of freedom. And for her troubles she permanently lost her teaching license.

The Prime of Life is enlightening not for the window into the life of the youthful de Beauvoir starting out on her journey as the premier feminist of her age, but of a young woman who becomes infatuated with a charismatic young man and decides that he is who she will align herself with despite his problematic personality. It offers an account of an intelligent, educated woman who trades the very independence she decided was her right and hands it over to a man. Perhaps she would not be the immortal we now know if she had not, but regardless of her lengthy and verbose rationalizations, she compromised her own freedom to be in that place beside the towering Sartre. To be the second most admired intellectual in France was an achievement that de Beauvoir was proud to have accomplished.

Jean-Paul Sartre (left), Simone de Beauvoir (right)

Arthur Bruso © 2026

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Personal Space

Photo book Personal Space

When we realize how

much of us is spent

in rush hour subways

underground

no real exit

it will matter less

what token we pay

for change.

—Audre Lorde

excerpt from “One Year to Life On The Grand Central Shuttle”

I exposed the film that comprises the images for the two bodies of work, Personal Space and Waiting Room, while I was attending graduate school in Philadelphia. My intention was to capture images that I would later translate into paintings. That was the way I worked at that time – to use my own photography as reference material for my large-scale graphite drawings or oil paintings.

The series Personal Space evolved out of one of the rolls of film I exposed while casually wandering around Philadelphia’s Center City on a cloudy afternoon. My intention was to photograph random people on the street. That afternoon I succeeded in capturing a couple of recognizable eccentrics. The man who was always seen carrying a tall pole, I knew him as a character who frequented the gay bars of Center City. He would regale the patrons who were willing to listen that he was a griot, and his staff was a symbol of his authority, superiority, and a connection to his spirit ancestors. More pragmatically, he probably used it for protection on his wanderings as well. For a few drinks and usually a fee, he could be convinced to accompany a captivated patron home, making it clear that he was not gay. His fit physique, pleasant looks, and curly hair had many men willing to risk the possibility of harm given his irrational character and the threating look of his stick. I captured him with his omnipresent griot staff swaggering through Penn Square.

I photographed the denizen who had been eternally banned from every gay bar in Center City because of his anti-social behavior (stealing money off the bar and drinking unattended drinks) presumably stemming from his precarious indigent situation. He eyed me and my camera warily, as he passed in front of the notorious Annex Pub. The Annex Pub was a Center City gay dive bar originally located near the Bus Depot. It was eventually demolished to make way for the urban renewal project that became Reading Terminal Market.

While photographing a street vendor couple, I also inadvertently recorded a world-weary bank customer inside a Continental Bank. Her expression could be interpreted as defeat or resolution. Its ambiguity inferred a story of pathos that could only be guessed at.

These were highlights from that afternoon’s roll of film. The characters I mentioned I singled out because something in their locations and personas implied a compelling narrative. Ultimately, these narrative insinuations did not translate into any visually compelling imagery in the photographs. At the time, I was accessing them as subjects for paintings. What I saw on film did not look strong or interesting enough to stand up to the exploratory demands of a painting. The light was grey and flat; the compositions were repetitive and constrained by the mechanical geometry of the urban architecture. My work at the time had been portraiture and very character driven. While I had captured a few interesting people, their faces were too murky and distant to allow the individuation of their features. The figures looked insignificant in the overwhelming urban concrete surrounding them, none of which added to the composition or their story. I put the film aside.

The images that eventually resulted in Waiting Room, also began as studies for paintings. What initially caught my attention to photograph were the compositional possibilities of the blue safety line painted on the glass walls of the bus shelters. I was interested in the way this graphic element not only bisected the image, but it also created a definite foreground/background in the space – a definitive plane in front of the glass, and a separate space behind the glass even though there was only a half inch of transparency between.

As I further explored the bus shelter idea, I became fascinated by the reflections on the glass walls, which often obscured the figures inside. I was so engrossed photographing this optical phenomenon that I consumed more film than I had intended.

After the images were developed, I was again disappointed with the results. I believed that I hadn’t managed to imbue the subject of reflections with anything exciting or personal. The images looked flat and textureless. I didn’t see personality in the people or a narrative in the figures. I wondered, could I bring more interest into them as paintings, or was the intentionality of purpose just not there? I stored these images away as well.

Back when these photographs were taken, I never considered that my photography was a medium unto itself. I was taking photographs for the express purpose of using them as resources for paintings. Photorealistic painting and large-scale objective drawings had been my goal as an artist since I decided to be an artist. My photographs had a subordinate function, to serve as primary sketches, not as complete artworks.

As my art and my life evolved, I was exposed to increasingly progressive influences in art. Seeing how other artists explored photography as an expressive medium brought about an abrupt change in my creative direction. I wanted to explore photography as more than source material for other projects. I came to the evident realization that I had a considerable back catalog of images that I could be exploring as photographically based ideas. Much of this came about by discovering the photographic work of David Wojonarowitz.

Wojonarowitz’ photography attracted my interest because he devised his own vision and style that avoided any of the photographic rules or techniques that I had learned were gospel in my college classes. He did not use expensive equipment. He used the flash that came as part of the camera. He was mainly interested in the final image, not the process. He ignored traditional photography’s keen attention to lighting effects and tonality. Much of his work did not employ sophisticated darkroom techniques. His photographs were spontaneous, personal, often muddy and grainy. His composition was idiosyncratic. What fascinated me most was his grouping of images together that form a cohesion that would not have been readily apparent without his intervention. As a group, the images he chose formed their own cumulative meaning beyond what each individual image depicted. This image building resonated with me as I looked to find a different way of engaging with my own photographs.

Through Wojonarowitz and other photographic influences, I began to mine my historical photographic archives for images that I could modify, adjust or repeat to fit my newly forming ideas. Putting images together soon became a new language where an image used in one context, found a different meaning in a separate work. Juxtaposing and switching images became like sentence building with the photographs as different phrases. I set aside the constraints of my photographic training which had been about the search for the perfect negative and subsequent print. I never had the patient perfectionism for darkroom. For me, the quality of the print was secondary to the image. I saw this correlation in Wojnarowicz. Under his influence, I felt free to explore photography in a way that made sense to my evolving vision. I could now see success where I had been told or believed there was failure.

This was how I reapproached the two series of photographs that became Personal Space and Waiting Room. I was attracted to something redeeming in the structure of the street photographs, and in the compositional aspect of the bus shelters. I concentrated on the important situational aspects of the images and began by breaking down what that looked like. Through this process something more engaging was revealed.

In each of the images that became Personal Space, I looked at what made the image unique because of its particular location. That would include the figures, the street furniture, and the architecture surrounding them. By isolating certain elements of the photograph and adjusting the heights and width of the resulting rectangles, a rhythm was created that had been latent within the original image. I also realized that I had not only exposed a visual movement that shifted the eye through the image, I had also exposed the social phenomenon of detachment in public spaces – how we surround ourselves in our own sequestered private bubble.

Each of us, as we traverse and occupy public space, is at once part of the urban community but we are also living our separate lives. Some individuals may reveal a glimpse of their personal stories, like the man with the staff, or the man passing in front of the Annex Pub. Perhaps because I knew something of their history, I had the hope that this knowledge would influence or add to the fleeting glimpses I had captured of their transitory passing by. The anonymous others had their lives to live as well, but their stories I could only guess at. In that moment in which I photographed them, the outside observer has only a moment to imagine their fleeting identities in the context of the image. We can perhaps project where they are headed and something of who they are, but that would be a story we create.

The second series, Waiting Room, presented a different challenge. The whole of the series subject matter; the graphic stagnation of the rectangular structure and the reflections on the glass, had also been a painting idea about composition and light. I needed a new interpretation that exploited their photographic origins. I noticed that most included figures, some that were inside the bus shelter, while others stood away, outside of the shelter. By using the edge of the structure as a guide, I separated what was outside from what was inside – even if that meant cutting a figure apart. This small separation of inside from outside heighted the spatial dynamic. By creating that small gap of white space between interior and exterior, each area was given its own focus, while the eye continued to perceive a relationship between the now two separate images. This visual antiphony set up a movement that energized the spatiality and the language of the image.

That small interruption within the image of the bus shelters, changes our perception on space and the social dynamic of waiting. It reveals our collective system of isolationism – the amount of distance we need apart from strangers to feel comfortable. Even when the outside space was empty of figures, the enclosed area of the shelter defined itself as a place of refuge, while the outside remained a place of vulnerability. This isolating of distinct areas of the image became a study in human spatial dynamics.

By breaking apart the image, I was able to represent the personal rational of how people relate in an urban environment among the buildings and sedentary objects on the street, and to explore the dynamics of securing one’s own place in the hierarchy of waiting. The lack of, or excess of, space effects the way each of us responds to our surroundings. We protect our autonomy as we trek to our obligatory destinations, then keep our own counsel as we restively make our journey home. There is rarely magic in the serendipitous encounter with our fellow travelers despite numerous stories to the contrary. There is just the overwhelming push to reach our final destination of security and comfort. To return to the sanctuary of the private lives we left behind. ◆

Personal Space

Personal Space – No. 4 – Annex Pub Unwelcome; digital photograph

Personal Space – No. 5 – Headed Home; digital photograph

Personal Space – No. No. 7 – Urban Griot; digital photograph

Waiting Room

Waiting Room – No. 5 – Pink, White Orange; digital photograph

Waiting Room – No. 10 – Apart; digital photograph

Waiting Room – No. 12 – Yellow; digital photograph

Images in the series "Waiting Room" were selected for a New Jersey State Council on the Arts fellowship.

Purchase Personal Space here.

Arthur Bruso

© 2026 Curious Matter and Arthur Bruso

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