The Sculptural Iconography of Feminine Jouissance: Lacan’s Reading of Bernini’s Saint Teresa in Ecstasy

Abstract

A swoon so sweet Should have eternal guise; But since suffering does not rise To Heavenly Portal Bernini in this stone made it immortal. Pietro Filippo Bernini, on his father's Saint Teresa ECSTASY IN THE CHAPEL Amongst innumerable architectural splendors of Rome, church of Santa Maria della Vittoria, in Sallustiano area of city, is an unusually modest example of early 17th century Baroque design. Situated on a street corner, and hemmed in by adjacent buildings at back and to right, anyone approaching edifice from Piazza di San Bernardo will be less than impressed by how whole of its left side is but a plain terracotta rendered wall, with no artistic features other than a rectangular stained glass window above a small oriel. For church's travertine facade, Giovanni Battista Soria took inspiration from Carlo Maderno's design for facade of nearby church of Santa Susanna, yet it does not incorporate latter's rich decorations and is far more restrained in its use of figurative sculpture. And so nothing in this rather unassuming exterior can prepare visitors for sumptuous spectacle inside. From resplendent cantoria on counter-facade to frescoed dome, from lavish nave to eight ornate side-chapels, each and every part of small church bathes in glory of Baroque prodigality. Even nave's monumental Corinthian pilasters of coloured marble, with their gilded capitals in support of a richly exaggerated entablature, exude a sensation of grandeur, and contribute integrally to overwhelming visual extravaganza. For all its aggregate magnificence, many people would probably not be drawn to church were it not for one particular sculpture, Saint Teresa in Ecstasy by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680), which Simon Schama has dubbed the most astounding peepshow in (78). Released from a single slab of white Carrara marble, sculpture is centerpiece of large funerary chapel to left of church's transept. The chapel was commissioned in January 1647 by wealthy Venetian Cardinal Federico Cornaro (1579-1653) for staggering amount of some 12,000 silver papal scudi, in honour of his esteemed family members and of his admired Teresa of Avila (1515-1582), Spanish mystic who had been canonized by Pope Gregory XV twenty-five years earlier. (1) It took Bernini and his associates five years to complete work, but when it was finally unveiled in Summer of 1652 Roman public opinion echoed Cornaro's own view that highly theatrical combination of sculpture, painting and architecture had resulted in a timeless masterpiece--a bel composto of sublime beauty. (2) The widespread acclaim could probably have been predicted, because it is hard to believe that Bernini would have been prepared to take serious artistic risks in conceiving chapel, in which case he would not only have been in danger of offending his generous patron, but also of undermining his own stellar reputation within ecclesiastical hierarchy, both within Vatican and further afield, and any additional commissions that may have stemmed from it. For almost four centuries, a plethora of historians, art critics, novelists, philosophers, men and women of God, and members of general public have stood in front of Cornaro chapel, either endorsing initial response to work, or expressing anger and dismay at what they consider to be a shameless sacrilegious depiction of Saint Teresa's vision, or dismissing Bernini's sculpture as a typical example of deplorable excesses of Baroque art-a corruption of aesthetic principles, animated by hubris, and executed in bad taste. Shortly after unveiling of Bernini's equestrian statue The Vision of Constantine in 1670, an anonymous pamphlet started to circulate in which author denounced both artist's recent work and some of his earlier sculptures. …