Gauguin’s Sculptural Rhythm – Oviri and Her Sisters

In many analyses of Paul Gauguin’s art, Egyptian art is mentioned as a formal model, especially when it comes to the sculpture Oviri (1894). This reading, often inspired by Gauguin’s own statements, maintains the image of his figures as frontal, static, and closed in their expression. But when one looks more closely at both Oviri and a number of his Tahitian paintings, another truth emerges: a soft, horizontal movement that creates a rhythmic tension in the body – particularly in his female figures.

A Sister to Oviri

A striking example is found in the painting Mahana no Atua (‘A Day Dedicated to the Gods’), painted in 1894, the same year as Oviri. In the center of the picture sits a woman with a straight back and a twisted torso. Her arms and head follow a spiral movement that goes against everything implied by the classical, static iconic form. She is at once still and in motion – physically and mentally. She is not merely an image of exotic femininity, but a sister to Oviri – bearer of the same inner strength and tension, the same emotional charge that makes the body a site of meaning and not merely of representation.

Mahana no Atua

A Breakthrough in Figure Representation

When one follows this rhythm in several of Gauguin’s works – such as Te Nave Nave Fenua, Two Nudes on a Tahitian Beach, Vahine no te vi, and Adam and Eve – one sees that it is precisely this undulating movement that is typical, not the exception. It is rather the completely rigid, frontal figures that appear deviant in Gauguin’s oeuvre. This suggests that Gauguin’s understanding of form may not have been borrowed from Egypt, but rather developed in dialogue with the forms he encountered – or imagined – in Polynesia.

Te Nave Nave Fenua

The Aesthetics of Movement

This changes our understanding of Gauguin. Not as an artist who appropriates ‘primitive’ forms, but as one who attempts to capture a rhythmic sense of life. The figure in Mahana no Atua perhaps shows this most clearly: she is neither a symbol, nor an object, nor a pose – but a movement, captured in the moment of the image.

NB: I contacted the Musée départemental Maurice-Denis, which owns Oviri, to inquire about their interest in the information and possible comments, but they did not respond.