Excerpt From Winged Victory

by Dianne Corbeau

My heart raced when I finally walked up the concrete steps of the oldest and best art institution in America. Located on the corner of 14th and Broad, The Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts looked like one of the many cathedrals in Philadelphia.

It was an architect’s dream. I knew that the bronze figures adorning the front door would live in my mind forever.

Walking through the foyer, I turned the corner into the enormous cast hall. That’s when I saw her, the Nike of Samothrace, also known as Winged Victory. I knew from studying Greek sculpture that the 9 foot tall Parian marble figure had been discovered in 1863 but is estimated to have been created around 200-190 B.C.

By the time I’d walked around her once I had fallen in love. This was going to be my main project for the next few months. Grabbing an easel, I claimed my perfect view and began drawing quick studies of the majestic armless and headless form.

The sculptured lines of her body and her thin, sweeping fabric took me into uncharted territory. I was used to doing large paintings with big brushes and buckets of paint but this piece was so detailed that I only used three colors on the palette and one brush.

Starting with the crevices of one of the wings, I relaxed into this whole new technique. It was a whole other animal I needed to tame. As the lines emerged, my emotions flew all over the place, from elation to devastation in a matter of seconds. I was so in the moment that four hours passed but they felt like minutes.

If I wasn’t in the studio, attending lectures or classes, I was in the Cast Hall. Winged Victory was really starting to come together. After I completed her wings, I painted the drapery that flowed over her Reubenesque figure.

On some days I’d lose all sense of time. Whenever I stepped back to observe my work I’d notice a glow coming off the painting. I also noticed familiar faces as onlookers returned, day after day, to watch me paint. No one interrupted me except for my professors, who encouraged me to explore my obvious connection to this majestic sculpture.

There wasn’t a moment in my day when I wasn’t thinking about her. It became harder to leave her to dry in the racks overnight but I knew I couldn’t risk taking her home.

On Saturday I woke up early. The Cast Hall was silent, allowing me to concentrate on my painting all morning. After I cleaned up my palette and brush I put my painting on a rack in one of the studios to dry.

Walking slowly through the empty foyer, I got the sense that I was home. I’d been right to sell the business and take a risk on my art. The Academy was exactly where I wanted to be.