The Thyrsus of Dionysus

Dionysus was often depicted with a thyrsus, a kind of staff that had various functions. It was decorated with vine leaves and a pine cone at the top. The pine cone is a powerful seed that, unlike most others, can protect its seeds for a long time under harsh conditions. It’s an ancient symbol of regeneration, fertility, and the ability to renew and transform. Where the pine cone at the top represents Dionysus’ striving for change, the staff itself connects him to the ground, providing stability, certainty, and grounding.

Two forces come together in the Thyrsus. One is a distinctly Dionysian force—a drive toward what lies beyond the horizon, the unknown, and the night. But the thyrsus also embodies a more Apollonian force, the staff itself that grounds, stabilizes, structures, and anchors us in the present. You could say the staff both pulls the walker forward, encouraging exploration beyond the known, and at the same time supports and steadies them where they stand.

To move forward in life, both forces are necessary. Without the striving for the unknown, one will eventually rot and die. Just like when a ripe fruit grows tired of striving and, weary, leans toward the earth. But with only striving and no grounding, one will get lost in dreams and dissolve into nothingness.

“Don’t look directly at the sun,” they always say. But with all dangerous things, there is also desire. Not just to look at it, but to become the sun, to come as close as possible. It may symbolically represent our striving to become one with that which transcends us.

The Sculptural Action ‘Instrument to look at the sun through your finger’ speaks to this desire. You hold a pinecone shaped instrument in front of your eye, with your finger closing a hole on the other side. When you look at the sun through it, you see a bright orange sphere surrounded by darkness. The light of the sun shines through your finger. It brings what is far closer, letting you be with the sun without being blinded. 

The Apollonian force here is the action of the finger. It stabilizes and quite literally holds the spectator in place by shielding the eye from looking too far. The Dionysian force in this Sculptural Action is the eye's own desire—to look away from itself, to escape its own limits.

Just like the thyrsus, this sculpture brings together two opposing forces. In their interplay, something new emerges: a ‘micro-macroscopic’ image of a bright orange sphere suspended in darkness—something that is neither my finger, nor the sun.