Philosophy, Art, and the Language of Imagery
Introduction
Philosophy and art, like many other human endeavours, are among humanity's greatest inventions. They are constructed disciplines and, therefore, subject to change. From an artist’s point of view—even at a humble level—we can, if we choose, contribute to this ongoing process of generating new knowledge. This element of novelty is what interests me most in both disciplines.
Philosophy and art matter because they mirror the human condition in a detached, poetic, and beautiful way. It is universally understood that humans can be dark, flawed, and complex creatures—but what philosophy and art do so well is reflect this truth back to us in a way that is contemplative rather than despairing. There is, therefore, an important pedagogical dimension to both fields that captivates me.
Philosophy and art are also sources of imagery and metaphor. People often struggle to describe their experience of either, because they transcend the limitations of language and enter the realm of the symbolic. Both disciplines employ the ‘image’ as a vector of signification: for example, egg white and semen, or a carrot and an erect penis. Although these are crude examples, I like to believe that both philosophy and art contain a level of subtlety that sharpens our intellect—and this is precisely why they matter to my research.
Clive Cazeaux, Enlightenment Paradigms, and Artistic Research
A section from Clive Cazeaux’s Art, Research, Philosophy particularly caught my attention. It addresses whether artistic research should draw inspiration from science. For Cazeaux, science and knowledge are intimately intertwined: "The theory of knowledge, as we know, comes predominantly from the positivist development of science in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, though its origin lies in the eighteenth-century Enlightenment."
My interest in this connection between science and knowledge began early in this research, when I encountered a lithograph from Description de l'Égypte (1829) depicting Egyptian artefacts. This lithograph was part of a ten-plate volume, one of thirty-seven volumes created during the Napoleonic expedition to describe the natural and cultural history of Egypt. Terms such as natural history and description are deeply rooted in Enlightenment thinking—the "clear light of reason." This particular lithograph became a key source of inspiration.
In this article, I aim to explore the relationship between word and image, as it had a profound (albeit subconscious) influence on my practice. I also want to analyse the "scientific" properties of the lithograph and examine its relevance to my own work.
Word and Image: A Philosophical Perspective
In one chapter, Cazeaux writes: "There is no single, essential difference between word and image, only difference as they are driven by the political and ideological values within a particular culture." This quote intrigued me for two reasons: first, it suggests that words and images may not be fundamentally different; second, it implies that their meaning is culturally and politically contingent.
To understand this better, we might revisit how word and image function in a philosophical context. The "godfather" of Western philosophy, Plato, introduced the theory of Forms—a belief that every object, whether abstract or physical, has a perfect, transcendent essence that can only be accessed through rational thought. According to Plato, art is mimetic (imitative), and thus it cannot lead to true knowledge, because it only reflects appearances, not essence.
Looking at the lithograph, then, one could say it is an image (a representation) of an artefact (a form). From Plato’s perspective, it tells us little about the artefact’s essence or purpose.
Cazeaux’s comment is also a reference to W.J.T. Mitchell’s seminal essay What Is an Image? According to Mitchell, the Enlightenment thinkers believed language and imagery to be transparent media for understanding reality. However, this belief has since been deconstructed: language and imagery no longer promise perfect access to truth. Similarly, modern positivism holds that valid knowledge must be based on observable, empirical facts—a theory not unlike Plato’s notion of the Forms, but grounded in material reality.
Cazeaux challenges the idea that art and science must be separate. He argues that they can coexist within the same artistic research and that their paradigms—although distinct—can be mutually enriching.
Re-examining the Lithograph
To appreciate the lithograph, we must employ language (word) to access the realm of the ideal (form) through the medium of the image. It is also valuable to analyse this artefact from both an 18th-century Enlightenment perspective—as a transparent, descriptive medium—and from a contemporary perspective, where images are seen as constructed and symbolic.
Archaeological methods, I suspect, have not radically changed since the 19th century: they still rely on description and measurement—principles rooted in positivist ideology. Factually, these illustrations depict fragments discovered during Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign (1798–1801), drawn by one of the two thousand artists present. The page layout is clearly curated, pedagogic, and purposeful.
These illustrations are simplified, stylised versions of existing artefacts, using la ligne claire ("the clear line"), a 19th-century scientific drawing method. The primary colours—red, yellow, and blue—indicate the pigments Egyptians used, such as ochres, azurite, and ivory black. The fragments show mortuary motifs and Egyptian deities including Anubis, Horus, Isis, and Osiris. However, the scale of the original artefacts remains unclear.
Symbolism and Interpretation
What do these illustrations reveal about Egyptian civilisation? Symbolism and colour carried far more significance in ancient Egypt than in contemporary Western societies. Colours had specific connotations: gold and silver represented the sun and moon—life and death, good and evil. Black symbolised both fertility (linked to the Nile, or Kemet, “the black land”) and the afterlife. It was also associated with Osiris, god of the underworld—failing to use his colour on mortuary objects could be seen as disrespectful.
Ancient Egyptians believed the afterlife was an extension of their mortal existence. Wealthy individuals used mortuary imagery to symbolise their social status in death. For example, the bottom right of the plate shows a pair of sandals, and the centre shows a ceremonial necklace made of lotus flowers—symbols of rebirth. The images also depict the mummification process, which was reserved for the elite. Featuring deities in these scenes was a way of affirming power and signaling to the gods that the deceased should continue to receive favour in the afterlife.
Conclusion
In this article, I have explored the importance of language and description in understanding artefacts. For this specific case, I assumed the role of an Egyptologist. Artworks can be described factually (based on observed characteristics) or determinably (based on inferred meaning)—and both approaches are necessary to fully appreciate an artwork.
I also wanted to challenge the perception that my work is “simple.” Like any artwork, my practice is embedded in a complex network of ideas, histories, concepts, and paradigms. It may appear straightforward, but it is deeply rooted in theoretical, historical, and visual research. Understanding this complexity requires more than a glance—it requires a kind of excavation.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aaru
https://www.thoughtco.com/colors-of-ancient-egypt-43718
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