The Apple

Vanitas with Apples, Coins, and Flowers, by Neal Auch

“With an apple,” Cézanne once said, “I shall astonish Paris.” Apparently, the great impressionist made more than 270 paintings of apples throughout his career. I do not know if Cézanne’s apples did, in fact, astonish the Parisian art community. But I can say this much: I share his obsession with that particular fruit.

The apple is among the most humble of all fruit. They are inexpensive, sturdy, and accessible all year round. Quotidian as the apple might be, however, it is an interesting and complex symbolic object.

According to the biblical myth of creation, the first man and woman lived in a state of innocence and bliss in the Garden of Eden. Importantly, Adam and Eve were naked but felt no shame; this suggests, already, that there will be an sexual undercurrent to the events which follow. The Garden of Eden contained many plants, we’re told, but two in particular were endowed with supernatural powers. Firstly, there was the Tree of Life, whose fruit granted immortality and which the couple were permitted to consume. Secondly, there was the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, whose fruit had the power to shatter Adam and Eve’s state of childish innocence, granting them an understanding of creation reserved only for God himself. This fruit—and this fruit alone—was forbidden by God. Although the text of the bible never specifies the identity of the forbidden fruit, it is almost always depicted as an apple in Western Christian art, perhaps owing to the similarity between the Latin words for apple (“mālum”) and evil (“malum”). As the Genesis narrative unfolds, a serpent persuades Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. She, in turn, convinces Adam to do the same. Having eaten the apple, they become, for the first time, ashamed of their nakedness. Clearly, we are meant to understand this moment as a kind of sexual awakening—a transition into a state of sexual maturity. (It is no accident that the animal responsible for this awakening has a very phallic appearance…)

As punishment for their transgression, Adam and Eve are cast out of the Garden of Eden. They will never return and never again eat from the Tree of Life. In Christian mythology, this is the origin of death. In this way of thinking, death is not a natural part of the cycle of life—it is the wages of sin. As an artistic symbol, the apple is inextricable from this story. The apple is a symbol of evil, temptation, disobedience, sexuality, and, above all else, the inevitability of death.

Of course, this myth has been pondered by countless theologians and philosophers over the ages. Simplistic as the narrative might appear, it does conceal some challenging ideas. Not the least of these is how Eve could reasonably be held accountable for her “sin” when, according to the story’s own logic, she did not yet understand the difference between right and wrong.

The Garden of Eden has also provided the basis for a number of compelling works of art. The most recent example which comes to my mind is the 2014 horror film It Follows. Often misunderstood as an STI metaphor, the most interesting facet of It Follows is its quasi-biblical connection between the transition into sexual maturity and the curse of death. Having succumbed to carnal temptation, the film’s characters soon find themselves haunted by a demonic force which might claim their lives at any moment. At the same time, having lost their innocence, sex now becomes a useful tool for the characters to distract themselves from death’s inevitability; according to this film’s version of demonic possession, the more sexual partners you have, the more distant that demonic spectre becomes.

My personal favourite take on the Eden narrative, though, might be Witold Gombrowicz’s short story Virginity. We are introduced to Alice, a young virgin who spends much of her time in the walled garden of her family home. Alice is portrayed as naive to a preposterous and comical degree; she often speaks and acts as a literal toddler might. Her suitor, Paul, finds this childishness deeply enticing; presumably, his character is meant to skewer our culture’s predatory fetishization of feminine youth, innocence, and disempowerment. As the absurdist narrative unfolds, Gombrowicz presents us with an interesting twist on the familiar tale of Adam and Eve. In spite of her naïveté, Alice actually understands much more about the reality of their world than Paul does. She knows from personal experience about the cruelties men inflict upon women, for example. In the story, this is depicted metaphorically via a tendency for single men to hurl rocks at virgin women when they believe nobody is watching. One might interpret these hurled stones in the context of male resentment, entitlement, and violence toward women. For Gombrowicz, these stones also serve the same symbolic purpose as Eden’s snake: they whisper forbidden secrets to Alice, alluding to the darkness of the world beyond the borders of her garden. Interestingly, Gombrowicz adds a layer of moral complexity to the story by amplifying the sadomasochistic undertones of the Eden narrative. Much to Paul’s disgust, Alice sometimes seems to actually enjoy the pain and humiliation she is subjected to. In the end, Alice finds herself captivated by overheard stories about a mysterious outside world haunted by unemployed ruffians who wander the streets half-naked, eating all manner of rotting organ meats.

The story ends on Gombrowicz’s version of Eden’s apple: a bone which has been only partially picked clean by the family pet and left to rot in a trash heap. Eager to cast aside her childish innocence and embrace the world of the flesh, Alice takes the bone in her mouth, gnawing at it like an animal. In her ecstasy, she implores Paul to join her. “See, I already have it in my mouth,” she cries. “And now you! Now you!”

This is an interpretation of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil which makes the presence of both death and sexuality unambiguous. Alice’s bone is, of course, the remnants of a dead animal, and therefore represents mortality. At the same time, however, the bone is a phallic symbol and its consumption is directly linked to the loss of Alice’s innocence and virginity.

In the Vanitas images which accompanies this essay, I have followed Gombrowicz’s lead, letting the apples rot and placing them alongside human teeth in order to lay bare the death-haunted meaning of this particular fruit.

Vanitas with Apples, Flowers, Coins, and Teeth, by Neal Auch

I Wrote a Book!

If you enjoy this particular blend of nonfiction essay with still life, you might be interested in checking out my book, All is Vanity. The book contains approximately 250 high quality images (some new and some old), along with 20 different essays (totalling about 27k words).

The unfortunate economic reality of printing a 412 page full colour art book on 8.5x11 paper is that the price point will be inaccessible to some folks who might otherwise be interested. So I’ve made an inexpensive e-book version of the text available for purchase at my website. Unlike the e-books sold via Amazon, this file is yours once you’ve purchased it; you can read the PDF or ePub versions on any device you want and no corporation can revoke your access to the thing you paid for at some future date. (The images look great on my laptop screen; be aware some e-readers might compress the pictures or only show the images in black-and-white.)

Advanced praise for All is Vanity:

“In his brilliant photographs, Neal Auch has captured the eternal lesson of vanity vs time. Deeply inspired by Flemish still life paintings of the 17th century, his provocative compositions seem rooted in another time, yet utterly contemporary. As culinary designer for television’s Hannibal, I also drew inspiration from the uneaten prey, over-ripe fruits, and overblown bouquets of Flemish art, examining the liminal space between sumptuous excess and decay that Auch brings into exquisitely measured focus in his new collection. Each image whispers a warning that is cruel but, ultimately, extraordinarily beautiful.” — Janice Poon, graphic designer, painter, sculptor, food stylist, and author of Feeding Hannibal: A Connoisseur’s Cookbook

“All is Vanity combines text and art in an extended meditation on the conundrum of existence. Using the still life as a mirror to show the absurdity of self, culture, politics, and wealth, we're confronted with classically-styled images of unlikely objects (such as viscera, fast food, and sex toys) that are simultaneously lush, ironic, revolting, and gorgeous. Auch’s photographs burst with gruesome beauty like the abundant rot of a bloated corpse.” —Joe Koch, author of The Wingspan of Severed Hands and Invaginies.

All is Vanity Full Cover Spread