This painting was inspired by a scene from Disney’s 1997 film Hercules. Megara, a slave of Hades, is killed and her soul is held deep in the River Styx of the Underworld. Hades allows Hercules—a god, but without his immortality—to dive into the River Styx to rescue Megara’s soul. The river drains him of nearly all his life as the Fates—three witches with the power of death over mortals—watch him menacingly. As Hercules reaches Megara in the depths of the River Styx, the Fates strike to kill him, but Hercules’ ultimate sacrifice of his life for Megara is what causes him to regain his immortality. He triumphantly resurfaces from the River Styx with Megara’s soul, and is a true god once again.
As a child, this scene weighed heavily on me—it was the only thing I remembered about this movie until I rewatched it later as an adult. I remember feeling physically sick taking in this illustration of the darkness and finality of death. I felt unsettled at the fragility of life and how easily it could be taken. Yet—though I didn’t have the words at the time—there was something so powerful about the imagery of redemption.
I was saved from the power of self-hatred—disdain born from others’ lies which I’d adopted as truths about me. I had taken to heart what they believed God thought of me. Because of their voices, I missed what He actually said. Because of my tears, I missed what He actually saw.
He said that I am wholly loved; He sees a being who is like Him.
But their voices are still so loud, so I doubt what He says.
I still cry, so I question what He sees.
Their voices are so loud… they can’t all be wrong.
When I cry, I write to God in hope that He sees…
Their voices are too loud… I’m questioning everything.
When I cry, I write to God in hope that I’ll still believe.
And yet… He saved me from the darkness of self-hatred. Who else, but God? The voices never once reached out a hand, except to push me further down. I was too weak in sadness to lift myself up; I was drowning in my tears.
Now, below the surface the hatred lurks, it prowls, it waits for a moment of weakness to devour me, to pull me under again. But it no longer has power over me.
THE PAINTING
Somewhere under the moonlight, a Young Man named Hercules floats in a deep body of water, the River Styx. Draped over his shoulder is a Lamb—dripping wet and eyes on Hercules with a frightened expression on its face, as if it was previously drowning. From the depths of the River Styx emerges Cerberus, his claws reaching to grasp Hercules and the Lamb. Hercules seems unconcerned or unaware of Cerberus’ presence.
This painting, standing alone, has a simple interpretation. Hercules is God, Cerberus is death, and the Lamb is innocence and purity. The Lamb was once captive under the River Styx, but taken from death by Hercules. Hercules is unafraid of Cerberus because he has power over him.
“Curiosity Kills” and “Hercules at the River Styx” form an unconventional diptych. The roles of the Characters become more layered. Perhaps the Lamb on Hercules’ shoulder is the same one drowned by the Boy Child. How long was the Lamb underwater? Did Hercules stumble upon it soon after the Boy Child left? Perhaps the Boy Child is Hercules—maybe he returned to the River Styx years later to atone for his wrong.
The diptych alludes to a kind of baptism. The Lamb—the Boy Child’s innocence—goes under the water dead and, despite being surrounded by death, emerges alive. The diptych alludes to repentance and redemption. The Boy Child brings death upon the Lamb, but as a Young Man he brings new life to the Lamb.