“The Flower Jar : Reimagining Pandora –
A Reflection on Hope and Archetypal Myth”
by Natalia Maniaka
When we think of Pandora, we often think of catastrophe. We remember the opening of the jar and the release of suffering into the world. Far less attention is given to what remained inside: Hope.
This overlooked detail became the starting point for my research into the myth of Pandora, its many interpretations, and the ways in which her image has been reshaped over time. Inspired by a painting of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Pandora (1871), I began tracing the evolution of the myth from antiquity to the present day. In Hesiod’s Works and Days, Pandora is created by the gods at the command of Zeus as a response to Prometheus’ theft of fire. Endowed with gifts from the Olympians, she is sent to humanity carrying a sealed jar. When the jar is opened, countless hardships escape into the world, while Elpis (Hope) remains inside.
Over time, Pandora became one of the most influential female figures in Western imagination. Her story has often been interpreted as a cautionary tale about curiosity, temptation and disobedience.
Attic red-figure calyx krater (detail) above, the creation of Pandora, below, a chorus of Pans, attributed to the Niobid painter, 460−50 BCE. London, The British Museum
In Pandora’s Jar: Women in the Greek Myths, classicist Natalie Haynes revisits the women of Greek mythology and questions many of the assumptions that have accompanied them through the centuries, arrising questions such as what would happen If nineteenth-and-twentieth century writers had been more interested in the sources of their stories, and had looked beyond Hesiod or Erasmus at some of the less well known versions of Pandora’s story, were willing to trawl through fragments of Theognis’ Elegies, from the sixth century BCE, implying that they might have found a short passage which suggests that Pandora’s Jar is full of good things rather than bad. When the jar is opened, everything good – self control – trust, flies away, which is why we so rarely find them among mortal men. Only Elpis – Hope remains, as one good (thing) which did not abandon us.
Pandora is frequently portrayed as responsible for humanity’s suffering, yet the myth raises an important question : how much agency does she actually possess?
If Pandora is created by Zeus as part of a divine plan for revenge, can she truly be held accountable for its consequences? What interested me most, however, was not Pandora herself but the contents of the jar.
My version of Pandora is focusing and imagining the jar as a safe place, where we know we will always have hope. In Greek – a more accurate translation would probably be “expectation” (ελπίς). A genuinely complex linguistic and philosophical puzzle.
“Pandora” (1871) oil on canvas, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
Among the many artistic interpretations of Pandora, Rossetti’s 1871 painting remains one of the most recognizable. Instead of a jar, Pandora holds a richly decorated golden casket, which she appears to be in the process of opening. A faint coil of smoke emerges from the narrow gap between the lid and the box, suggesting that whatever lies inside has already begun to escape. The inscription Nascitur Ignescitur (“born in flames”) further emphasizes the ominous character of the scene.
While Rossetti emphasizes the mystery and potential danger concealed within the casket, Odilon Redon’s interpretation shifts attention elsewhere. Rather than focusing on the contents of the vessel, Redon places Pandora within a dreamlike world of flowers, colour and symbolism, where the myth seems to dissolve into a more poetic and contemplative vision.
Unlike many nineteenth-century depictions of Pandora, which focus on the dramatic moment before or after the opening of the jar, Redon’s interpretation appears less concerned with narrative and more with atmosphere. Surrounded by flowers and immersed in a dreamlike environment, Pandora becomes part of a larger symbolic landscape.
This shift away from a literal retelling of the myth was particularly interesting to me. Rather than presenting Pandora as a figure defined by guilt or responsibility, Redon’s painting seems to place her within a world of transformation, ambiguity and organic growth.
During the development of my own painting, I found myself gradually moving away from the familiar image of Pandora as a fully human figure.
“Flower Jar” oil on canvas, 120 x 100cm, 2025
I was interested as depicting the figure gradually evolving into a hybrid form, and the focus shifted away from questions of guilt and responsibility. Human, animal and botanical elements began to coexist within the same body, making it increasingly difficult to read the image through simple oppositions such as good and evil.
Regarding symbolic associations of colour, purple is described as a colour that brings together opposites. The ancient Greek purple, a dark reddish colour was thought to be suitable for appeasing and honouring the dead and the fearsome gods of the Underworld.
As a combination of red and blue, purple can be understood as a meeting point between passion and reason, earth and sky, instinct and contemplation. This duality resonated with my broader interest in Pandora as a figure that resists simple oppositions.
In Hesiod’s account, Pandora becomes the mechanism through which human suffering is explained. Her story has often been read as a moral lesson, linking curiosity, transgression and punishment.
Hybrid beings occupy an ambiguous space. Rather than reinforcing the moral framework of the myth, they invite a different kind of attention, one that is directed towards transformation, interconnectedness and the visual relationships unfolding within the image itself.
At the same time, it reflects an ongoing interest in older female figures emerging from deeper mythological layers: beings that exist between human and non-human realms, and between fixed identity and continual metamorphosis.
Rather than seeking definitive answers, my engagement with myth has never stemmed from a desire to simply illustrate a story. In the case of Pandora, it emerged from a curiosity about how her story evolves and how she changes from one artist and writer to the next. Through studying the many visual transformations of its central figure, I found myself questioning which aspects of the story continue to resonate today and which might be worth reconsidering. Researching the myth, its interpretations, and its rich iconographic tradition became the starting point for a series of questions that continue to inform the development of my artistic practice.
Myths possess this unique quality: they are not merely ancient stories about gods and monsters, but ways of thinking about the human experience. They give symbolic form to questions that continue to trouble, inspire, and accompany us to this day. Who am I? Why do we suffer? What is power and how should it be used? How do we face death and change? What lies beyond the human? Myths also provide archetypes – figures and patterns that continue to appear in literature, film, psychology, politics, and art. The hero’s journey, the trickster, the wise guide, the descent into the Underworld, the monstrous feminine and metamorphosis are all mythic structures that still shape contemporary storytelling. For artists especially, mythology offers a language of symbols that can connect personal experiences to something collective and timeless. A mythological figure is never only itself.
Pandora can become a symbol of curiosity, blame, female agency, innocence, or forbidden knowledge. Myths survive because they are endlessly reinterpretable. Every era finds new meanings in them. Ancient Greeks did not read Pandora or Medusa the same way contemporary feminists do, yet the story remains powerful enough to accomodate both readings.
© Natalia Maniaka 2025
Natalia Maniaka 