ARTEMIS: A goddess of contradictions
“Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow, rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts”
Homeric Hymn 27 to Artemis
It started, as so many things in Greek mythology do, with Zeus being a terrible husband.
The birth of Artemis
Leto, daughter of Titans, had the audacity to be beautiful. Of course, that meant Zeus had to have sex with her and, successful in his ‘endeavours’, Leto fell pregnant with twins.
Hera, Queen of Olympus and Zeus’ sister-wife, was (predictably) furious. As the guardian of women during childbirth, she exacted her revenge by forbidding Leto from giving birth on any fixed lands in Greece (specific but go off, Hera).
Leto wandered and wandered, attempting to find a safe place to bear her children. Eventually, she found another wanderer: the island of Delos. Here, she settled to give birth to her twins – but in another act of vengeance, Hera forbade Eileithyia (deity associated with midwives and labour) from helping to speed things along. Leto was in agony.
Finally, Artemis arrived and saw her mother Leto exhausted and struggling without Eileithyia. In spite of the fact she was literally just a baby, Artemis helped deliver her twin brother Apollo. Talk about gifted.
Ascent to Olympus
Not quite satisfied that she’d made Leto suffer enough, Hera sent monsters after Leto (where is Zeus when you actually need him?). Again, despite being only days old, both Artemis and Apollo – having already acquired their signature bows – took down Tityos the giant, riddling him with arrows. Goddess of the Hunt and the Archer, well and truly established.
Impressed by their divine power and protection of their mother, Zeus granted them thrones on Olympus, and together they joined the pantheon of Olympians. Hera, naturally, was displeased. Leto could finally get on with her life.
A quick temper
Despite being twins with Apollo, Artemis quickly becomes independent. Early in her story she asks Zeus that she remain a maiden forever. She takes a vow of chastity and forms a sisterhood with a retinue of nymphs for company.
Following a day’s hunt, Artemis and her company are bathing in a sacred grotto. Actaeon, a skilled mortal hunter, stumbles across the scene and is transfixed by the sight of the virgin goddess bathing. Then Artemis notices him.
And if you thought this might be a romantic tale of how Artemis forgoes her chastity… you’d be very wrong.
Enraged, she forbids him to speak lest he transform into a stag, incapable of telling others of what he’d seen. Panic rising, he hears his hunting party and cries out to them. Stag mode activated. He flees, and upon catching his reflection, groans.
Now, he has the attention of his beloved hunting dogs. And reader, it does not end well.
The hounds chase him down and in one last tragic act, his loyal dogs fail to recognise him (...he is after all, a completely different species to five minutes ago), and tear him limb from limb.
Artemis is vindicated. No-one shall hear of her enticing nudity.
Fair winds
Offend Artemis, and you will live to regret it.
Agamemnon – King of Mycenae and leader of the Achaeans that set sail to win Helen back from Troy – was gathered with troops Aulis. Whilst out hunting, Agamemnon shot a stag in a grove sacred to Artemis. That’s one transgression that’d be bad enough to irritate the goddess.
But no, he’s not done yet. Arrogant arse that he was, Agamemnon proclaims ‘not even Artemis could have shot so well’. Yikes.
The ships are stranded at Aulis indefinitely due to unfavourable winds. Time passes, and the Achaeans are eager to get moving. Calchas, a gifted seer and the absolute bane of Agamemnon’s life, proclaims that Artemis is gravely offended and demands sacrifice for penance.
Agamemnon sends for Iphigenia, his eldest daughter, under the guise of a marriage to Achilles – greatest of Greek warriors.
She arrives, and this is a wedding unlike any other. The mood is subdued. There’s an altar, yes, but something isn’t right. Her father’s expression is grim, and where is Achilles? A flash of a knife, blood pours from her throat, and the young maiden falls dead.
And the wind picks up. The Achaeans are free to sail.
In some versions of Iphigenia’s myth, Artemis spirits her away to become her priestess, replaced by a deer at the point of sacrifice. A much more preferable telling.
Artemis as Labradorite
So why is Artemis part of folio & stone’s Moonrise? And why labradorite?
In later myths, Artemis and Apollo become heavily associated with the Moon and Sun. Not personified like Selene and Helios, exactly, but it’s there. So, it made sense that Artemis would join the Moonrise collection.
Artemis is a multi-faceted goddess. She’s made up of contradictions – chastity and childbirth, huntress but protector of the wilderness. She needed a stone that’s as changeable as she is .
Labradorite is an earthy-looking gem. It has beautiful imperfections. Then, in just a moment, as the light changes, you catch a flash of blue. Labradorescence in action. Moonlight on earth.
Where Nyx and Selene are round, Artemis has a sharp edge. The tip of her arrow, or perhaps her finite patience. You decide.
