Dear Readers,

Welcome to a very special edition of Persephone, dedicated to the rich and layered world of food in visual culture. Food is so much more than sustenance; it’s a storyteller, carrying memories of home, echoes of heritage, and reflections of societal values.

Think of Frida Kahlo’s vibrant fruit still lifes, celebrating her Mexican roots, or the precision of haute cuisine, where every plate becomes a canvas. Even in modern media, food takes on layered meanings—indulgence, power, or restraint. It’s fascinating how something so universal can evoke emotions as intimate as nostalgia or as grand as cultural pride.

In this volume, we invite you to explore how food is depicted in art, media, and design, and what those representations say about who we are. Whether it’s the opulence of a feast or the simplicity of a shared meal, food connects us in ways words often cannot.

Thank you for being part of this journey. Here’s to celebrating the art of food and the stories it tells.

Warmly,

Poulomi

Dearest gentle readers,

Hoping that winter is treating you well, we’d like to serve the November edition of the newsletter as a special treat for you! We thoroughly enjoyed procuring the articles that seek to explore the relationship between food and art. Food encompasses art of performance, participation, interaction among others. In this month’s “Persephone”, our contributors discuss how different aspects of food can aid us understand not only the principles that govern how societies function but also interact with external influences or aesthetics. I’d like to thank every member of the team for their valuable contribution! Have a delightful read!

— Hemleena

Imagine a table set before you, laden with dishes from different cultures. The simplicity of Japanese sushi sits beside a towering American burger; a spice-infused Kashmiri stew next to a tropical Southeast Asian salad. Each dish whispers a story, not just of ingredients or preparation, but of values, desires, and identities that shape entire societies.

Japanese cuisine embodies wabi-sabi, the art of finding beauty in simplicity. A delicately arranged sushi roll, a humble bowl of miso—these are expressions of a philosophy that values balance and modesty. In contrast, America’s fast-food culture revels in quantity and convenience. A double-decker burger, with fries and a bottomless super-sized soda, sends a different message: that bigger is better, and indulgence is key!

Shift now to Bengal, India. Here, history has deeply influenced two distinct food cultures. In North Bengal, memories of famine are woven into the culinary fabric, creating a cuisine where nothing is wasted. Each fish bone, each vegetable skin finds a use, reflecting respect for resources. Yet in West Bengal, with its legacy of zamindari wealth, food represents prestige. Rich, ghee-laden curries, elaborate dishes, and endless varieties of sweets are expressions of abundance. Through food, these neighbouring regions reveal divergent tales of resilience and indulgence.

Around the world, climate has also shaped culinary traditions. In colder regions like Kashmir and Central Asia, hearty stews, dried fruits, and warming spices dominate, making each meal a means of survival against the cold. Meanwhile, tropical areas favour cooling ingredients—juicy fruits, fresh herbs—to counteract the heat. Each dish reflects an adaptation to nature, an instinct to thrive in one's environment.

The art of plating carries its own messages. Western fine dining often values minimalist presentation with ample white space, exuding sophistication and restraint. In the Middle East and Asia, however, colour and variety create a sense of warmth and generosity. Haute cuisine’s trend of “deconstructed” dishes further mirrors modern values of individualism, challenging tradition with scattered ingredients that diners must piece together themselves. Presentation, like the food itself, reflects cultural ideals—whether of precision, abundance, or creativity.

The significance of food goes beyond taste and presentation; it extends to art and visual culture. Dutch Golden Age paintings depict tables laden with fruits, bread, and wine—symbols of prosperity tinged with reminders of life’s fragility. Frida Kahlo’s vibrant fruit paintings celebrate her Mexican heritage, rich with colours and resilience. Each artwork reminds us of food’s power to communicate identity, pride, and the spectrum of human experience.

However, in the nexus of art and visual culture, the act of eating also becomes more layered, often tied to gender and desire. In John William Waterhouse’s Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses, Circe’s drink is a symbol of seduction and control, while in Vincenzo Campi’s The Kitchen, women prepare food for others, not themselves. Marilyn Minter’s hyper-realistic art also explores indulgence and restraint, depicting food as both pleasure and taboo. Consider Katrina Kaif in the infamous Slice ads, where the simple act of drinking mango juice is transformed into a sensual experience. Her indulgence is framed as exotic and inviting, a deliberate celebration of pleasure.

By contrast, “good” women are often shown abstaining from food as a symbol of virtue and restraint. Think of the many scenes in Bollywood films where a dutiful wife fasts for her husband’s health and longevity, as seen in traditional Karva Chauth rituals portrayed in movies like Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. Here, the act of not eating becomes a marker of devotion and moral purity, underscoring the belief that a “good” woman sacrifices her desires for the wellbeing of others. Food becomes the signifier of virtue, or lack thereof.

However, in the nexus of art and visual culture, the act of eating also becomes more layered, often tied to gender and desire. In John William Waterhouse’s Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses, Circe’s drink is a symbol of seduction and control, while in Vincenzo Campi’s The Kitchen, women prepare food for others, not themselves. Marilyn Minter’s hyper-realistic art also explores indulgence and restraint, depicting food as both pleasure and taboo. Consider Katrina Kaif in the infamous Slice ads, where the simple act of drinking mango juice is transformed into a sensual experience. Her indulgence is framed as exotic and inviting, a deliberate celebration of pleasure.

By contrast, “good” women are often shown abstaining from food as a symbol of virtue and restraint. Think of the many scenes in Bollywood films where a dutiful wife fasts for her husband’s health and longevity, as seen in traditional Karva Chauth rituals portrayed in movies like Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. Here, the act of not eating becomes a marker of devotion and moral purity, underscoring the belief that a “good” woman sacrifices her desires for the wellbeing of others. Food becomes the signifier of virtue, or lack thereof.

In pop culture, food also often reveals power dynamics. In Downton Abbey, lavish multi-course meals are a marker of status, a ritual that separates those who dine from those who serve. In Game of Thrones, feasts can be deceptive. The infamous “Red Wedding”, beginning as a joyous celebration, turns to betrayal and death, showing how food can mask hidden agendas. Arya’s revenge on Walder Frey by serving him a pie made from his sons is another example of how food becomes a medium for power and subversion. In Dexter, the show’s opening credits turn breakfast preparation into something sinister, blurring the line between nurture and destruction. From grand feasts to solitary acts of cooking, food often holds secrets of power, conflict, and identity.

One striking example of our complex relationship with food is the mukbang phenomenon. Originating in South Korea, mukbang videos feature hosts eating extravagant amounts of food on camera. In a world increasingly obsessed with self-restraint, mukbang offers an escape, a spectacle of overindulgence that taps into themes of comfort, excess, and virtual connection. These broadcasts offer viewers an illusion of shared meals while pushing boundaries on consumption.

Even in shows like MasterChef, food becomes a means of storytelling, where contestants express their heritage, creativity, and personal journeys through each dish. Culinary skill transforms into an art form, with ingredients becoming symbols of memory and identity. Through history, media, and art, food serves as a mirror that reflects who we are and what we value.

And as we savour these tales across time and culture, perhaps it’s the familiar tastes of our own kitchens that connect us most deeply to who we are. The meals shared with loved ones, the recipes passed down through generations—these flavours linger, reminding us that, in the end, food is more than sustenance. Food is home.

Imagine a table stretching across realms and ages, where Elizabeth Bennet dines beside Zeus, Alice from Wonderland eyes Gatsby’s decadent feast with curiosity, and Harry Potter gulps down his mug of Butter Beer. In literature and mythology, food is rarely just nourishment—it reflects relationships, social hierarchies, and characters' lives.

In Pride and Prejudice, food reveals class distinctions of Regency England. Elizabeth Bennet’s encounters at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s dinner table are rich with unspoken rules. The extravagant feast on the de Bourgh estate serves not just to feed but to remind Elizabeth of her social inferiority. Lady Catherine’s table symbolises the power of wealth and class, yet Elizabeth’s refusal to be intimidated by her host’s grandiosity speaks to her resilience and integrity, using food as a quiet battleground for class and character.

Transporting to the Roaring Twenties in the States, we see Gatsby’s extravagant parties overflowing with champagne and fine delicacies. Though alluring, Gatsby’s feasts hide a hollow core—a reflection of the American Dream’s gilded allure and a desperate attempt to win Daisy’s affection. Through this, author F. Scott Fitzgerald critiques the excesses of wealth without true connection, showing that abundance without purpose ultimately leaves the soul unsatisfied.

This idea of food as a blessing and barrier stretches far back to ancient myths from Greece to India. On Mount Olympus, the Greek gods feasted on ambrosia, a divine substance that separated them from mortals and granted immortality.

On the other hand, food in Indian mythology is a powerful symbol of devotion and divinity. In the Ramayana, Shabari, an old woman of humble means, offers a bowl of berries to Lord Rama. Her simple offering is laden with love and devotion, reminding us that in many cultures, the meaning behind a meal outweighs its luxury. Similarly, in the Mahabharata, the humble pot of rice granted to Draupadi by Krishna sustains her family, symbolising divine grace and the sanctity of modesty.

This transformative power of food appears in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, where magical cakes and potions can change Alice’s size, bending reality with each bite. Carroll’s treats don’t merely nourish; they unlock new perspectives, testing Alice’s courage and inviting her deeper into the chaos of Wonderland. Here, as in myth, food becomes a bridge between worlds, a tool that redefines identity and opens doors to self-discovery. Moving forward to Hogwarts, food in the Harry Potter universe embodies comfort and belonging. Harry’s first feast at Hogwarts, with its endless roast meats, puddings, and pumpkin juice, is more than a meal. It’s his initiation into a world of magic and camaraderie he has longed for all his life. Food symbolises welcome and warmth, offering Harry a sense of home and belonging unknown before.

From Austen’s formal settings to Rowling’s magical meals, food in stories is never just about taste. Each feast holds a deeper meaning, representing both what sustains and divides us. Whether a lavish banquet, a modest offering, or an enchanted snack, food in literature becomes a powerful symbol, nourishing the body while feeding the spirit and opening doors to societal transformation.

Perhaps the first social activity we learn and engage in as humans is eating. Resources are scarce and human needs and wants are unlimited which consequently affect our rationing ability and choices, including food items as well. What we eat, tells us who we are! However, the action of food consumption is intrinsically related to not only social or economic but also sensory, aesthetic, political and artistic aspects and experiences of life. Eating is one the most ordinary activities, deeply familiar, yet this act becomes a performance with the foods being the materials, especially as we live in an era where Instagram eats first!

The aesthetic parts of survival apart from the necessary nutritional requirements have born out of the same human tendency that seeks beauty and art. Indeed, “it’s bread we fight for but we fight for roses too.” Our psychological needs hold as significant value as our physiological needs. Eating as a comprehensive art form encompasses all our senses and “even the perception of texture, temperature and pain.”

The most interesting part of eating both as an activity or as a performance is the food that’s ingested. Do you know why flamingos are pink? It’s because they get the pink pigment from eating algae that contains carotenoids. If you think the word ‘carotenoid’ sounds familiar then you’re absolutely right! It’s because the root of the word is ‘carot’ and they are the same elements that make carrots orange. In fact I just found out that if we consume too many carrots, our skin may turn pinkish in shade!

I’m certain we all must have come across news pieces and incidents in talent shows where someone dares to eat bizarre things such as light bulbs, TV sets or even aircraft! As a kid, I often wondered what must be the intention behind such acts. While such actions are mostly executed to attract massive crowds and test endurance in unusual ways, some of them also reveal political and economic underpinnings of the society in which they are performed.

The Spanish performance artist Abel Azcona, dragged himself into controversy and received threats after installing his work “Eating a Koran, Eating a Torah, Eating a Bible” to raise awareness about religious radicalism in 2012. Azcona ingested the pages of a copy of the Koran, the Torah and the Bible during his nine-hour long performance. He believes in “art as a critical tool and to create debate about the politics of identity.”

The Australian performance artists Sonja Stummerer and Martin Hablesreiter have been raising questions about the environmental impact of food and wastage of elaborate dining through their unique comic act. In order to not bore their audience with the discussion of pressing yet depressing topics like climate change and sustainability, the husband-wife team indulges in comical performances which may include dressing up as clowns or wrapped up in sheets, eating color-coded meals with paintbrushes and tweezers rather than forks, or noshing on food that hangs at eye-level from the ceiling rather than sitting on a table. Their work then simultaneously showcases the audience how arbitrary our real norms are and how we can design new ways of consumption that are more efficient.

It is not unless you’ve been to an art class, that you discover the different ways, something as plain as an apple, can be drawn wrong. Apple, the fruit of temptation, is probably the third most painted subject in art after women and Jesus Christ! Every artist has to go through the “canon” event of mastering every shade, every curve and every shadow of an apple, to the point that seeing an apple just brings back all the memories of how you were never good enough in your art classes. An apple was the reason that got Adam and Eve thrown out of Eden and then it became mine to quit art classes.

However, a very fascinating piece by Paul Cézanne called Still Life with Apples(1895-98) made me retrace my steps back to a genre of art, the mastery of which is usually considered a necessary evil in an artist’s journey to greatness. But more than the genre, it is the choice of food as one of the exquisite subjects in still lifes, that seems like a compelling area to be explored. What was once considered a mere imitation and thus a “lower” form of art, might have been more than just a vain predecessor of modern-day Instagram food photography.

There hasn’t been a more richly symbolised item in history than food. Whether it be the Greco-Roman feast paintings, Egyptian hieroglyphs, or artworks showcasing the spoils of colonization, food appears everywhere, with it’s meaning revised every century. The persistent appearance of food in religious art has been symbolic of lessons around temptation, redemption and the promise of an eternal life by doing good.

This changed in the 16th century, the beginning of the Dutch Golden Age, when the food still lifes saw a surge in production, but not necessarily in popularity. Food still lifes became so commonplace that the only thing distinguishing one from another was the choice of food items depicted. Different categories of food got associated with different meanings, such as meat, game birds and decaying flowers being associated with transience of material goods and life. This theme of memento mori or “remember you must die”, ironically accompanied all these still lifes, otherwise meant to showcase the wealth and the luxury of their patrons. Having exotic citrus fruits like oranges and pineapples, shellfish like lobsters and oysters, along with exotic goods like sugar, coffee and spices became statements of wealth, luxury and global trade. To keep things from getting too decadent, artists cleverly slipped in humble touches, like wine and bread, just to stay on the church’s good side.

Apart from these themes, the food still lifes between 16th to 17th century exhibited a detailed realism, drawing excessive attention to the textures, the lustre, the shades and the folds accompanying the piles of carefully arranged food items. Thus, these paintings lastly served as a commentary on the artist’s underappreciated skills

But as was later indicated by the success of Paul Cézanne’s Still Life with Apples, it is the lack of details that sets one still life above the other. According to Cézanne, painting still life’s is about realizing the sensations the object produces in both the artist and the viewers.

In Cezanne’s still life of apples, the smooth flow of shapes invites viewers to interpret the painting in their own way, encouraging them to engage with the food items painted. So instead of becoming symbolic objects, the apples in Cézanne’s still life are transformed into an artist’s gesture within the process of creation. It is an experiment, a performance, as all the layered colours, specialised brush strokes and diverse perspectives stand against each other to bring the apples to life on the canvas. Setting the trajectory of art traditions for the rest of the modern era, the father of modern art went on to include apples in a lot of his paintings as a symbol of timelessness and eternity. And perhaps that's why, even today, all art classes begin with the task of perfecting an apple. However, it is on us to define our own version of ‘perfect’.

I've always asked myself, how much does the way food looks and the aesthetics surrounding it affect the way it's perceived? Is it all about taste and aroma or is there more to it? I remember watching Chef, the movie and the elaborate scene where the father makes a cheese sandwich for his son was all I could think of for a while. The coating of butter, the crisp texture of the toast and the melting of the different types of cheeses that he used…yum! It makes me wonder, would food be as exciting without the vibrance of its colours and its fascinating textures? They say you should never judge something by the way that it looks, but does aesthetic always point to something shallow? Or does it serve a purpose too?

I remember watching MasterChef when I was younger and being blown away by the artistry of Reynold Poernomo the Desert King! A self taught Indonesian-Australian chef who wowed the judges with his creativity and pushed the boundaries of food presentation.

I remember his statement pieces. The Snitch, inspired by the Harry Potter Snitch. It was formed by a carefully made chocolate sphere containing mousse inside and the intricate wings were made of honey and other ingredients, held together by a sorbet. It was incredible how food could be shaped to look like like a sculpture!

White Noise, a dish that revolves around the colour white (colours form a significant theme in most of his dishes. The purpose it serves is to encapsulate the main theme of the dish and the ingredients) Once presented Gordon Ramsay commented “It is so elegant to the eye, it's so technical- it's almost like being in a science lab, it looks breathtaking, it makes you want to dive into the bowl. It is very rare we see a desert looking so beautiful so early into the competition”, to which Reynold smiled with pride. 

The Forbidden Fruit (it was a chocolate mousse with raspberry jelly inside coated with ganache and cocoa butter to form the red part outside resembling an apple). It was a pastry in the shape of an apple inspired by the Forbidden Fruit. Each ingredient and element was highlighted when the camera panned on it which added to its appeal. It showed his creativity and how carefully he forms the narrative of each creation.

Then comes his take on the American apple pie adding to it a brown sugar snap. He took a simple apple pie and mounted a very technically done sugar snap upon the desert. One had to break open the snap to dig in and enjoy all the textures and flavours that would come together in your mouth. All the judges watched him like a hawk while making it. The snap needed to be shiny, see-through and it couldn't be too thick. It had a very specific purpose to serve and wasn't just ornamental.

And lastly the Pair of Deserts, a play of words in which he used a desert in the shape of a pear, where you eat the pear and the edible plate that it is placed on which contained the pear flavor, together. Discovering that the plate was edible thrilled the judges. They couldn't stop marveling at it and how it tasted as good as it looked! 

He was clever, precise, poetic, confident and daring. It manifested in his creations. Every time he plated a dish the judges marveled in awe. They were almost sad to destroy it in order to taste it. He took the time to ornate the dish with added elements in front of the judges while they waited eagerly to dig in, like predators being baited. The behind the scenes show how much it took to achieve the aesthetic he was going for, and the aesthetic had value, it wasn't just frivolous, it was a crucial part of the dish. His theme for each dish was carefully planned, he added unconventional elements which added texture to his dish and created the perfect balance of flavours. Before him, I used to think that all this hoo haa about plating was just another unnecessary extravagance, but he changed my mind. The look of the dish told me a story, it looked professional and it represented the creator to me. The plating silently talked about the ingredients and almost helped guide the consumer of the order in which one must eat the dish to enjoy it to the fullest. His usage of various techniques, using liquid nitrogen and his constant experimentation with combinations reminded me of a painter experimenting with different mediums.

Another fabulous and incredible chef who I chanced upon during the pandemic was Li Ziqi. A YouTuber who started an entire revolution in the food blogging industry. Her videos followed a signature narrative which according to the videographer was mostly created by her. It showed her in her ancestral home in rural China, cooking using traditional techniques and recipes with modern twists and sharing her cooked meals with her grandmother, surrounded by fairytale-like scenery. Every ingredient was homegrown and each step that went into the dish - sowing, harvesting and finally the consumption was shown to the greatest detail. The humdrum of rural food being cooked was soothing for the viewers as expressed in the comments.

The freshness of the fruits and vegetables, their vibrant colours, her superior skills, the washing, cutting and preparing of the incredients, introduced me to the texture of the food and made me feel like I could almost taste it through the screen. It was magical because I had been taken on a journey showcasing its creation, all the labour of love and the delicious ingredients that went into it which soothed me and also made me salivate! There was also this particular episode in which she made a water flow dining table, all from scratch! She made jellies, cakes, jam and many more dishes! There are shots of the passage of time and the effect it had on food, how fermentation occurs, how fruits become ripe were all shown with traditional music being played in the background. A visual representation of the journey food takes before we consume adds to our experience of food. Something about all the visual elements coming together made the food she cooked seem even more appealing. Her popularity soared! Soon many vloggers began to mimic her style but none could match up to her magic.

Studies have shown that food presentation affects emotions, perceptions of taste and ultimately appetite. Is that why restaurant menus and billboards showcase the most unreal pictures of food? How much does that contribute to inspiring us to try a dish? Is it just a marketing gimmick or is there more to it? Why do sushi restaurants have chefs creating the dish right in front of you? Does the experience of watching your food being cooked right in front of you affect you at all? How so?

Well I don't think there's any one answer to any of these questions. To me, personally, like many, truly enjoying food is about involving all my senses, the visual aspect being a very significant one. I definitely wouldn't pass on a dish just because it isn't plated like a restaurant dish. Looks can be deceiving as they say, but to me, a well presented dish reminds me of an abstract of an academic paper. It invites me to a dish, it informs my senses and also my intellectual faculties, creating a lasting impression. It's about the whole experience for me and the endless possibilities give me joy! 

Food, glorious food! Beyond its nourishing role, food has always been a metaphorical feast in the realm of art, uniting people through shared stories, traditions, and a sprinkle of good humor. For centuries, artists have turned to food because it looks great on a canvas (hello, perfectly ripe peaches) and represents everything from community vibes to existential truths. Food in art isn’t just a pretty picture—it’s the universal Hey, let’s hang out

The interplay between food and art began long before Instagram food photography. Ancient civilizations adorned their walls with depictions of banquets and offerings, let’s look at ancient Egypt, where food wasn’t just for dinner—it was for eternity. Tomb paintings featured bread and beer offerings, ensuring the deceased had snacks in the afterlife. Talk about planning. Meanwhile, the Romans weren’t shy about flexing their foodie status either, decorating their frescoes with lavish feasts that screamed, We brunch harder than you.

Fast forward to the 17th century, the Dutch Golden Age perfected the still-life genre, where artists like Pieter Claesz and Jan Davidsz de Heem painted overflowing tables of fruit, bread, and goblets. These works weren’t merely about the glistening grapes; they were metaphors for life’s fleeting pleasures. These weren’t just Insta-worthy spreads; they were saying, Enjoy the good stuff while you can—grapes don’t stay fresh forever.

When Impressionists came along, they decided food wasn’t just a prop—it was part of the story. Manet’s Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe ditched formal dining rooms for picnics in nature, blending meals with moments of connection. Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party was like the ultimate #SquadGoals—friends gathered, wine flowing, life happening.

Then came Pop Art, where Andy Warhol made soup cans as famous as celebrities. His Campbell’s Soup Cans weren’t just about soup; they were about shared culture. Warhol was basically saying, Hey, even the most ordinary things connect us. Who knew tomato soup could be so deep?

This brings us to today, and food in art has become even more interactive. Enter Rirkrit Tiravanija, who literally cooked for his audience in Untitled (Free) (1992). Forget gallery wine and cheese; he served Thai curry to strangers, turning art into an edible icebreaker. Then there’s Lee Mingwei’s The Dining Project, where dinner with the artist became part performance, part therapy session, and all kinds of memorable.

In the now, food is a vibrant, accessible motif. Social media platforms are overflowing with artistic interpretations of food, from hyper-realistic fruit sculptures to whimsical food photography. Virtual art installations, like Lucy Sparrow’s The Cornershop—a felted replica of a British grocery store—offer both nostalgia and a collective laugh, reminding us that food connects us in ways both profound and playful. A shared meal, a moment of connection, a universal truth wrapped up in a croissant.

Food, after all, is a language we all speak. From the gilded grapes of a Renaissance still life to a shared slice of conceptual curry, food in art continues to remind us of our shared humanity. It’s not just about sustenance; it’s about stories, relationships, and the delightful quirk of finding life’s poetry in something as simple as a loaf of bread.

So, whether it’s the opulent spreads of the Dutch masters, a Warhol soup can, or a shared bowl of curry in a gallery, food in art is more than just a subject—it’s a unifying force. It reminds us of the joy in gathering, the stories in sharing, and the beauty in life’s simplest moments. Art feeds our souls, but when paired with food, it nourishes our collective humanity. After all, the best tables—and canvases—are the ones where everyone has a seat.