Shimmering Spirits of an Emerging Empire: Goldwork from the Rise of the Achaemenids

 by Mary Harrsch ©2025

I photographed this extraordinary gold pendant—now in the collections of the Princeton University Art Museum but on loan to The Field Museum in Chicago—and was immediately struck by its intricate, world of animals and sacred symbols. The pendant's surface is alive with detail: a radiant bird spreads its wings at the top, while two powerful goats rear up on either side of a stylized tree of life. Even the lower register is packed with sinuous forms, ending in delicate dangling leaf-like elements that would have shimmered with every movement.

Gold pendant with goats, bird, and apotropaic mask, late 7th to early 6th century, Western Iran (?), Princeton University Art Museum. Photographed by the author.

Dated to the late 7th–early 6th century BCE, this piece has no recorded find spot, but its imagery speaks volumes. The pairing of a sacred tree with flanking goats is a deeply rooted symbol in Western Iranian and early Achaemenid art, appearing on seals, metalwork, and elite ornaments from the region during the rise of the Persian Empire. The bird above—part guardian, part emblem of divine presence—echoes motifs used by artisans working in the orbit of Median and early Achaemenid courts.

The Tree of Life and Master of Animals motifs, which would later become powerful symbols of Achaemenid imperial authority, are not Persian inventions but inheritances from far older civilizations.

The Tree of Life, first appearing in Mesopotamian art of the 4th millennium BCE during the Uruk period, symbolized fertility, eternal life, and a cosmic link between heaven and earth, often depicted with flanking animals.

The Master of Animals motif, with a probable Neolithic precursor at Çatalhöyük around 6000 BCE, was standardized in Mesopotamia as a heroic figure subduing beasts, representing the triumph of order over chaos and elite dominion over nature.

The Achaemenid Empire (c. 550–330 BCE) masterfully adopted and adapted these ancient, widespread symbols. They reinterpreted the Tree of Life, frequently using the date palm or cedar, to signify royal power and divine favor bestowed upon the king. Simultaneously, they depicted their monarchs in the classic "Master" pose on seals and reliefs, visually asserting the Persian king's role as the central, divinely-sanctioned controller of all worldly forces, thus embedding their new dynasty within a timeless, Near Eastern tradition of sacred kingship.

At the bottom of the pendant, a frontal, mask-like face gazes outward. Its large staring eyes and flowing tendrils give it a Medusa-like presence, but it does not depict a Greek Gorgon Instead, it belongs to a shared ancient Near Eastern tradition of apotropaic masks. These guardian visages were meant to ward off danger—functionally much like the gorgoneia of Greek art—even though they arose from different mythologies.

The pendant's breathtaking craftsmanship displays the inclusion of fine granulation and beaded filigree, tiny gold spheres and wires arranged with astonishing precision. It reflects a technical mastery typical of luxury workshops active in western Iran during this transitional era, just as Achaemenid visual language was beginning to crystallize.

Although its original owner remains unknown, this pendant captures the spirit of a developing cosmology—where sacred creatures, royal symbols, protective spirits, and shimmering gold announced status, belief, and connection to emerging imperial power.

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Jewels at the Edge of Empire: An Egyptian Goddess from the Land of Canaan

 by Mary Harrsch © 2025

I'm still working on images of exhibits I photographed in 2009 at The Field Museum in Chicago, IL in preparation for uploading them to Wikimedia Commons and came across these images of this stunning necklace of carnelian and gold from Deir el-Balah, dated to the 13th century BCE, featuring a small gold pendant of the goddess Hathor.

Deir el-Balah lies on the southern Levantine coast, in what is now Gaza. During the Late Bronze Age it sat along the great Via Maris, the land route that connected Egypt with Canaan, Syria, and the broader Near East. By the 13th century BCE, this stretch of coastline had become an important Egyptian outpost—part military installation, part administrative center, and part hub for the movement of goods and officials across the empire.

My research revealed excavations at the site uncovered unmistakable signs of Egyptian presence: Ramesside-style anthropoid coffins, Egyptian pottery, faience amulets, scarabs, and architecture built in Egyptian fashion. Yet these objects weren’t simply imported—they were part of a cultural blend, produced and used by a local population living under Egyptian rule but still deeply connected to Canaanite traditions.

Carnelian and gold were elite materials associated with prestige, diplomacy, and official status. The fiery red-orange beads were almost certainly made from carnelian quarried in Egypt’s Eastern Desert, the primary source used by New Kingdom artisans. Their smooth but slightly irregular shapes are characteristic of Egyptian beadmaking, where each piece was individually ground, drilled, and polished rather than mass-produced. This style contrasts with the highly standardized, heat-treated carnelian beads traded from the Indus Valley in earlier centuries.

The presence of Hathor is also especially telling. As the goddess of music, beauty, fertility, and safe journeys, Hathor was a traveler’s protectress and a familiar divine presence in Egypt’s frontier zones. Her image appears everywhere Egyptians moved—across Sinai, down into Nubia, and along the Levantine coast.

So this necklace represents a snapshot of life in a borderland where Egyptian administrators, soldiers, merchants, and local Canaanite communities interacted daily. Its materials, craftsmanship, and iconography reflect a world where political power, religious symbolism, and cultural exchange flowed freely along the edges of pharaoh's domain.

This piece was loaned to The Field Museum by The Israel Museum in Jerusalem.

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