and now i know how joan of arc felt
i. an ever relevant history
in 1429 a teenage girl from a french village stood before her king with a message she claimed came from god; that she would defeat the world’s greatest army and free her country from its political and religious turmoil. her contemporaries viewed her as a witch, a female prophet, a heretic, their virginal saviour.
we cast our minds back to zendaya in versace chain-mail at the 2018 met gala. chloe sevigny with a walkman or fiona apple captured by mcnally on your teenage tumblr feed. now, baz luhrmann has announced he will direct a biopic about her, solidifying her role as the quintessential heroine in popular culture. dressed in armour and wielding the sword of transformation, joan of arc stands as the patron saint of generation z.
ii. shaped in my image
i always felt a tether to saint joan, a connection braided deep in the fibres of my being. from as early as i can remember, there was something about her spirit that called to me, a whisper woven through time. my papy, with his knowing eyes, would often call me "little joan" when i showed signs of rebellion or mischief, when the fire in my heart burned just a little too brightly for the world around me.
growing up, i regret not immersing in my french heritage more, not fully embracing the culture that shaped generations before me on my fathers side. but as a teenager and adult, i’ve cultivated an affinity for french literature, film, music, and history, finding in these things a path back to my roots—a way to reclaim that part of myself.
i solidified this love for her, this ancient, inexplicable bond, by immortalising her image on my body in june. yes, i carry joan with me, inked into my skin, etched into the temple of my flesh. it’s an image of her wielding a sword, poised amongst stars—drawn by one of my closest friends.
iii. our contemporary it girl
being it requires a certain degree of unknowability, unreachability, unavailability. there’s a power in the mystique—the allure of being just beyond reach, of living in the space between icon and enigma. and who embodies this more than the youthful martyr? we are obsessed with the figure who achieves the ideal of "live fast, die young, and make a pretty corpse." joan of arc, a teenage warrior, condemned and canonized, fits this image perfectly, her short, blazing life feeding into this cultural fascination.
joan’s reincarnation in art and literature has made her an irresistible muse for modern day women, specifically the ones who find beauty in rebellion, in tragedy, in the contradictions of being both fragile and fearless.
as polyester zine explains:
"the constant flux of joan’s identity says more about our own self-mythologising tendencies than it does about anything truthful about her short, tragic life. she is a blank slate onto which thousands of young women may project their romantic visions of themselves."
it’s no surprise then, that joan—forever young, forever misunderstood—continues to inspire. i have no doubt that all the ‘cool’ girls will be donning armour for halloween this year, eager to slip into the skin of a saint, an angel.
iv. art
below i am listing some of my favourite art depictions of joan, please comment if you have any more that i should indulge in.
film
the trial of joan of arc, robert bresson, 1962
this film is very slow-paced, so don’t expect much action. but that's part of what makes it so powerful. it strips away the spectacle and focuses on the quiet intensity of joan's trial. for me, the triumph of this film is in how it portrays the moral and political power of language. you really feel how those in religious power use their words and interpretations of christianity to justify their own prejudices. bresson's minimalist approach almost turns the courtroom into a battleground of words, which is just as chilling as any action scene.
joan of arc, victor fleming, 1948
a lot of people say this film sticks closest to the established history of joan’s narrative, and i have to agree—it really captures the essence of her story. the color and photography are stunning. i also love how the script includes so many of joan's most famous quotes, which really brings her voice to the forefront. that said, because it’s hollywood in the 1940s, joan can feel a bit passive. it’s almost like her courage and actions are attributed more to god or the men around her, rather than her own will. i laughed at one review that said, “they put lipstick on joan of arc, but at least they got her hair right.” classic hollywood.
the messenger: the story of joan of arc, luc besson, 1999
this film is visually stunning—lavish design, with a great mix of the regal and the grimy. you can feel the filth of medieval life juxtaposed with joan’s divine calling. that said, it’s definitely got that “quirky” realism that was so typical of 1990s cinema, which sometimes throws off the tone. milla jovovich, while older than a teenage joan, still does a great job capturing her vulnerability and passion, especially in the film’s intense battle scenes. i wouldn't call her my favorite joan, but there’s definitely something to appreciate in her performance.
the passion of joan of arc, carl theodor dreyer, 1928.
my favourite joan of arc film. dreyer’s masterpiece is one of cinemas greatest poetic expressions of spirituality, a daring and radical reimagining that continues to inspire. a radical tale of silent feminist passion. if you love german expressionism and french impressionism, you will love this film. renée falconetti has never made suffering seem so beautiful.
poetry
jeanne d'arc, by patti smith
I feel like
I feel like shit
I need a
I need a drink
and not vinegar neither
I don’t want to die
I feel like a freak
don’t let me cut out
I wasn’t cut out
to go out virgin
I want my cherry
squashed man
hammer amour
love me
live me
hour to death
what the hell
hour to death
am I doing here
am I ending here
hour of death
and I feel so free
feel like fucking
feel so free
feel like running
got no hair
weighing me
cut so close
scalp is nicked
look like shit
hour of darkness
and I look like shit
hour to death and I feel so free
hour to death and I feel so free
turnkey turnkey
play with my pussy
lick my little
scull bait head
get it get it
get it in
get the guard to
beg the guard to
need a guard to
lay me
get all the guards to lay me
if all the guards would lay me
if one guard would lay me
if one guard would lay me
if one god would lay me
if one
god
paintings
joan of arc at prayer, by john everett millais 1865.
jeanne d’arc, by albert lynch 1903.
st. joan, by john william waterhouse, 1917.
jeanne d’arc, by gaston bussiere (date unknown)
performance
chappel roan donned full in joan of arc battle regalia at her infamous live performance of ‘good luck babe’ at this years vmas.
music
as always, i’ve put together a playlist, this one is titled “joan of arc’s walkman,” inspired by the haunting chorus in the smiths’ song “bigmouth strikes again.” while there is some discourse around morrissey truly understanding how “joan of arc felt,” there are other artists who channel female passion so powerfully—like florence and the machine, mitski, and ethel cain.
v. musings
i hope that the ink stains will merge with my blood, and that her strength will resound, beating violently within the echo chambers of my heart.
but the weight of expectations hangs heavy on my soul, and I wonder if my voice will ever be enough, or if I am destined to linger in shadows, torn between duty and desire yearning to break free, bound by my sex and my name.
as a woman, i have always wanted to be clean, a priest’s daughter who isn’t perverse and told she is damned. sometimes i feel like such a waste of a girl. i would die for speaking the language of angels
i am writing to you here today from the precipice of failure, and recently all of my dreams and writing have surrendered to the inevitability of ageing. wondering if i will be saved, granted a chance to start again. i grieve my girlhood all the time, and i don’t know when it will end.
however, i am able to break the ouroboros of regret and despair, releasing myself from the sins i don’t bear.
i will never be like joan; my legacy will never be held at such a high and beautiful standard. i was never able to rebel whilst also being chaste and pure; i have too much anger and too many questions that need answers.
like how was she able to still cling to the cross as she burned?
i love seeing women like chappell, fiona, and patti, strong women who don’t hide their fury, becoming contemporary embodiements of the saint.
for i wonder if joan were a 21st-century girl, living amongst a new kind of oppression and political turmoil that try to muzzle and control women’s bodies, she would still be so faithful, to a god who watches above from his heavenly throne, unable to help as we suffer and rot and bleed together.
i will continue writing my little fits of passion.
trying to leave behind a testament that shows that i meant well, and that i knew of loss, heartache, and defiance. that i knew how joan of arc felt.