This is a statue of Bes from Amanthus (Cyprus).
Bes (also spelled as Bisu) was an Egyptian deity worshipped in the later periods of dynastic history as a protector of households and in particular mothers and children. In time he would be regarded as the defender of everything good and the enemy of all that is bad. While past studies identified Bes as a Middle Kingdom import from Nubia, some more recent research believes him to be an Egyptian native. Mentions of Bes can be traced to the southern lands of the Old Kingdom; however his cult did not become widespread until well into the New Kingdom.
Modern scholars such as James Romano demonstrated that in its earliest inceptions, Bes was a representation of a lion rearing up on its hind legs.
After the Third Intermediate Period, Bes is often seen as just the head or the face, often worn as amulets. It is theorized that the god Bes came from the Great Lakes Region of Africa, coming from the Twa people (a pygmy group) in Congo or Rwanda. The ancient Twa were about the same height as the depictions of Bes.
Dawn Prince-Hughes lists Bes as fitting with other archetypal long-haired Bigfoot-like ape-man figures from ancient Northern Africa, “a squat, bandy-legged figure depicted with fur about his body, a prominent brow, and short, pug nose.”
Another theory, connected to Bes’s role in both the protection of children and women in labour, is that Bes is the figure of a miscarried fetus. Bes is also known to be wearing a lion skin on his back.
Bes is supposed to be a dwarf — most of statues of Bes are tiny, childsized at most. This one is gigantic — good 6 meters tall.
My other favorites here are the Kalos — with very Khmer-looking chests; and, of course, the Bull. Do you have any guesses as to the meaning of this iconography, though (from a 2 c. AD tomb in Sidon):
Diggins from the Necropolis of Sidon fill five gigantic halls at the Istanbul Archeology Museums. A number of styles are represented, including recycled Egyptian sarcophagi, and the quality of carving is extraordinarily high throughout. Here are two more sarcophagi from the same room where the Alexander Sarcophagus stands.
The Alexander Sarcophagus is one of four massive carved sarcophagi, forming two pairs, that were discovered during the excavations conducted by Osman Hamdi Bey at the necropolis near Sidon, Lebanon in 1887. Originally thought to have been the sarcophagus of Abdalonymus (died 311 BC), the king of Sidon appointed by Alexander immediately following the Battle of Issus (333), it was demonstrated convincingly by Karl Schefold to have been made before Abdalonymus’s death, its still-classical manner uninfluenced by the style of Lysippos. Some scholars now believe the sarcophagus was made for Mazaeus, a Persian noble and governor of Babylon. Six Ionian sculptors’ hands have been distinguished, working in an Attic idiom, most probably in Sidon. It now rests behind glass at the Istanbul Archeology Museums. The quality, accuracy and detail of the carving is absolutely incredible and unmatched by any antique tomb I have seen anywhere. The sarcophagus was once painted — traces of paint can be clearly seen in several paces — and must have looked a lot like the decor of a South Indian temple.
Among all the fountains of Rome, this one may be the most charming.
The Bayon is an extraordinary structure, and as such justly famous, but the its real claim to glory ought to be its undeservedly unfamous base-reliefs, executed to commemorate Jayavarman VII’s wars — as well as the lives of his ordinary subjects.
Square headed Khmers duke it out with funny-hatted Chams in a great naval battle on Lake Tonle Sap; while fish, turtles and crocodiles frolic among the lotus; J VII rides in triumph on a great elephant; Brahmins perform gruesome rites; the people eat, drink, dance, and stage cock-fights; and rats pick at oil palm fruit. Old J VII — also known as Ye Ole Square Head — any visitor to Siem Reap is struck by the general ubiquity of this anatomic feature, Old J having been a bit of a lady’s man, too — well, Old J VII really was a bit of a bore — had he lived in the the 20th century, the Anglo-Saxons might have referred to him tenderly as Uncle Jay — so workmen put down the tools the moment they heard of his death: much of the base-relief remains unfinished.
For all that, they’re a delight.