With an Apple: Art, Myth and the Power of Rewriting History
This blog post dives into the inspiration behind this print
‘With an Apple…..’
In the 1890s, the artist Paul Cézanne famously claimed, “With an apple, I will astonish Paris.”
Given he painted over 270 works of apples, you can’t say Cézanne wasn’t determined.
Now celebrated as the father of modern art, during his life he saw little critical success outside of his artist friends. Picasso and Matisse both credited him as a major inspiration, but he died in relative obscurity. And it wasn’t until researching this post that I realised his apple quote wasn’t a one-hit wonder either—there are other bangers:
“The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution.” (I feel Tesco could do something with this.)
“Don’t be an art critic. Paint. There lies salvation.” (Not that he was bitter…)
Cézanne’s apples are all about light and form, and while they have a painterly depth, they arguably don’t carry much symbolic weight. He could just as easily have astonished Paris with a carrot.
But the humble apple is, in fact, loaded with symbolism.
Let’s start with the obvious one: Apple©. With approximately a quarter of the world’s population walking around with an iPhone in their pocket, it’s safe to say most people would assume you were talking about the brand before they think of the fruit. (Google certainly did when I started researching this post.)
Apple© say they chose their logo because of the fruit’s association with knowledge. That symbolism reaches all the way back to the Garden of Eden—the story of Adam and Eve and the tree of knowledge. That connection also sparked the idea for this artwork. But in exploring it, I realised how patchy my own understanding of the creation story really is…
I was fairly confident, though, that the version we understand today—laying all the blame at Eve’s feet—was likely shaped and sharpened over centuries by a growing monotheistic patriarchy intent on consolidating its power over women. And they did a solid job… After all, not much tops the charge of Original Sin.
Equally surprising: the original version of the story didn’t lay the blame so squarely at Eve’s feet. In earlier interpretations, responsibility was shared more evenly between Adam and Eve. It wasn’t until centuries later, with the influence of patriarchal structures and shifting theological agendas, that the narrative was reshaped to cast Eve as the bad guy. This rewriting of blame helped reinforce ideas of female weakness, temptation, and sin—ideas that have echoed through history in everything from religious teachings to social norms.
Feminist theologians have worked hard to reclaim this story and reframe it. Instead of seeing Eve as the source of mankind’s downfall, she is re-presented as a figure of courage—someone who made a conscious choice to seek knowledge. In this light, Eve becomes a symbol of human progress. She questions, she explores, she acts—this reinterpretation celebrates her as a radical figure: the first woman to challenge authority in pursuit of truth.
What I haven’t seen reframed, though, is the story flipped in a way that centres Adam’s role. If we take the narrative at face value, Adam—who was equally complicit—simply accepts the fruit without question, without protest, and later attempts to deflect blame. In any modern retelling, that constitutes a massive red flag. And while the idea of men as default protectors is one we’re long overdue to retire, even by those old standards, Adam really dropped the ball. Yet somehow, this part rarely gets a mention. If he failed at the very first test of responsibility, why have we so readily handed down power to his descendants ever since?
Maybe it’s time we looked again at who we cast as the hero, who we label the villain—and, most importantly, who’s been telling the story.