Herbert James Draper (British, 1863–1920) — Ulysses and the Sirens, c. 1909. Oil on canvas, Ferens Art Gallery, Hull.
The most famous ‘do not listen to that’ warning in all of literature, painted by the man who loved painting naked women so much he made the warning itself horny.
Setup: Ulysses has his crew plug their ears with wax and tie him to the mast so he can hear the Sirens’ song without steering the ship into the rocks. The Sirens — bird-women of Greek myth who lured sailors to their deaths with song — have flown right up to the ship, clinging to the prow, ready to sing him into oblivion. And Draper painted them as gorgeous half-naked women with wings because of course he did. This is the same man who painted Lamia as a sad girl with a poppy. He looked at death-by-singing and said ‘I can make that erotic.’
Draper’s Sirens are not the seductive mermaids of later art — they’re closer to the original myth: winged women, part bird, part woman, all trouble. One clings to the ship’s side like she’s about to climb aboard, another glides alongside, and the whole scene is chaos: sea, wings, naked limbs, and one very bound guy who signed up for this.
Ulysses, meanwhile, is doing the thing every man does when he’s told not to do the thing: he’s tied to the mast, straining against the ropes, face full of longing, because he wanted to hear the song AND survive. The Greeks knew this energy. That’s the whole Odyssey in one image: a man who refuses to let either his curiosity or his survival instincts win, and ends up doing both.
Fun historical note: the Ferens in Hull has had this painting since 1911, and in 2025 it inspired a whole exhibition about sirens. Over a century later, Draper’s winged women are still luring people in. The song never stopped.
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