Disclaimer:
I am writing this post to highlight a work of art I encountered during a visit to a museum and to share an insight I had while contemplating it.
My interpretation diverges from the official reading of the work, and since I know absolutely nothing about archaeology, I am fully aware that 99.99% of what I say is likely incorrect.
I hold a deep respect for Science, Study, and Culture, and an equally profound aversion to the hordes of uninformed individuals who, empowered by social media, have assumed the supposed right to express opinions on the most diverse topics without possessing any specific knowledge of the subject matter. Worse yet, they claim to engage on equal footing with those who have dedicated their lives to studying the same field. The creation of Knowledge is humanity’s most astonishing achievement. It requires time, sacrifice, and dedication—none of which can be substituted by a quick Google search, especially when lacking the proper cultural foundation to contextualize the findings.
The Giants of Mont’e Prama
The Giants of Mont’e Prama are ancient stone statues dating back to the Nuragic civilization, estimated to have been created between the 9th and 8th centuries BCE. Discovered in 1974 near Cabras in Sardinia, they are now partially housed in the Archaeological Museum of Cabras and partially in the Archaeological Museum of Cagliari. Made from sandstone, these statues represent stylized human figures—archers, warriors, and boxers—with monumental and geometric features. They are considered one of the earliest forms of monumental sculpture in the western Mediterranean. Found in fragments, the statues have been painstakingly reassembled through complex restoration efforts, revealing a significant connection to Nuragic religious and funerary traditions. These sculptures are extraordinary testimonies to the artistic skill and cultural richness of a unique civilization, which was in dialogue with the Phoenician and Mediterranean worlds.
The common interpretation, also presented at the Cagliari Museum, is that part of the significance of the Giants lies in their style, almost expressionist, with which the large, hypnotic eyes are represented; below, I explain why I became fixated on the idea that this interpretation might be wrong.
Archaeology in the Age of Instagram
Over the last decade, partly thanks to social networks and partly due to the persistent use of the Giants' imagery by Cagliari-Elmas Airport (which sees over 5 million passengers annually), the Giants have gained considerable media visibility. They have become a quintessential symbol of Sardinia, comparable to the pink granite natural sculptures of Costa Smeralda or the crystal-clear waters of the Gulf of Orosei.
The popularity of these artifacts primarily stems from the striking stylistic device used by the ancient sculptor to depict the Giants' faces. Their eyes, rendered as two concentric circles, create a hypnotic gaze that captivates modern viewers.
A 21st-century observer, equipped with a cultural heritage shaped by over two millennia of visual traditions that define our society's iconographic framework, cannot help but be struck by the fact that nearly 3,000 years ago, an artist possessed such an advanced ability for abstraction. This artist managed to portray eyes using two simple circles while also seeking profound psychological introspection in creating works presumed to serve ritualistic, celebratory, or votive purposes. This unusual level of intimacy and expressionism in sculptures over 3,000 years old is undeniably fascinating to the modern observer.
To an average person with no specialized archaeological knowledge, ancient art typically represents archetypes (the deity, the warrior, the hunter, the farmer) rather than individuals. In an age dominated by the excessive glorification of the individual, the notion that an archaic artist sought the psychological depth of their subject has an undeniable emotional appeal. Furthermore, by simplifying the interpretation of an ancient image—bypassing the complexity of understanding the cultural context in which it was created—an image can be aligned with modern iconographic clichés, like the "hypnotic" eyes of a Disney cartoon. In doing so, the cultural product transforms into an easily digestible pop phenomenon, served up on a silver platter for contemporary audiences.
Stylistic Affinities in the Giants of Mont’e Prama
Passing through Elmas Airport from time to time, I too have been captivated by the gaze of the Giants’ replicas, which seem to watch travelers from every corner of the building. Promising myself I would visit the originals at the Archaeological Museum of Cagliari at the earliest opportunity, I eventually found myself exploring this beautiful museum. In addition to the Giants, it boasts a remarkable collection of Nuragic bronze figurines and Roman sculptures. Finally, at the end of my visit, I reached the room housing the Giants.
I spent several minutes observing these undeniably fascinating works, yet the more I looked at them, the stronger a sense of déjà vu grew in my mind. My initial impression was that the Giants’ imagery somehow evoked the sculptures of Modigliani. However, the resemblance felt exceedingly tenuous, and the comparison left me thoroughly unsatisfied.
After some observation, another figure began to emerge from the fog of my memory: the Moai of Easter Island.
In this case, the resemblance is indeed far more striking. But so what? The Giants of Mont’e Prama were created almost 1,000 years before Christ, while the Moai of Easter Island were carved around the time Leonardo was painting the Mona Lisa. Unless one wants to entertain some pseudo-scientific theory that aliens, after building the Pyramids and heading toward Atlantis, gave the sculptor of Mont’e Prama a space-time lift to Easter Island 2,500 years later, the stylistic affinity amounts to a non sequitur.
And yet, the more I studied the Giants, pondering their similarity to the Moai, the more a thought began to form in my mind. One cannot expect anatomical precision from a sculptor working 3,000 years ago, but those eyes—nearly aligned with the nostrils—do seem suspiciously low to actually be eyes. However, if one views the Giants as twins of the Moai, the brow ridges could be interpreted as the eyes. In that case, the famous concentric circles might not represent eyes at all, but something else: symbols, designs, tattoos…
This shift in perspective invites a fascinating reinterpretation of these ancient statues. It opens the door to considering that what we assume to be faces might have served entirely different symbolic, ritualistic, or artistic purposes, perhaps detached from the conventional anthropomorphic schema we instinctively apply.
Pareidolia
Pareidolia is a psychological process, innate in humans, that leads us to recognize familiar shapes in random patterns—such as seeing the shapes of animals in clouds. The most common form of pareidolia involves perceiving eyes and faces in various symmetrical forms. The brain's insistence on attributing eyes and faces to inanimate objects has been linked to an evolutionary advantage, favoring individuals who could identify predators' faces even when camouflaged in grass or foliage.
A 2010 study published in Neuroreport found that the fusiform face area of the brain in examined subjects activated on average within 165 milliseconds when recognizing objects resembling faces, and in 170 milliseconds when identifying actual faces. This suggests that our brains are predisposed to qualify any image as a face more quickly than they process real faces.
When faced with the image of the Giants, it is psychologically natural to interpret the concentric circles as eyes. But is that truly the case?
The hypothesis opens a new dimension for interpreting these figures. Could those circles be something else entirely—symbols, artistic abstractions, or ritualistic markings? Our instinct to see them as eyes might simply be the brain's predisposition at work, compelling us to impose familiar structures on the unfamiliar. This perspective challenges the automatic assumptions we bring to ancient art and invites a reconsideration of the intention behind such striking imagery.
Eyes or Symbols?
If the concentric circles are removed from the faces of the Giants, their image not only gains greater anatomical coherence but also reverts to being a depiction of an abstract subject with its own stylistic consistency, rather than representing an individual with a gaze and emotional introspection—qualities we might not expect from a work of such antiquity.
Could it be that these famous circles are not eyes at all, but rather symbols or tattoos? Why not? Throughout human history, painting or tattooing the faces of warriors has been a practice dating back to our earliest origins.
To cite a few examples: Julius Caesar, in De Bello Gallico (Book V, Chapter 14), mentions the Celts’ use of vitrum to paint their faces blue, making themselves appear more terrifying in battle (“Omnes vero se Britanni vitro inficiunt, quod caeruleum efficit colorem, atque hoc horridiores sunt in pugna aspectu”). Among the Maori people, circular motifs are recurring symbols in the tattoos carved onto warriors’ faces. The famous Similaun mummy, more familiarly known as Ötzi, predates the Giants of Mont’e Prama by over 4,000 years and shares much of his DNA with present-day Sardinian populations. Ötzi’s body features 61 tattoos, though none on his face or in circular patterns.
This context invites us to question our assumptions about the circles on the Giants’ faces. Could they instead represent symbolic or ritualistic markings, akin to warrior tattoos or painted designs meant to convey identity, status, or spiritual significance? If so, the circles would not merely embellish the sculpture but would be integral to its intended cultural and symbolic narrative—an encoded message from a civilization that viewed art not only as representation but as a conduit of meaning and identity.
If, then, the practice of painting or tattooing the faces of warriors was already widespread 5,000 years ago, could the circles on the Giants’ faces be symbols painted on the warriors' faces?
If the markings on the Giants' faces were not eyes but symbols, what symbol would have been most likely to be represented in Neolithic Sardinia?
Throughout the Neolithic, not only in Sardinia but elsewhere, the symbol of the circle and concentric circles was almost omnipresent. Outside Sardinia, examples include megalithic constructions like Stonehenge, Brodgar, or the calendar circles of Nabta Playa. However, it is in Neolithic Sardinia that the circle symbol is extraordinarily widespread, representing life, death, and rebirth. Examples include the Domus de Janas of Monte Siseri, the Arca of Oschiri, the Stele of Mamoiada, the Domus de S’Incantu in Putifigari, as well as sites in Ogliastra—Pirarba (Bari Sardo) and Scerì (Ilbono)—in Fonni at the necropolis of Madau, in Baronia at Irgoli, and in Mandrolisai at Atzara.
Giovanni Lilliu, in his work La civiltà dei Sardi dal Neolitico all'età dei nuraghi (Turin, Eri Edizioni, 1980), includes an image of a Nuragic bronze figurine found in Abìni, which is presumably dated around the 10th century BCE. On this figurine, the motif of concentric circles appears with greater frequency than a tobacco sponsor’s logo on a Formula 1 driver’s suit: the figure displays four concentric circles on its chest and two on its shield.
Simply entering the search term "Neolithic statues" into Google and examining the resulting images reveals that, across the globe and during the historical period when the Giants of Mont’e Prama were created, statuary art was confined to the abstract representation of archetypes (the god, the warrior, etc.), systematically omitting detailed attention to physiognomic features.
Conclusion
What am I trying to say with all this rambling? Honestly, I’m not entirely sure myself. Perhaps that it is wonderful, when contemplating a work of art, to let the mind wander through associations of images without being overly constrained by the prevailing interpretation—an interpretation that, especially in the fields of art and archaeology, is often destined to be overturned by subsequent studies.
Or perhaps that, despite an awareness of my own absolute Socratic ignorance, despite acknowledging the authority of those who have dedicated a lifetime to studying a given subject, and despite handling the few notions I possess with the caution they deserve (since a superficial knowledge is often more dangerous than complete ignorance), it’s important to remember that even experts can sometimes be wrong. In such cases, questioning a theory can be harmless—provided it’s done with appropriate skepticism.
Or maybe I’m simply saying that Sardinia is home to countless ancient treasures that deserve to be discovered and appreciated.
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