Statue of Horemheb (or Tutankhamun) and Amun

In the pale, honeyed limestone of this majestic double statue now residing in the Egyptian Museum of Turin (Cat. 768), the god Amun sits enthroned, serene and dominant, while the king stands reverently by his side. Though the cartouche names the pharaoh as Horemheb, some suggest it may have originally been made under the rulership of king Tutankhamun.

The sculpted faces; youthful, almond-eyed, their lips full and softly curved, are so alike in the elegant idiom of post-Amarna art that distinguishing between them becomes a riddle of stone. And yet, the surface offers no scar of usurpation; no chiselled ghosts of erased titles mar the harmonious scene.

The statue rises just over two metres, its forms gentle, unboastful, bodies with modest musculature, rounded bellies, and tranquil grace; traits that reflect the aesthetic breath of air following Akhenaten’s fervent upheaval. In this more measured age, art turned inward again, finding balance between realism and reverence.

Amun’s commanding stature, taller than the pharaoh himself, follows the sacred logic of hierarchical scale: the god must loom larger, for his divinity outweighs earthly crown. Yet the composition binds the two in intimacy and allegiance.

Whether created by Tutankhamun and inherited by Horemheb or commissioned by the latter alone, the message is crystalline, this king walks with the gods. In temple life, the image would have drunk in offerings and incense; in the stillness of eternity, it declares Horemheb’s rightful place in the divine order, tethering the throne to the heavens in silent, sculpted devotion.

Amun in a post-Atenist Age

The statue of Amun and the pharaoh (be he Horemheb or possibly Tutankhamun)holds particular resonance in the post-Atenist age, when Egypt was still reeling from the radical religious and artistic reforms imposed by Akhenaten.

Under Akhenaten, traditional worship of Egypt’s gods (most notably Amun) had been aggressively suppressed in favour of the singular sun disc, Aten. Temples were closed, priests were sidelined, and even the name “Amun” was chiselled out of monuments across the land. The cultural trauma of this upheaval ran deep, and with Akhenaten’s death, Egypt entered a period of careful restoration.

It is within this fragile climate of religious healing that the statue must be understood. Amun, once dishonoured, is shown here restored to supreme authority, seated in majesty while the pharaoh stands in humble attendance. The sheer size of Amun, larger than the king himself, is not mere artistic convention; it is a declaration: the old gods have returned, and with them, divine order. By depicting himself (or allowing himself to be depicted) in such deference, the king aligns himself with the will of the gods and the enduring traditions of Egypt.

This was not just personal piety; it was political theatre. In a time when the throne’s legitimacy was fragile, especially for someone like Horemheb who had no royal blood, binding oneself publicly to Amun was a powerful gesture. It said to the people, the priests, and to history itself: I am chosen, not merely by birth, but by the gods.

Summary:

The god Amun enthroned beside a standing king (Horemheb or originally Tutankhamun)

New Kingdom, late 18th Dynasty, reign of Horemheb, c. 1319–1292 B.C.

Limestone; 209 x 90 x 112 cm

Egyptian Museum, Turin, Cat. 768