When the 2024 Olympics unveiled a performance art piece that restaged The Last Supper, many viewers were stunned—not by the composition, but by the figure playing the role of Christ. Where Christ should have been was a modern day Bacchus. Bacchus was the Roman god of wine, revelry, and theater corresponding to the Greek god Dionysus. He was a figure of duality, representing both the joyful release and the destructive potential of intoxication. There he sat- drunken, flushed, eyes half-lidded in intoxication. To some, it seemed irreverent. To the initiated, it was deeply symbolic.
Bacchus and the Last Supper during the Olympic Ceremonies
To those of us who know the deeper currents of da Vinci’s life and art, who painted Bacchus and the Last Supper, it was something more.
It was familiar.
Salai: The Divine Muse Behind the Masterpieces
Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno, nicknamed Salai (“Little Devil”), was Leonardo da Vinci’s student, companion, and muse for over two decades. He entered Leonardo’s household at age 10 and never left. Over time, he became the model for many of Leonardo’s most iconic and mystical paintings—including the Mona Lisa, St. John the Baptist, Bacchus, Christ in the Last Supper and the Salvator Mundi.
Yes—Leonardo painted the same man as both Jesus and Bacchus.
In Roman mythology, Dionysus is known as Bacchus, and his celebrations, the Bacchanalia, became infamous for their extravagant drunken feasting and revelry- exactly like those depicted in the modern Olympic Ceremonies.
Think about that.
The Christ and the Bacchus.
The Savior and the Shadow.
Oh the duality!
As Above, So Below: The Sacred Mirror
Leonardo wasn’t just painting portraits. He was encoding esoteric truths into his work. By casting Salai as both Christ and Bacchus, he was illustrating a metaphysical principle:
We contain multitudes. The divine and the decadent. The sacred and the sensual. The Last Supper and the Last Drink.
In Salvator Mundi, Salai appears ethereal and serene—blessing the world with one hand, holding a crystal orb in the other.
Salvator Mundi by Leonardo da Vinci
In Bacchus, he is wild-eyed, indulgent, playful. He points to the earth—reminding us of our animal nature.
Bacchus by Leonardo da Vinci
These weren’t contradictions. They were complements.
Olympic Shadows: The Spirit of Salai Reborn
So when the Olympic figure seated in Leonardo’s Last Supper tableau appeared looking like a drunk Bacchus—flushed cheeks, leaning back with wine in hand—those who know saw something chillingly accurate:
A modern echo of Salai himself.
Not the idealized muse. Not the polished Christ. But the other side—the glutton, the thief, the little devil Leonardo once scolded in his notebooks.
He was back. And this time, the whole world was watching.
The Return of Dionysus: A Living Archetype
Salai is more than a historical figure—he is an archetype.
He is the charismatic trickster. The Casanova lover. The narcissist.
The muse who makes you create masterpieces and lose your mind.
And he’s still here.
Some of us have met him.
Some of us have loved him.
In this life, he may not even know who he is.
But you’ll know him by the wake of chaos and inspiration he leaves behind.
Conclusion: The Art of Being Human
Leonardo’s genius wasn’t just in anatomy or invention. It was in his ability to capture the whole human being—the divinity and the drama, the wine and the wafer, the ecstasy and the crucifixion.
By painting Salai as both Salvator Mundi and Bacchus, Leonardo left us a message:
To be fully human is to carry both the light of Christ and the chaos of Dionysus.
And when we embrace and integrate both, we don’t just create art.
We become it.