Alberti’s Window

One of the things I absolutely love about teaching is that students point out details in art that I have never noticed previously. Thanks to my students, I constantly find new discoveries in works of art that have long been familiar to me.

A couple of years ago, a student pointed out a detail in the Greek kouros statue from the Metropolian Museum of Art (ca. 600 BC, Archaic period, shown right). If you click on this image, you can see a small band that goes around the neck of this statue. I never, ever noticed that necklace until a student pointed it out.

So, what’s the significance of the necklace? To be honest, I don’t know. It reminds me of the torcs that was worn by ancient Gauls (see the Dying Gaul (ca. 230-220 BC)), but I don’t know if there is a direct connection to the kouros. Really, I can hardly find any discussion on the kouros necklace, except for a few things like this short passage in an old archaeology journal: “The Metropolitan Kouros is the only example in sculpture with a neckband in relief, and is further unique in having it tied in front – examples in vase paintings always have the neckband tied in the back.” ¹

If anyone knows of any information on this neckband, please let me know! I’m sure that my past student has long-forgotten that he pointed out that necklace to me, but it has piqued my curiosity for a long time.

Yesterday, a student pointed out another detail that I have never noticed before. The class was looking at a reproduction of Pontormo’s Deposition (c. 1528, see left), and a student asked if we knew any information about the man who is on the right side of the painting (he is wearing a dark hat and staring out at the viewer). Until she said something, I never had even noticed that man before! In class I speculated that it might be a portrait of the artist, and I learned today that others have suggested the same thing (see similar speculations here and here). Some people think that the artist depicting himself as Joseph of Arimathea, and that makes sense to me.

I’m so glad that students point out new things to me. It’s fun to continually observe and discover new things, even as a teacher. I guess that my eye is trained to look at specific things in Western masterpieces, and sometimes I overlook small details without realizing it. Thanks for giving me a fresh perspective, class. I like to learn and find new things, too.

1 Stephen B. Luce, “Archaeological News and Discussions,” in Amerian Journal of Archaeology 48, no. 3 (1944): 283.

Someone requested that I write a few introductory posts on architecture, and I am more than happy to comply! I thought that it would be fun to start with the architectural orders that were popular in ancient Greece. (I thought about waiting to write this post until I reached this same chronological point in my intro/survey posts, but I’m too excited to wait. So, sorry for the anachronism. Just pretend that the architectural posts are separate from the other survey posts.)

The three Greek architectural orders are called Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. These orders are easily defined by a key characteristics, namely the capitals (decorative heads) at the tops of the columns. There are several other architectural features which define these three orders (and there also are variants within these orders, as you can see in the drawing on the right), but I don’t want to overwhelm anyone. For now, we’ll just focus on the capitals of these basic columns.

As you can see from the pictures above, the Doric capital essentially is split into two simple sections. In contrast, the Ionic capital is decorated with large volute scrolls and the ornate Corinthian capital is decorated with acanthus leaves and scrolls. If you want to see some other examples of these capitals (and some other awesome capitals in general), click here and here.

Throughout history, the Greek architectural style has been adopted and revived by many other cultures. The Romans quickly adopted the Greek architectural style (really, they borrowed tons of their artistic ideas from the Greeks), and the term “Classical style” can refer to either Greek or Roman art. However, Romans put a twist to Greek design by sometimes using a superimposed order on buildings which had more than one story – each of the successive stories are decorated with a different order (this is a deviation from the Greeks, who consistently would use one order throughout a whole building). For example, you can see a superimposed order on the outside of the Colosseum (Rome, 70-80 AD). The Doric order is on the bottom level, the Ionic is on the middle level, and the Corinthian is on the top:

You can also see another drawing of the Colosseum orders here
(Note: the fourth level of the Colosseum also is decorated with Corinthian capitals – but these capitals are atop pilasters instead of columns).

The Greek/Classical style has been revived many other times throughout history. Due to the excavation/discovery of Pompeii in 1748, Europeans became enamored with the Classical style once again – which led to the popular Neoclassical movement. Neoclassical architecture can be seen all over America and Europe. In America, the classical style is often used for civic buildings (which makes sense, because the Founding Fathers took part in this Neoclassical revival – they were influenced by the ideal of the Roman Republic). Here are a couple of Neoclassical examples:

William Wilkins (architect), Downing College, Cambridge (1807-21)

Note the large Ionic columns that decorate the porch

Thomas Jefferson, Monticello, Charlottesville, Virginia (1770-1806)
Jefferson used Doric columns for the porch of his home

Jacques-Germain Soufflot, the Panthéon (Ste.-Geneviève),
Paris, 1755-1792
See the large Corinthian columns?

So, where have you most recently seen some columns with Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian capitals? I most recently saw Corinthian columns on this iron pergola:

Pergola, Historic Pioneer Square, Seattle (first built 1909)

Earlier this summer I posted about how the Elgin Marbles controversy has been reignited with the opening of the new Acropolis Museum. It seems like the flames keep getting fanned as the summer waxes on. Currently, the Acropolis Museum is showing screenings of a short animated clip by Costa Gavros. This clip shows the history of the Parthenon, which culminates with Lord Elgin’s workers hacking metopes and pediment sculptures off of the facade. Excerpts of Lord Byron’s poem “The Curse of Minerva” is read by a narrator at the end of the clip (Byron wrote this satiric poem in 1811, when Lord Elgin was still removing marbles off of the Parthenon).

You can bet that this screening is a not-so-subtle hint that the Acropolis Museum wants their sculptures back. You can watch the clip here:

I don’t know if this clip has sparked much dialogue between the Greeks and Brits yet, but it has attracted attention and controversy. Recently, the Orthodox Church complained about the depictions of Christians destroying images in the film, and asked that 12 seconds of the film be removed. Later, it was decided that the film would remain unedited.

What do you think of the clip? I think fun to see a visual history of the Parthenon, even if the film agenda is biased.

It will be interesting to see if this Elgin Marbles debate ever ends. I don’t think that either side is backing down or willing to reach a consensus as to where the statues should remain. It’s a never-ending battle. It kind of reminds me of when Jack Sparrow and Barbossa are locked in an eternal sword fight at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Each side keeps on attacking and jabbing, but no progress is made towards ending the fight.

When I went on an art history study abroad several years ago, we began our trip in Athens and traveled north, finally finishing our studies in London. It was weird to have our term begin with a trip to the Parthenon, and then have the term end with a trip to see the Parthenon statues…in the British Museum in London. Although it was fun to get close and examine details that would be difficult to see if the statues were in situ, I still couldn’t help but think how wonderful it would be to see these statues in Greece, where they originated. Recently, I have been thinking about how the Elgin Marbles are a good example of how European culture claims (and repossesses) the ancient Greek culture as European heritage. (Although, arguably, ancient Greek culture has become European heritage because of the Enlightenment.)

The Parthenon statues in London, better known as the Elgin Marbles, were taken from the acropolis in the early 19th century by Lord Elgin (a British ambassador). This week’s edition of Newsweek has a great article which summarizes the displacement of the Parthenon sculptures, and also discusses the ongoing debate between the Brits and Greeks as to where the marbles belong. Understandably, the Greeks want their statues back. Part of the British argument is that there isn’t a proper facility in Greece to maintain the statues. Well, that argument will soon have less weight – the new Acropolis Museum will open to the public this month. (This museum looks really awesome too – there is a glass floor in the building to show an ancient site that was discovered during the excavation and construction of the site (see photo on left)).

I do think it has been great that the statues have been in London, since they probably would have been damaged or destroyed if they had stayed in Athens. (Although, ahem, the British “cleaning” of the statues in the 1930s was not exactly helpful.) However, with this new Acropolis Museum, I feel like it is the right time to let the Greeks enjoy and care for something that is inherently theirs. Although I realize there are a lot of problems that could happen with the transition of the statues (see the Newsweek article), I think that they should end up Greece. Really though, I’m a sucker for historical accuracy and original intent.

And if the Brits cannot compromise on that issue, I think that the statues should at least be sent to Greece on a long-term loan.

Where do you think the statues should be located? Are you Team Athens or Team London?

You can read more about the debate for/against the return of the Parthenon statues here – although the entry for returning the statues to Athens seems a little biased at present.

When I was in college, one of my professors explained her theory that art is cyclical in nature. Over the centuries, there are certain themes and styles in art that keep emerging and fading in popularity. I have often thought about this theory in regards to the Classical and Baroque styles. Although this theory can apply to different types of art, I am in the mood for looking at sculpture, so I’ll only mostly use sculptural examples.

In early Greece, the serene, harmonious Classical style pervaded the artistic scene:

Polykleitos, “Spear-bearer” (Doryphoros), original dated c. 450-440 BC.

However, a short time later, the calm Classical style was disrupted by a taste for more dramatic, diagonal compositions in the Hellenistic period. In addition, relief sculptures were carved more deeply (some sculptures were practically in-the-round, almost jumping off of the relief wall) so that intense shadows could be cast:

Athena Battling Alkyoneos, Detail of the Gigantomachy Freize from the Altar of Zeus (Pergamon, Turkey, c. 175 BC).

The cycle between serenity and drama began again centuries later, when the Classical style became revived during the Renaissance:

Michelangelo, David, 1501-04

And only a century later, the Baroque period began as the artistic scene once again favored diagonal, dramatic compositions and subject matter:

Bernini, David, 1623

With the discovery of Pompeii in 1748, the interest in Classicism began the cycle all over again. This interest brought about the Neoclassical movement:

Antonio Canova, Pauline Borghese as Venus, 1808

The Romantic movement began about the same time and can be interpreted as a continuation of this cycle. In a way, the Romantics reacted against Neoclassicism by favoring drama and emotion over the serenity. This painting by Géricault focuses on dramatic subject matter by depicting a real-life event of shipwrecked passengers that were on the boat “Medusa.” A shortage of lifeboats caused 150 passengers to build a raft, and survivors resorted to cannibalism in order to stay alive on the open sea. (You can read more of the story here.) Can you see how this subject matter is dramatic? To heighten the drama, Gericault depicted an emotional moment when the survivors spot their rescue ship in the distance. Géricault even follows the same dramatic diagonal compositions that were favored in earlier dramatic styles:

Géricault, Raft of the “Medusa”, 1818-19

Since the Neoclassical/Romantic periods, the artistic continuum really hasn’t seen another revival of the serene/dramatic styles. There have been some slight interest in traditional subject matter, such as the Regionalism movement (think of American Gothic). I guess Regionalism could be considered a continuation of serenity and tradition, if one is willing to categorize abstractionism (the style the Regionalists rejected) as dramatic. Hmm.

I’m curious to see if art will ever return back to this cycle. Since the 19th and 20th centuries, art has just exploded into different types of media and styles. Have we left traditional cycles altogether? It is interesting to think about what art will be like in a hundred years or so.

What do you think about the future of art? Have you observed any other types of artistic cycles besides this one?