March 9, 2012

A couple of weeks ago, I visited another part of the Museo Nazionale Romano at Palazzo Altemps with my advisor here, Albert Prieto. Room after (horribly curated) room held so many objects I found so foreign: a massive acrolithic head thought to belong to a temple of Aphrodite in Southern Italy, the statue of the Galatian suicide (commissioned by Attalus I for the Pergamon Altar), various incarnations of Osiris, of Isis, of Cupid strangling geese, of Hermes Loghios (“the eloquent”) and standing there, looking up at these, it almost scared me a little to think of how much of a gap exists between myself and a world where a ruler would commission a public statue of his defeated enemy killing himself and his wife, where might seems to have made right, where everything—even eloquence—had a god...and then even writing this doesn't seem so strange. I don't know. Yet when I see the graffiti carved into the marble seats of the Colosseum or read Seneca's Tranquility of the Mind, I can't help but see what seem to me very human traits of leaving one's mark, of spectacle, violence, and the desire to master the self or mind. My time here has been a kind of see-saw between two points, a struggle between seeing similarities and seeing incredible differences between our culture and that of ancient Rome.

I also continue to be amazed by the way humanity reconstructs things. Almost every statue in the Museo Nazionale Romano at Palazzo Altemps has been "restored" by a Baroque artist (even Bernini restored the Ludovisi Mars). Each piece is almost a completely new work. On one the artist changed the gender from female to male; on another Ippolito Bucio, the restoring artist, took various pieces of different statues and made them into his own transgender version of Cupid and Psyche. These restorations seem like wonderful metaphors for scholarship. We approach something from antiquity that we have found, yet is still not pure data in any way. It is presented to us with the "restorations" of earlier scholarship already there. But the thing is, there's no way to look at the "original" object. It's already displaced, even without the restorations. In fact, there is no original object. Just some musings, but ones that I’ve enjoyed thinking about.

February 7, 2012

Last week featured a visit to the Museo Nazionale Romano at the Baths of Diocletian. This amazing structure, that (according to one source) used to be able to hold over 3,000 bathers at one time, now houses some of Rome’s finest antiquities. After my discussion with Alberto Prieto last week about some of the inscriptions exhibited there, I had to return for another look.

Despite the rather chaotic curation, I LOVE this museum. It displays inscriptions on all types of objects: glass vessels, votive offerings in the shape of bread loaves, small bronze tags, and statue bases, among others. I spent most of my time looking at three main pieces: the Fibula Praenestina, the inscription beneath the Lapis Niger, and the so-called Laudatio Turiae.

A bit about each.

The Fibula Prenestina is a gold dragon fibula (clothes-pin) that was found in the Bernardini Tomb in Praeneste (modern Palestrina). Dating back to the first half of the 7^th century BCE, it is the oldest surviving Latin inscription, and while its authenticity was questioned for a long time, recent research has proven that it is, in fact, authentic.

The inscription found beneath the Lapis Niger (literally “Black Stone”) in the Forum Romanum is slightly more recent, dating back to the 6^th century BCE, but is still the oldest stone inscription to survive into modernity. The inscription marked the spot some say was pre-destined for the death of Romulus (first king of Rome). This site remained sacred to the Romans past the time of Julius Caesar (although they eventually forgot why).

The “Laudatio Turiae” records a beautiful funeral oration for a woman identified as Turia. It dates between 8 and 2 BCE and tells of Turia’s heroic wifely duties during the Roman civil wars, an interesting example of the type of behavior the Romans saw as virtuous in women.

January 27, 2012

My exploration of Rome has continued since returning after the holidays in the U.S. I was able check out the excavations beneath the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina and those beneath the area of the Trevi fountain with Dr. Elisabeth Fuhrmann. Beneath San Lorenzo we saw not only the remains of a fifth-century church, but also the remains (including some amazing frescoes) of second- and third-century Roman insulae, or apartments. Beneath the street level of the Trevi fountain, we saw an ancient Roman road, the vicus Caprarius, and the ancient cisterns and subsequent late-antique house that were built next to it. You never know what lies beneath your feet here in Rome!

I was also able to explore the Archaeological Study Collection at the American Academy with dear friends: current AAR Fellow Heidi Wendt, Dr. Annewies van den Hoek, lecturer in Greek and Latin at Harvard University, and John J. Herrmann, Curator Emeritus of Classical Art at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Terracotta ears, uteri, and feet (votive offerings left at temples in ancient Rome), ancient ceramics and flasks—it was a treat to examine them all with such experts!

This week included studying at the library of the French School in Rome—l’École Francaise de Rome—in the piéce de resistance of the high Renaissance, Palazzo Farnese. Friends and I booked in advance to take a tour of the building, which is stunning!

My research on Santa Maria Antiqua and the Spring of Juturna continues. It turns out that the connection between the ancient healing site and the Chapel of Physicians (a later healing site) has already been posited by several scholars, first by Eva Tea and expanded most recently by David Knipp. Knipp suggests that the installation of a cult of Eastern medical saints at Santa Maria Antiqua (manifested in the Chapel of Physicians) was due not only to the ancient  connotation of the site as one of healing (with the Spring of Juturna), but also to the predominantly Byzantine environment of that particular area of the city (the administration on  the neighboring Palatine Hill, the emergence of a Byzantine quarter there with the influx of Eastern immigrants from Egypt in the seventh century, and the dedication of the church of San Teodoro nearby). Knipp is convincing, but this still doesn’t explain why the space was transformed into a church before this, in the sixth century. Why was this particular space transformed into a church? Hopefully research in the coming weeks will shed some light on this question!

December 9, 2011

My research continues on the Basilica of Santa Maria Antiqua, one of the — if not the — oldest Christian churches in the Roman Forum. At the library and archive of the British School at Rome, I have learned that the frescoes found here are unique and precious examples of Byzantine and medieval art, as most of this art was destroyed during two periods of Iconoclasm, in the 8th and 9th centuries (730-87 and 814-42), when “icons” or images were seen as blasphemous. When formal archaeological excavations in the early 20th century brought these frescoes to scholarly attention, they changed our understanding of Byzantine art and frescoes. And indeed, most of the previous scholarship on this complex has focused on the Byzantine frescoes on the church walls.

While the frescoes are beautiful and fascinating (especially those in the Chapel of Physicians on the right side of the central apse, which served as a pilgrimage destination in the medieval period), I am particularly interested in the interpretation and the history of the building as a sacred space. Turned into a church in the 6th century CE, Santa Maria Antiqua became the cathedral of Pope John VII here in Rome in 705-707. The church of Santa Maria Liberatrice al Foro Romano was built on the site in the 12th century after the destruction of Santa Maria Antiqua by an earthquake and the Normans; it was given an ornate façade during the Baroque period before being destroyed in 1902 to reveal the remains of the older church beneath it.

Why was this building turned into a church and not, for example, the nearby Temple of Saturn or the Temple of Castor and Pollux (both in the Roman Forum)? Was there an association with a healing divinity here? Is there a connection between the Spring of Juturna and the Chapel of Physicians? These are just a few of the questions I look forward to exploring in the coming weeks.

November 16, 2011

Picture this: It’s 1702 and you’re in Rome. The Ancient Roman Forum has still not been excavated, masses of dirt and soil still cover many of the ancient monuments. However, where the northwestern corner of the Palatine Hill meets the Forum, a mound of this dirt falls away, revealing the large frescoed apse of a forgotten church: Santa Maria Antiqua.

For my research on the church of Santa Maria Antiqua (SMA), the AIRC put me in touch with Werner Schmid, its chief conservator. I met with him this morning and he showed me around the complex, currently closed to the public.

 A bit of history: The space SMA occupies was originally built in the first century CE. It’s still debated whether it was a large hall for the Emperor Domitian (81-96) or, possibly, the Athenaeum, or ‘University’ of the Emperor Hadrian (117-138). However, in the mid- to late-sixth century, the complex was transformed into a Christian church and renovated several times until an earthquake in 847 destroyed part of it and sealed it.

Werner led me past the Oratory of Forty Martyrs, past the tall walls of the ancient Roman atrium, and into the nave of the church. I was stunned by the frescoes I saw on the walls, columns, chapels, and apse. In particular, there is a palimpsest on the right side of the apse that has four successive layers. The earliest layer, dating to the sixth century, depicts Mary as regina, queen; the next features another face of Mary and an angelic figure, the remnants of an annunciation scene; the latest layer features one of the Church fathers, a halo encircling his head on a background of yellow.

Despite all the amazing layers to SMA, I am particularly interested in its transformation from Roman “pagan” space to Christian church in the sixth century. Why wait this long after Christianity had taken hold in the Roman Empire? Why was this space chosen? How were the architectural elements adapted?

I’m looking forward to exploring these questions in the upcoming weeks.

November 7, 2011

One of the great parts about this experience here in Rome is just that, the experience. My reading and research about Roman architecture and sacred spaces is progressing (slowly), I hope to finish my paper on the “House of Augustus” on the Palatine and the contemporary art of Jon Laustsen next week, and my Italian class continues. Despite being here in Italy, the land of la dolce vita, I find myself continually frustrated about how much I am getting done: Why aren’t I further along in my project? I should know that, I should be reading more, visiting more churches, seeing more museums…More, more, more. However, I keep finding that I learn so much—perhaps more—from my interactions with people than my reading or Italian grammar exercises. Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to push yourself and set high standards; but for me, discussions with others often constitute “deep” learning experiences, as opposed to “surface” or “strategic” ones, to use the language of a recent Chronicle of Higher Education article. They help me identify why I am doing something and to take a look around and enjoy the process.   Case in point, after Italian class one evening, my classmates and I went out for an aperitivo (a wonderful Italian pastime that takes place around 7 pm, before dinner, where you go out with family or friends for a drink and accompanying appetizers). Nonso is from Nigeria, Stratos from Greece, Mariana from Hungary, and Maddie from California. From simply choosing a place to go (you’d think we were choosing the location of the next Metro C stop) to the conversation once we got there, it reminded me what traveling is all about: opening your eyes to the wide world around you. Once we finally chose a spot, ordered beers and nibbled on various kinds of arancini (a Sicilian specialty; basically, fried rice balls stuffed with various things—ragù, spinach and cheese, mozzarella, etc.) the conversation turned to international politics. Stratos groused about the economic situation in Greece and Papandreou’s leadership, which led to a discussion about leadership in general. Nonso bemoaned the state of leadership in Africa, saying that he didn’t understand why a leader remained in power when the people wanted him gone: “Anytime someone wants to take power, it’s bad,” he said.

Maddie didn’t agree, “it’s the abuse of power that’s bad, not taking power itself.”

“Ah, but when did you see power without the abuse of it?” He asked, citing examples in Nigeria and Sudan. As the back and forth continued I realized, once again, that so much of what we see and how we see it depends on our frame of reference: where we come from, how we grew up, and our life experiences. This is what makes diversity so important: every culture, every person is different and there is never one way of doing things.

October 28, 2011

I have recently embarked on a nine-month research project in Rome, Italy that will investigate six architectural and archaeological complexes of the ancient Roman Fora and Christian basilicas in order to explore the responses of non-elites and slaves to the architecture and spaces of the period of transition from pagan to early Christian Rome. By examining, writing about, and sketching these architectural and archaeological complexes, I also aim to ponder the philosophy of architecture, space, and its influence in the history of early Roman Christianity.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of learning and activity here in Rome: my Italian course continues, as does reading and other research about the Palatine Hill, ancient Roman Forum, and cultural heritage and preservation. I attended the “Memoria Romana” Conference at the American Academy in Rome and watched as a huge protest over Italy’s debt (complete with burning cars and tear gas) took over the city, not to mention Rome flooding last Thursday (two children were rafting in the Circus Maximus). All contributed to my thinking about the Roman Forum and the Palatine Hill, to which I am devoting five weeks of my project.

In particular, the area of the “House of Augustus” on the Palatine Hill drew my interest in two ways: its setting in the first-century CE and its current setting. In the first century, the House of Augustus was located directly next to the “Hut of Romulus” and the surrounding temples that Augustus built, rebuilt, or restored (the Temple of Apollo, the Temple of Victory, and Temple of the Great Mother). Its current setting is a jumble of the first-century house itself and its frescoed walls, deeper archaeological excavations of the Iron Age huts beside it, ruins (mostly foundations) of the temples that come to surround it, and modern architecture and signs placed in the area to both preserve and direct visitors to particular areas of the site. I saw strong resonances between the physical history of this site and the work of contemporary artist Jon Laustsen. What can we actually know of history? How do we form cultural memory? And, why do we decide to value certain spaces? I am currently working on a short paper that aims to address these questions through the archaeological remains in the area of the House of Augustus and their current presentation, an installation of Jon Laustsen’s, “Emergence,” 2010, and a smaller sculpture of his, “Behind Firewall Landing,” 2010. I look forward to working with AIRC archaeologist Alberto Prieto and examining the remains of Santa Maria Antiqua in the ancient Roman Forum.