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1 Detail of the painted Prima Porta Augustus. Photo: Wolfram Martini, with permission from Munich
Staatliche Antikensammlung und Glyptothek.
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3 (left) The Prima Porta statue of Augustus, c. CE 15. Parian marble, height 204 cm. Rome: Vatican
Museums (inv. 2290). Photo: Vatican Museums.
4 (right) The painted plaster reconstruction of the Prima Porta statue of Augustus, 20023. Rome:
Vatican Museums (inv. 36858). Photo: Vatican Museums.
ARCHAEOLOGICAL EVIDENCE
Painted marble is a controversial subject which has elicited little agreement since
it was first raised in the early nineteenth century. It is now generally accepted
that most and perhaps all Greco-Roman marble sculpture and architecture
(like its Egyptian and Near-Eastern counterparts) received some form of supplementary coating to modify and enhance its surfaces, which also manipulated the
colour.6 This surface treatment is now recognized to be integral to the overall
effect of the sculpture. In particular, it has been observed that the draped parts of
statues, their eyes, eyelashes, lips, hair and accessories received coats of colour,
and it is likely that the remaining areas were also treated so that the appearance
of the stone was modified.7 The backgrounds of grave reliefs and architectural
friezes were normally brightly coloured, and details in the foreground were
frequently picked out with colour and metal attachments.8 Evidence of the
gilding of specific features of marble sculpture, both statuary and relief sculpture, to produce the effect of metal accoutrements as well as to distinguish
certain features of heroic figures survives from as early as the fifth century BCE
through to the end of antiquity.9 In addition to gilding, there is widespread
evidence for the completion of marble sculpture with features in bronze, lead,
stucco or wooden accessories: weapons, armour, sceptres, hair, beards and
jewellery in these materials were added to a wide range of sculpture from all
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5 Laurence Alma-Tadema, Pheidias and the Frieze of the Parthenon, 1868, showing Pheidias unveiling
the bold colours of the frieze to his (much more subdued and paler-skinned) guests. Oil on
canvas, 72.3 109.2 cm. Birmingham: Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery. Photo:
Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery.
periods. Eyes were normally painted directly on to the marble, but they could also
be inlaid using enamel, ivory, glass, coloured marbles or gems, sometimes kept in
place with bronze eyelashes.10 Early imperial Rome also saw the proliferation of
complex and sophisticated combinations of polychrome marbles in order to
produce realistic coloristic effects, with white marbles used to render skin, darker
stones for the hair and textured marbles for the clothes: even for these pieces, one
should probably expect further embellishment by means of coatings and patinas
for the skin and paint for the lips and eyes.11 Nor did applications of colour
simply modify carved details already marked out on the stone: often paint alone
was employed to render and differentiate detail on smooth surfaces.12
Marble was symptomatic of a wide range of sculptural materials that were
treated and embellished to produce subtle and realistic effects of colour. The
surfaces of sculpture in limestone, sandstone or porous volcanic stones were often
covered with plaster or stucco, and it is generally accepted that these coverings
were painted in their entirety.13 Terracotta sculpture was also intricately painted,
its pigments often better preserved than marble sculpture owing to its porous
surfaces and the context in which it was normally kept.14 In addition, the
surfaces of bronze statuary were regularly variegated or coloured with different
alloys, inlaid or brightly painted eyes, silver-plated teeth and fingernails, darkened
hair and other features, and were sometimes gilded or coated with various
patinas and pigmentations.15 The same was probably also true of the majority of
sculpture in ivory, most notably variegated chryselephantine statuary.16 It
should be expected that antiquitys wooden statues, now almost entirely lost
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8 (left) The head of Caligula, c. CE 3741, photographed in 1957 before it was damaged, showing
clear traces of colour on and around the left eye. Parian marble, height 31 cm. Copenhagen: Ny
Carlsberg Glyptotek (inv. 2687). Photo: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen.
9 (right) The first of two painted reconstructions (Caligula A) of the head of Caligula, 2003.
Copenhagen: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek (inv. 2687a). Photo: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen.
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10 Mid-third-century CE relief depicting Mithras Tauroctonos (the Bull-Slayer) with gilded face as
he stares back towards the Sun, with polychrome features clearly preserved in the scene around
him. Marble, 90.5 148 cm. Rome: Terme di Diocleziano, Museo Nazionale Romano. Photo:
Terme di Diocleziano, Museo Nazionale Romano, Rome, inv. 205837.
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than those on low buildings, and that vividly coloured backgrounds helped
viewers to pick out the figures.37 Colour must have been critical to monuments
such as Trajans column, where distinctive features (such as the emperor in
purple) could be highlighted and artistic detail appreciated by viewers standing
some twenty feet or further away. Paint offers one solution to the perennial
problem of how viewers could pick out the intricate sculpted detail of such
monuments.
One effect of using bold colours to enhance visibility, it has been argued, is
that the sculptures may have appeared super-natural: they were painted not in
imitation of, but by analogy with nature, the colours bolder and simpler.38 At a
distance, however, bright colours do not necessarily make the subject seem
unrealistic; viewed at close proximity, bold pigments professionally applied to
pieces such as the Prima Porta Augustus and the Copenhagen Caligula catch the
attention and make the sacred and the powerful stand out.39 This key idea, and
its connection with Roman heroic statuary, was memorably captured by Virgil in
the first book of the Aeneid, when Venus finally reveals her son Aeneas to the
Carthaginian queen with a view to captivating her with his statuesque beauty:
He [Achates] had scarcely finished speaking, when suddenly the enveloping cloud parted and
vanished into thin air. Aeneas stood there and gleamed in the bright light (claraque
in luce refulsit), like a god in his face and shoulders; for his mother herself had breathed the
purple glow (purpureum lumen) of youth into her sons distinguished locks and a pleasant spark
(laetos honores) into his eyes just as hands add distinction (decus) to ivory, or when silver or
Parian marble is laced with yellow gold.40
Aeneas, at least in this divinely enhanced manifestation, appears both superhuman and statuesque: Virgil exploits both the metaphors of heroic statuary and
of divine lustre in order to convey his appearance and his impression on the
queen.41 The poets language captures the effects of clarity and luminosity (claraque in luce refulsit . . . lumen purpureum . . . laetos honores . . . decus) and then compares
Aeneas to a chryselephantine or Parian marble statue, its surfaces embellished by
artistic expertise just as Aeneas striking figure is evoked by Virgilian ekphrasis.
The human form provides only the raw material; artistic skill provides the
finishing touches sea-purple dye on ivory or gilded decoration on marble.
Elsewhere in the Aeneid, figures that dazzle and captivate characters with their
appearance are likened to statues: in particular, the blushing Lavinia, who says
not a word in the poem but through her beauty alone enraptures the Italian
prince Turnus and thereby crafts his doom, is also compared to an ivory sculpture
dyed with purple (12.6469). The heroic statue, then, was set up both as the
passive spectacle that drew the viewer to it, and as an active protagonist that
made an impact on the viewers world: the striking use of colour, it appears, was a
key medium through which this impact could be made.
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and a painted tablet (picta tabella) to decorate her temple, but also a marble statue
of a winged Cupid, his quiver painted, as is the custom, with wings of a thousand
colours (mille colores); this suggests that there were typologies of paint appropriate
for individual subjects.45 Furthermore, some of the pigments that were regularly
used on high-grade sculpture (malachite, azurite, cinnabar, Egyptian blue)
were worth their weight in gold and it is likely that connoisseurs would be
trained to identify and appreciate the cost and value of certain pigments that
were used, just as they were trained to recognize the material out of which the
sculpture was carved.46
There is some reason to believe, at least for the most important and expensive
works of sculpture, that a separate professional was commissioned to finish off
what the sculptor had started, once the sculpture had been set up in position.47
In a frequently cited passage of book 35 of the Natural History, Pliny the Elder
discusses the aesthetic tastes of the sculptor Praxiteles who, when asked which
marble works he thought most highly of, replied those that the painter Nicias had
worked on, since he valued the process of applying paint (circumlitio) to statues so
highly.48 Plutarch, in his treatise On the glory of the Athenians, compares tragic
actors to the painters, gilders and dyers of statues; like these, tragic actors put the
finishing touches to the plays they perform.49 There is some evidence that
professionals called polishers (Latin politores) existed, who developed sophisticated methods to achieve subtle finishes for gems, ivories and marbles.50 Indeed
polishing provided a convenient classical metaphor for finishing and refining
diverse features of ancient life: agriculture, clothes, speech, literature, moral
stature and physical appearance, as well as works of art, were all polished in
order to achieve refinement and perfection.51 The application of colour to marble
sculpture, then, was an integral part of the finishing process. The adjective
marble (marmareos/marmoreus) described not a raw lump of rock, but a shaped,
crafted, polished work of art.52 Part of a sculptural polish might also include
preservative coatings applied to the marble, as well as varnishes, patinas, glazes,
colour sheens, highlights and metal attachments. Furthermore, we should expect
that many sculptures were periodically restored and repainted in order to restore
colours that had faded or been damaged, and it is by no means certain that they
were always restored in the same way.53
Indeed, there is probably very little to tell between the various coats of polish
and coats of paint on Roman marble. Across antiquity, marble surfaces were
artificially enhanced by a process called ganosis, in which a layer of melted wax
mixed with olive oil was applied, which both protected the underlying marble
and enhanced the brilliance of painted surfaces.54 It seems likely that ganosis was
applied to sculptural surfaces on a regular (in some cases annual) basis, and it was
probably a standard part of restoration projects.55 Ganosis was perhaps one of a
number of available surface treatments which modified the appearance of
underlying colours. Pliny describes Apelles use of atramentum (35.97) as a finish
for his paintings, a dark preservative/varnish applied so thinly that it threw up
the brilliance of all the colours (claritates colorum omnium excitaret) while toning
down and giving sombreness (austeritas) to those that were too garish (floridi): the
effect, he adds, was similar to that of looking through tinted glass (lapis specularis).56 Finishing the artistic medium, then, was a highly complex technical
process which highlighted and enhanced the underlying material.
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a cold white statue would . . . have appeared incomplete to that people [the
Greeks].59
REALISM
Viewers in the modern West are conditioned both to expect and to accept
monochrome marble figures with white hair, white skin and white eyeballs.
This is in part a consequence of neo-classical aesthetics: some of the most
iconic and memorable items of post-medieval sculpture display unblemished
white marble surfaces.60 And yet this is an artistic aesthetic that (at face value)
is categorically abstract and incongruous with the principles of classical realism.
A monochrome marble figure fractures the fundamental relationship between
art and reality: a white statue of Augustus does not populate the world of
the living.
Colour, then, circumvents this problem. Colour provides the finish that
brings the sculpture to life, that produces as they could sometimes be described
in a range of ancient discourses living images on the ambiguous line between
the real and the imaginary (Greek zoa or Latin spirantia signa, to take two
suggestive categories).61 Public statues intermingled with the world of the
living, and painted relief sculpture could be seen to recreate mythic scenes
that were so lifelike that viewers believed they had really happened.62 In the third
or fourth century CE, Kallistratos described the preparation of a Parian marble
statue of a Maenad in such a way as to render it almost alive and depart from
the law (nomos) that normally governs stone: what one saw was really an image,
but art (techne) carried imitation (mimesis) over into reality.63 This idea had also
been explored by Plato: a section of the Republic comparing the correctly painted
statue to the correctly organized state draws attention to the role of colour in
achieving mimesis:
It is as if someone were to approach us as we were painting a statue and criticize us, saying that
we did not apply the most beautiful pigments to the most beautiful parts of the image. For the
eyes, which are the most beautiful part have not been painted with purple but with black. We
should reasonably reply to him, My dear friend, do not expect us to paint the eyes so fine that
they will not be like eyes at all, nor the other parts, but observe whether or not by assigning
what is appropriate (ta prosekonta) to each part, we make the whole beautiful.64
Ancient discussions of art tended to lay great emphasis on the controlled and
sober use of correct pigments for imitation and representation.65 For contemporary philosophers, paints were artificial surfaces and therefore any connection
with the underlying object was arbitrary; the sheer diversity of artificial paints,
pigments and dyes exacerbated this difficulty, and the threat it posed to the
relationship between perception and understanding. Artistic and poetic colours
were sometimes considered incompatible: qualities of colour in Greek verse such
as rosy-fingered (rhododaktulos), for example, could hardly be reproduced by the
painter using rose dye (rhodeon chroma).66 One solution to the logical problem
posed by paints was to aim to use the correct colour (so, in crude terms, make art
veristic). Thus Platos analogy between the painting of a statue and the organization of the state draws attention to the importance of applying the correct
colours to the correct parts of the image.67 The accurate alignment of artistic
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with the living and sharing their iconography, values and history. The possibilities, uncertainties and discomfort generated by this ambiguity between art and
life provided a fertile ground for exploration in a wide range of artistic and
literary discourses.81
Representations of sculpture in ancient painting, and particularly the rich
wall-paintings of Pompeii and other key Roman sites, offer a rich source of
information about the appearance, context and distribution of ancient sculpture.82 And yet, it can sometimes be very difficult to distinguish a statue from a
living figure in an ancient artistic representation. A small handful of examples
can be cited which unambiguously appear to depict statues, either because
of their position in the scene, or because a statue is in the process of being
completed, or because it exhibits characteristics that are statuesque, such as a
statue base, miniature dimensions, stiff pose or manifestly material features.
On the whole, however, images of classical statues tended to force the viewer to
question whether the figure was real or artificial. The ambiguous representation
of figures was in fact a primary motif in all styles of Pompeian wall-painting;
plate 14 shows a female painter, herself a figure in a framed painting, comparing
a painted statue perhaps Priapus to a framed painting at her feet (which
of the two she is about to paint is left deliberately unclear). Ambiguous figural
art was a particular characteristic of garden-paintings, in which painted
statues stared back as if they might at any moment spring to life.83 The degree to
which statues in these paintings faithfully reproduce the appearance, position
and reception of real statues is the subject of some debate, although it must be
taken as axiomatic that the painters were exploiting and parading an existing
sculptural aesthetic that challenged the division between art and life.84 To a
certain extent, these representations belonged to the provocative realm of illusionism in which the artist could deploy and explore creative uses of stance,
weight, material and colour.
Take, for example, the painting of the statue of Mars in the House of
Venus Marina at Pompeii (see plate 15).85 This armed figure, nude apart from a
red cloak that hangs down his back, is predominantly white (presumably an
indication of the marble out of which the statue is carved), although the features
of his face are painted. With the skin coloration and the pedestal, he is clearly
intended to look like a real garden statue, and yet his helmet plume is organic
and unstatuesque, and the figure stands in contrapposto, tilting to its right so
far without props or struts that a real stone statue could not stand upright.86
By merging the statuesque and the lifelike in this way, then, the painter
presented a playful and provocative interplay of art and life. Another example of
such representational ambiguity is the six pilaster-herms of satyrs and maenads
that form part of the painted architecture in the House of the Cryptoporticus
(VI.17.42): statuesque as they are, rooted fast in their architectural scaffolding,
the delicately painted faces with their wispy realistic hair stare out at the viewer
as if they were living.87 Indeed, Campanian art is rife with ambiguous representations of statuesque figures. Of course, in order to evoke this ambiguity
between art and life, the painter needed to capture elements of the statuesque as
much as he used the palette to bring his figures to life.88 It is not enough simply
to say that the painted statue imitated (and interchanged with) reality: the
materiality of art constituted a visual discourse in itself, and the theme of the
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topos, and the notion that a master sculptor could bring his subject literally
to life was a familiar motif in the classical imagination. Hephaestus and
Daedalus created figures out of clay and metal with such skill that they came
to life, mythological prototypes for a long list of Greco-Roman stories about
living statues.95 The eroticism of classical sculpture is a familiar playing-field
for art-historical discussion: the phenomenon of agalmatophilia is most evocatively represented by the story of the Cypriot sculptor Pygmalion, who falls
in love with an ivory statue he has made, and after prayers to Aphrodite
the statue turns to flesh and comes alive.96 In the third century, the Elder
Philostratus wrote several Imagines (descriptions of images) which playfully
animated the sculptural figures he was describing. One of these (2.1) concerned
a painting in which a statue of Venus was depicted: Philostratus evokes the
painters skill by treating the image of the sculpture as an image of the goddess
herselfthe goddess does not want to seem painted, but she stands out
as though one could seize her. The implication is that colour was the medium
by which the skilled artist could blur the distinction between art and
reality.
S C U L P T U R A L P O LY C H R O M Y BE Y O N D T H E C L A S S I C A L
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Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (164851) in Piazza Navona had certain features painted
by the artist Guidubaldo Abbatini, although no traces survive today.100 Recent
years have seen a great deal of art-historical interest in Romanesque and Gothic
cathedral architecture, and major laser-cleaning projects have led to a radical
reinterpretation of the striking role of sculptural polychromy on cathedrals such
as those at Amiens, Poitiers and Notre-Dame, not only for internal sculpture, but
also on their monumental facades. It has long been observed that wooden and
stone sculpture inside medieval European churches was often elaborately
painted, so that it appeared that the painted figures were staring inwards at the
congregation, in the same way that figures on classical frieze and pedimental
sculpture stared outwards at passers-by.101 Furthermore, the proliferation of
wax museums with their coloured death-masks and life-like figurines since
the late eighteenth century also emerged out of earlier practice: wax votive
offerings in medieval churches around Europe, wax masks preserving the
features of monarchs and nobles, and wax moulage for reproducing the internal
organs of the body in various Renaissance anatomical schools. The idea of painted
representations coming to life, an established theme in classical discourses,
has also inspired a number of modern artistic, literary and dramatic stories:
reinterpretations of Pygmalion, Carlo Collodis Pinocchio, and countless novels
and films in the genre of horror bring dummies, wax statues or inanimate
figures to life (both generating and feeding off a range of modern psychological disorders related to the reproduction of the human form). Of course,
in each of these contexts, sculptural polychromy performs various complex
functions, and it would be a mistake to impose on to all of them a single privileged interpretation of the role of colour. This said, the ambiguous line between
figural art and life, and the critical role of colour in negotiating that line, is
embedded in many areas of Western culture. Many of these practices and
discourses, it can now be convincingly argued, found their inspiration in the art
of classical antiquity.
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and ideology, the juxtaposition of such key schematic Roman colours serves to
reinforce the various strands of association and symbolism evoked by the
Prima Porta.113 Various pigments identified on the facial hair and garments of
the Parthian king on Augustus cuirass allowed the artist to distinguish the
barbarians beard and multicoloured trousers, setting him in sharp cultural
contrast to the smooth-shaven Roman commander who is receiving the
standards. Colour, then, drew attention to the sculptures outstanding physical
features. With a nuanced understanding of the cultural importance of blond
hair, pale skin or purple garments, then, it allows us to enrich our evaluation
and understanding of the work of art. Furthermore, the Prima Porta was
an artefact that did not simply elicit a single privileged interpretation at
one point in time: there is evidence that the statue underwent at least one
restoration in antiquity and with multiple layers of pigment identified on the
fringes of the tunic and on parts of the breastplate it is likely that it was
also repainted using different colours, so that its significance as a work of art
and as a representation of Romes first emperor was organic, subjective and
interactive.114
Finally, in a manner reminiscent of cult statues, colour brought the statue
to life, propelling the deceased emperor back into the world of the living.
Colour made the statues hair hair-coloured, eyes eye-coloured, lips lip-coloured
and so on, using a palette that both imitated real life and transcended it by
means of its vivid colours. For visitors to Livias villa, the statue created the
impression that Augustus was watching over them, still participating in their
lives in a way that a monochrome statue would not. Although its statue base, bold
colours and larger-than-life proportions set the figure apart from mortals and
marked it out instantly as a work of art, the idealized, heroicized, triumphant
Divus Augustus, with all his features and accoutrements meticulously and
appropriately finished off in colour, appeared to onlookers precisely as if he was
really there.
Notes
This article has developed out of ideas explored in my doctoral thesis Concepts of
colour in ancient Rome (University of Cambridge, 2004) and my book Colour and
Meaning in Ancient Rome (Cambridge, forthcoming 2009), and developed in papers
delivered to the Classics Research Workshop at the University of Nottingham in
February 2005 and the University of Texas at Austin in February 2007. Many
individuals have influenced and guided my research in this area: in particular, I
would like to thank Mary Beard, Vinzenz Brinkmann, Penelope Davies, Paolo
Liverani, Robin Osborne and two anonymous Art History readers for their helpful
advice and suggestions, and Jan stergaard and Caroline Vout for their generous
help in refining earlier versions of this article. In addition, I am grateful to the
Arts and Humanities Research Council for providing the funding that has enabled
me to complete this work, and to Maria Pia Malvezzi at the British School at Rome
for her invaluable assistance with the images. All translations in this paper are
my own.
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11
12
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14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
452
.
mann and Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 605;
Ridgway, Prayers in Stone, 113 on the Siphnian
Treasury at Delphi.
So Lawrence, Greek and Roman Sculpture, 334.
See Brinkmann, Farbigkeit der Terrakotten, in
Friedrich Hamdorf, ed., Hauch des Prometheus:
Meisterwerke in Ton, Munich, 1996, 2530.
On bronze statuary, see Hermann Born, Multicoloured antique bronze statues, in Susan La
Niece and Paul Craddock, eds, Metal Plating and
Patination: Cultural, Technical and Historical Developments, Oxford, 1993, 1929; Mattusch, Classical bronzes, 2430; id. (2003) in Brinkmann
.
and Wunsche,
eds, Bunte Gotter: die Farbigkeit
antiker Skulptur, Munich, 2003, 12631. See also
Sophie Descamps-Lequime, La polychromie des
bronzes grecs et romains and Marion MullerDufeu, Les couleurs du bronze dans les statues
grecques dapre`s les descriptions antiques, in
Agne`s Rouveret et al., eds, Couleurs et matie`res
dans lantiquite: texts, techniques et pratiques, Paris,
2006, 79102, on ancient artistic mimesis
concerned with variegated bronze statues.
For a good summary of classical and post-classical chryselephantine sculpture (including
Egyptian and ancient Near-Eastern ivories), see
Kenneth Lapatin, Chryselephantine Statuary in the
Ancient Mediterranean World, Oxford, 2001, esp.
1920. Cf. Pausanias 7.26.4: on ivory decorated
on the surface with gold and colours. Cf. also
Carolyn Connor, The Color of Ivory: Polychromy on
Byzantine Ivories, Princeton, 1998, esp. c. 3 The
ancient tradition of polychrome ivories.
On evidence for the gilding and colouring
of wood, see Lapatin, Chryselephantine Statuary,
1920.
See Hermann Phelps, Die farbige Architektur bei
den Romern und in Mittelalter, Berlin, 1930.
The limitations of current knowledge about
ancient sculptural pigments are summarized
well by Ridgway, Prayers in Stone, 1078.
See Ian Jenkins, ed., Cleaning and Controversy: The
Cleaning of the Parthenon Sculptures 18111939 (BM
Occasional Paper 146), London, 2001; Ridgway,
Prayers in Stone, 11518. For a detailed account
of the tests, see Ian Jenkins and Andrew
Middleton, Paint on the Parthenon sculptures, Annual of the British School at Athens, 83,
1988, 183207.
For discussion and references, see Brinkmann,
Girl or goddess? The riddle of the Peplos
Kore from the Athenian Acropolis, in Brink.
mann and Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 4453.
Brinkmann, Die Friese des Siphnierschatzhauses,
Munich, 1994; see also Brinkmann The
weighing of the souls: painted names on the
Siphnian Treasury, in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 549.
On these and other early discoveries, see
Ridgway, Prayers in Stone, 1056; Brinkmann,
The prince and the goddess: the rediscovered
color on the pediment statues of the Aphaia
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
.
Temple, in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in
Color, 7097. Many of these colour traces faded
rapidly on contact with the air.
For details and references, see Palagia, Greek
Sculpture, esp. n. 82 on further recent evidence
for painted marbles.
On this piece as symptomatic of a fourthcentury BC development towards a more
sophisticated palette and a broader cultural
sensitivity to colours in general see Rolley, La
sculpture grecque, 82; Ridgway, Prayers in Stone,
1223; Rouveret, Les yeux pourpres: lexperience de la couleur dans la peinture classique
entre realite et fiction, in Rouveret et al.,
Couleurs et matie`res, 1728, esp. 1724; Brecoulaki (2006). Further on this idea, see Brinkmann, The blue eyes of the Persians: the
colored sculpture of the time of Alexander and
the Hellenistic period, in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 15067 and Heinrich
.
Piening, in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in
Color, 16871.
The most important study in the twentieth
century was Reutersw.ard, Studien zur Polychromie, esp. 181242, who argued for significant continuities between sculptures in the
Hellenistic East and those in early imperial
Rome. For an excellent recent summary, see
Jan stergaard, Emerging colors: Roman
sculptural polychromy revived, in Roberta
Panzanelli, ed., The Color of Life: Polychromy in
Sculpture from Antiquity to the Present, Los
Angeles, 2008, 4061. On a statue of Trajan
with a star-studded mantle, see Brigitte FreyerSchauenburg, Der Sternenmantel des Kaisers
.
Trajan, in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Bunte
Gotter, 21215; on painted decorative features
in the Aula del Colosso in the Forum of
Augustus, see Lucrecia Ungaro and Maria Luisa
Vitali, Die bemalte Wandverkleidung der
Aula del Colosso im Augustforum, in Brink.
mann and Wunsche,
Bunte Gotter, 21618.
Under raking light, faint traces of paint have
been detected on the Laocoon sculpture; see
Bernard Andreae, Laokoon und die Grundung
Roms, Mainz, 1988, esp. plates 13 and 40.
For references and discussion, see pp. 3441.
On the Copenhagen Caligula, see Jan stergaard, Caligula in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek,
Copenhagen: reconstructing the polychromy of
a Roman portrait, in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 17883; Heike Stege et
al., Pigment and binding medium analysis of
the polychrome treatment of the marble bust
of a Roman portrait, in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 1845; Brinkmann et
al., The coloration of the Caligula portrait, in
.
Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 18691.
Most recently, see M. Del Monte et al., Traces of
ancient colours on Trajans column, Archaeometry, 40: 2, 1998, 40312.
See Dyfri Williams et al., A virtual Parthenon
metope: restoration and colour, in Brinkmann
& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2009
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32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
.
and Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 11217. Furthermore, Oliver Primavesi (Ludwig-Maximilians
University, Munich) is undertaking a systematic project to collect literary resources for
polychrome sculpture.
Although one must expect a certain margin of
error in these reconstructions: Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Bunte Gotter, figs 158ab, 1778, 242
and 247 show different reconstructions of the
same sculpture.
For resistance to the intense colours of the
recent exhibitions, see the responses to Mary
Beards blog entry Were ancient statues
painted? (December 2007) http://timesonline.
typepad.com/dons_life/2007/12/were-ancient-st.
html (accessed November 2008). On developments in sculptural polychromy between the
Archaic and the Classical periods see Ridgway,
Prayers in Stone, 114; between the Classical
and Hellenistic/Roman periods, Reutersw.ard,
Studien zur Polychromie, esp. 181242.
Brinkmann, The coloring of Archaic and early
Classical sculpture, in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 2843. So also Ridgway,
Prayers in Stone, 1034.
See Brinkmann, The prince and the goddess,
.
in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in Color,
7097.
Georg Treu, Die technische Herstellung und
Bemalung der Giebelgruppen am olympischen
Zeustempel, Jahrbuch des kaiserlich Deutschen
Archaeologischen Instituts, 10, 1895, 135, esp. 25
35; cf. Rolley, La sculpture grecque, 83 on the use
of bluered contrasts here; cf. Ridgway, Prayers
in Stone, 11415.
As Ridgway, Prayers in Stone, 11718. Cf. Rolley,
La sculpture grecque, 83 on light and dark
materials on the Erechtheum. The use of dark
limestone for visual contrast in Greek architecture has been explored by Lucy Shoe, Dark
stone in Greek architecture, Hesperia Supplements, vol. 8, 1949, 341482.
Lawrence, Greek and Roman Sculpture, 34.
Ridgway, Prayers in Stone, 1267 suggests that
the use of colours on architectural backgrounds may have been influenced by the stage
sets of the ancient theatre.
So Ashmole, Architect and Sculptor, 26. This is
also the line adopted by Ridgway, Prayers in
Stone, 11314, who argues that colours in the
Archaic period are not meant to reflect nature
but to provide contrast and legibility. Cf.
Jeremy Tanner, Nature, culture and the body
in Classical Greek religious art, World Archaeology 33 (Archaeology and Aesthetics), 2001,
25776, esp. 260 on cultural relativism in
naturalistic perceptions of the world.
One should also consider the type of background against which a statue would be
viewed: the painted backdrop of a Pompeian
house, for example, would make these figures
far less startling than (for example) the neutral
background of the Munich Glyptothek. See
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
.
Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Bunte Gotter, figs. 12,
21 vs. 1920.
Virgil, Aeneid 1.58693.
This passage imitates Homer, Odyssey 23.156
63, where Athene imbues Odysseus with divine
beauty, although this simile is restricted to the
gilding of silver and there is no mention of the
adornment of ivory or marble.
Euripides, Helen 2623. For an excellent interpretation of sculptural imagery in this play, see
Deborah Steiner, Images in Mind: Statues in
Archaic and Classical Greek Literature and Thought,
Princeton, 2002, 546, esp. n. 155 where she
examines the meaning of these lines.
On Lucians subversion of the traditional
philosophical doctrines about sight and
knowedge, see Isabelle Gassino, Voir et savoir:
les difficultes de la connaissance chez Lucien,
in Laurence Villard, ed., Couleurs et vision dans
lantiquite classique, Rouen, 2002, 16777. I have
also discussed this passage in Bradley, Colour
and marble, 1718.
See Brinkmann, Armor on the naked skin? The
early Classical Cuirass-Torso from the Athe.
nian Acropolis, in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in Color, 1005 on a Classical torso in the
Acropolis Museum at Athens (inv. 599), where
paint alone distinguishes a muscled cuirass
from a muscled body.
[Virgil], Catalepton 14.910. Mille colores marked
out its subject matter as divinely imbued: see
Bradley, Colour and Meaning, c. 1.
Brinkmann, Archaic and early Classical sculp.
ture, in Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Gods in
Color, 2843. So also Ridgway, Prayers in Stone,
1034. Theophrastus, De lapidibus and Pliny the
Elder, Natural History book 35 devote no small
space to identifying and evaluating the
production and economy of individual
pigments. On shared knowledge and appreciation of marble types among the educated
metropolitan elite of early imperial Rome, see
Bradley, Colour and marble.
For several early modern analogies for such
artistic collaboration, see p. 33. Cf. Palagia,
Greek sculpture, 2601 on rasps, incisions and
contours applied to the stone by the sculptor to
assist the work of the painter.
Pliny, Natural History 35.133.
Plutarch, De Gloria Atheniensium 6.438E (agalmaton egkaustai kai chrusotai kai bapheis).
Inscriptiones Italiae 13.2 p. 205, 42, 13; Corpus
Inscriptionum Latinarum 6.7885 (politor eburarius);
6.9462a; 6.9820 6.34374a; 6.37818; 10.6638 C 2,
17; cf. Firmicus Maternus 4.14.20.
For all references, see the Thesaurus Linguae
Latinae s.v. polior, politor, politio, politus.
Festus P.71M claims that all ancient accomplishments are called politiones. For polished
sculpture, see Lucretius, De rerum natura 5.1451;
Pliny, Natural History 36.52; 36.54; 36.152;
Apuleius, Metamorphoses 4.32.2; Ammianus
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53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
454
Marcellinus 16.10.8; Prudentius, Contra Symmachum 1.348; Varro, De re rustica 1.2.10; Cicero, Ad
Quintum fratrem 3.1.1; Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum 1.3025 [Ostia, first century BCE]
portic(um) poliend(am). . .curauit; Vitruvius 7.1.4.
For the aesthetic transformation of polished
marbles, see Bradley, Colour and marble, 58,
1618.
For example, Brinkmann in Brinkmann and
.
Wunsche,
Bunte Gotter, 40. Multiple layers of
colour have been detected on the stele of Aristogeiton and on the fringes of the Prima Porta
statue. Repainting perhaps also assisted in the
reuse of marble spolia for new sculptural
programmes, by smoothing over joins and
permitting the expression of new features: e.g.
the Hadrianic roundels of the Arch of
Constantine. For evidence of cleaning and
treating, see Inscriptiones Graecae 4.840; Pliny,
Natural History 34.99; Pausanias 1.15.4; cf.
Plutarch, De Pythiae oraculis 395.24.
On ganosis, see Vitruvius 7.9.34; Pliny,
Natural History 33.122; Plutarch, Natural Questions 287D; Lawrence, Greek and Roman Sculpture,
356; Manzelli, La policromia, 10115, 278;
Rolley, La sculpture grecque, 82; Palagia, Greek
Sculpture, 2601. For a concise survey of the
surface finishing of Greek statues, see Andrew
Stewart, Greek Sculpture: An Exploration, New
Haven, 1990, 402. See also John Pollini et al.,
Parian lychnites and the Prima Porta statue: new
scientific tests and the symbolic value of the
marble, Journal of Roman Archaeology, 11, 1998,
27584 on the Prima Porta Augustus.
Plutarch, Moralia 74E.
This passage is discussed in detail in Ernst
Gombrich, Dark varnishes, variations on a
theme from Pliny, Burlington Magazine, 104,
1962, 515. Cf. Vitruvius 7.7.1 on sil (a form of
yellow earth), regularly used for the politio of
Greco-Roman sculpture.
On the importance of the aesthetics of the
underlying stone even when it was painted, see
Bradley, Colour and marble, esp. 1011. On
Praxiteles as a pioneer for the use of white
marble for female nudes, see Boardman, Greek
Sculpture, 13. See Reutersw.ard, Studien zur Polychromie, 2423 on subtle techniques for sculptural skin-toning using wax coatings.
I thank Jan stergaard for drawing my attention to these possibilities. On the encaustic
technique, see Palagia, Greek Sculpture, 261.
See Elizabeth Eastlake, The Life of John Gibson,
R.A., Sculptor, London, 1870, 212; also on the
Tinted Venus, see Panzanelli, Color of Life, 164.
For other examples of nineteenth-century
.
reconstructions, see Wunsche
(2004) in
.
Brinkmann and Wunsche,
Bunte Gotter, 1023,
esp. figs 4, 710.
A contrast observed by Peter Stewart, Statues in
Roman Society: Representation and Response,
Oxford, 2003, 37, and Ridgway, Prayers in Stone,
1034.
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64
65
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68
69
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