WHITE OR COLORED?

[MeinPanzer]

But isn't a painting going to have shading on a figure regardless of whether it's a live figure or a statue anyway?

Not always. I was looking at some paintings of theatrical masks from pompeii. Some you can tell have a very stylized paint job. Others are painted realisticly. Also looking at statues in the paintings the two or 3 I noticed off hand were not painted at all but apeared to be just the natural bronze or painted a solid color.

Bronze statues would not have been painted. Only stone sculptures were painted, IIRC.

The colors of the recreations match what I mean as a base coat. For example the hair solid brown. Then they could have done something as simple as drybrushing a light tan over the brown to make the details stand out.

They could have, but this probably didn't match their aesthetic taste. They probably thought that the form itself provided enough shading.

And since we only have basicly a stain left you would have no way to tell about secoundary coats of paint as they would never touch the marble itself but only sit on the first layer of paint.

I think some of this would have shown up on larger sculpture such as the Alexander sarcophagus, which had intact detailed paint still surviving to be photographed in the late 19th century. It had no undercoat and no shading or highlighting.

And I am not saying all were done this way. But think about it they spend a fortune having a sculpture made perfectly life like then have someone with no more talent than a fence painter but on the paint?

Because, as I said, you are applying your modern aesthetic to these things. Many people wouldn't think of painting a stone building tons of gaudy solid colours either, but they thought it looked good.

I had that thought too, and then it occurred to me that what if future historians based their concept of the US Army (or any other for that matter) on Hollywood films they might uncover in some future "dig" -- gads what a mish-mash of information they would have.

The Great Tunic Debate, I fear, will remain just that for a long time to come.

I've thought about this as well, but the only real comparisons are with large scale official, usually urban, monuments like Trajan's column and such. Stelae, local monuments like the Adamklissi metopes and the Mainz reliefs, and other such "provincial" work would most likely have been done by craftsmen with a decent knowledge of military matters, or at least access to information on it.

[Magnus]

I think there is something very aesthetically pleasing in smooth polished marble or rock. I say leave the pieces as is...but I do like the idea of them making recreations and painting them as they would have been 2000 years ago.

[MeinPanzer]

I think there is something very aesthetically pleasing in smooth polished marble or rock. I say leave the pieces as is...but I do like the idea of them making recreations and painting them as they would have been 2000 years ago.

Nobody is suggesting we repaint them :lol:

But I agree, artistically speaking the plain marble is much more appealing.

[Carlton Bach]

Much as I like garish display (and this kind of barbarian splendour feels a lot 'righter' for a culture like Rome than the clinical whiteness of Neoclassicism), I prefer my originals as close to 'as found' as is consistent with conservation.

But are they "as found"? It's my understanding that the plain metal suits of armour we see in museums are like that because Victorian curators cleaned them up vigorously, making them look like what they should look like to the more modern eye. There are heaps of such armours that were supposedly painted originally.

True, a lot of the stuff in our museums has been through the hands of earlier generations of conservators (I recently read a find report of some provincial Roman jewelry from the 19th century that apparently had to be 'vigorously scrubbed to clean it of the decaying mass of fabric adhering to the metal'. We almost cried). But I still think that, though we have to clearly say that, trying today to put it 'vback into its original state is courting disaster. Not only are we liable to be wrong, we'd be dicking around with originals. Once gone, whatever we inadvertently destroy stays gone.

And I like painted armour. I alredy offered to paint the helmets of all our SCA fighters in heraldic colours if they let me, but they prefer the shiny image.

[Tarbicus]

And I like painted armour. I alredy offered to paint the helmets of all our SCA fighters in heraldic colours if they let me, but they prefer the shiny image.

No taste, some people.

[Ironhand]

Perhaps they prefer the period authenticity of stainless steel. :lol:

[Magnus]

Nobody is suggesting we repaint them :lol:

Museum restorations often include returning a piece to it's original condition in some cases. Were the status quo of what people prefer to see in terms of roman statuary to change, you may just see that.

[MeinPanzer]

Nobody is suggesting we repaint them :lol:

Museum restorations often include returning a piece to it's original condition in some cases. Were the status quo of what people prefer to see in terms of roman statuary to change, you may just see that.

In this day and age they would never do that to an original piece.

[egfroth]

I dunno about classical statues, but certainly some high mediaeval ones have extremely sophisticated (and attractive to our modern eyes) shading and graduated colouring to give an extremely natural-looking figure.


Have a look at this (probably Walter de Helyon (circa 1357) and this

I think military model-makers would be very aware that just painting something the right colour doesn't make a character look natural, despite what our commonsense tells us. It needs "artificial" highlights and shadows to look the same as a human figure, even though the light conditions appear to be the same. This applies equally to full-sized figures, and sculptors and artists, in the Middle Ages at least, were aware of the problem and did something about it.

Perhaps the same thing occurred in classical times.

Then of course there's always the question of whether the above figures have the original paint job, or have been "messed with" in the intervening centuries.

And also that the aesthetic sensibilities of people in classical times may not have been the same as ours or those of mediaeval people. But hey, they were a pretty sophisticated bunch . . . do you go to all that trouble to produce probably the most magnificent portrayal of the human form ever made, then paint it like a kindergarten kiddy?

[Tarbicus]

I dunno about classical statues, but certainly some high mediaeval ones have extremely sophisticated (and attractive to our modern eyes) shading and graduated colouring to give an extremely natural-looking figure.


Have a look at this (probably Walter de Helyon (circa 1357) and this
And also that the aesthetic sensibilities of people in classical times may not have been the same as ours or those of mediaeval people. But hey, they were a pretty sophisticated bunch . . . do you go to all that trouble to produce probably the most magnificent portrayal of the human form ever made, then paint it like a kindergarten kiddy?

They're probably post Giotto and no indication at all that the ancients did it as well IMHO. Painting figures on a flat wall is a completely different task to sculpting fully 3D, where the sculpture itself interacts with real light to give the same or similar effect. Surely the recent examinations would have revealed painted shading from different pigments? I'd never say never, but it will take a lot more than modern model making practices and Art movements from more than an entire millenium later to sway me.

[TITVS SABATINVS AQVILIVS]

A painted statue in a pompeian interior:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/e ... ainter.jpg

It's strange to believe that so fantastic beauty was painted like kids stuff. Anyway, it's right pointing two things:

a) A XVIII century point of view by ADAM SMITH:


"of the NATURE of that IMITATION which takes place in what are called THE IMITATIVE ARTS"

Part I

1The most perfect imitation of an object of any kind must in all cases, it is evident, be another object of the same kind, made as exactly as possible after the same model. What, for example, would be the most perfect imitation of the carpet which now lies before me?—Another carpet, certainly, wrought as exactly as possible after the same pattern. But, whatever might be the merit or beauty of this second carpet, it would not be supposed to derive any from the circumstance of its having been made in imitation of the first. This circumstance of its being not an original, but a copy, would even be considered as some diminution of that merit; a greater or smaller, in proportion as the object was of a nature to lay claim to a greater or smaller degree of admiration. It would not much diminish the merit of a common carpet, because in such trifling objects, which at best can lay claim to so little beauty or merit of any kind, we do not always think it worth while to affect originality: it would diminish a good deal that of a carpet of very exquisite workmanship. In objects of still greater importance, this exact, or, as it would be called, this servile imitation, would be considered as the most unpardonable blemish. To build another St. Peter’s, or St. Paul’s church, of exactly the same dimensions, proportions, and ornaments with the present buildings at Rome, or London, would be supposed to argue such a miserable barrenness of genius and invention as would disgrace the most expensive magnificence.

2The exact resemblance of the correspondent parts of the same object is frequently considered as a beauty, and the want of it as a deformity; as in the correspondent members of the human body, in the opposite wings of the same building, in the opposite trees of the same alley, in the correspondent compartments of the same piece of carpet–work, or of the same flower–garden, in the chairs or tables which stand in the correspondent parts of the same room, etc. But in objects of the same kind, which in other respects are regarded as altogether separate and unconnected, this exact resemblance is seldom considered as a beauty, nor the want of it as a deformity. A man, and in the same manner a horse, is handsome or ugly, each of them, on account of his own intrinsic beauty or deformity, without any regard to their resembling or not resembling, the one, another man, or the other, another horse. A set of coach–horses, indeed, is supposed to be handsomer when they are all exactly matched; but each horse is, in this case, considered not as a separated and unconnected object, or as a whole by himself, but as a part of another whole, to the other parts of which he ought to bear a certain correspondence: Separated from the set, he derives neither beauty from his resemblance, nor deformity from his unlikeness to the other horses which compose it.

3Even in the correspondent parts of the same object, we frequently require no more than a resemblance in the general outline. If the inferior members of those correspondent parts are too minute to be seen distinctly, without a separate and distinct examination of each part by itself, as a separate and unconnected object, we should sometimes even be displeased if the resemblance was carried beyond this general outline. In the correspondent parts of a room we frequently hang pictures of the same size; those pictures, however, resemble one another in nothing but the frame, or, perhaps, in the general character of the subject: If the one is a landscape, the other is a landscape too; if the one represents a religious or a Bacchanalian subject, its companion represents another of the same kind. Nobody ever thought of repeating the same picture in each correspondent frame. The frame, and the general character of two or three pictures, is as much as the eye can comprehend at one view, or from one station. Each picture, in order to be seen distinctly, and understood thoroughly, must be viewed from a particular station, and examined by itself as a separate and unconnected object. In a hall or portico, adorned with statues, the nitches, or perhaps the pedestals, may exactly resemble one another, but the statues are always different. Even the masks which are sometimes carried upon the different keystones of the same arcade, or of the correspondent doors and windows of the same front, though they may all resemble one another in the general outline, yet each of them has always its own peculiar features, and a grimace of its own. There are some Gothic buildings in which the correspondent windows resemble one another only in the general outline, and not in the smaller ornaments and subdivisions. These are different in each, and the architect had considered them as too minute to be seen distinctly, without a particular and separate examination of each window by itself, as a separate and unconnected object. A variety of this sort, however, I think, is not agreeable. In objects which are susceptible only of a certain inferior order of beauty, such as the frames of pictures, the nitches or the pedestals of statues, etc. there seems frequently to be affectation in the study of variety, of which the merit is scarcely ever sufficient to compensate the want of that perspicuity and distinctness, of that easiness to be comprehended and remembered, which is the natural effect of exact uniformity. In a portico of the Corinthian or Ionic order, each column resembles every other, not only in the general outline, but in all the minutest ornaments; though some of them, in order to be seen distinctly, may require a separate and distinct examination in each column, and in the entablature of each intercolumnation. In the inlaid tables, which, according to the present fashion, are sometimes fixed in the correspondent parts of the same room, the pictures only are different in each. All the other more frivolous and fanciful ornaments are commonly, so far at least as I have observed the fashion, the same in them all. Those ornaments, however, in order to be seen distinctly, require a separate and distinct examination of each table.

4The extraordinary resemblance of two natural objects, of twins, for example, is regarded as a curious circumstance; which, though it does not increase, yet does not diminish the beauty of either, considered as a separate and unconnected object. But the exact resemblance of two productions of art, seems to be always considered as some diminution of the merit of at least one of them; as it seems to prove, that one of them, at least, is a copy either of the other, or of some other original. One may say, even of the copy of a picture, that it derives its merit, not so much from its resemblance to the original, as from its resemblance to the object which the original was meant to resemble. The owner of the copy, so far from setting any high value upon its resemblance to the original, is often anxious to destroy any value or merit which it might derive from this circumstance. He is often anxious to persuade both himself and other people that it is not a copy, but an original, of which what passes for the original is only a copy. But, whatever merit a copy may derive from its resemblance to the original, an original can certainly derive none from the resemblance of its copy.

5But though a production of art seldom derives any merit from its resemblance to another object of the same kind, it frequently derives a great deal from its resemblance to an object of a different kind, whether that object be a production of art or of nature. A painted cloth, the work of some laborious Dutch artist, so curiously shaded and coloured as to represent the pile and softness of a woollen one, might derive some merit from its resemblance even to the sorry carpet which now lies before me. The copy might, and probably would, in this case, be of much greater value than the original. But if this carpet was represented as spread, either upon a floor or upon a table, and projecting from the back ground of the picture, with exact observation of perspective, and of light and shade, the merit of the imitation would be still greater.

6In Painting, a plain surface of one kind is made to resemble, not only a plain surface of another, but all the three dimensions of a solid substance. In Statuary and Sculpture, a solid substance of one kind, is made to resemble a solid substance of another. The disparity between the object imitating, and the object imitated, is much greater in the one art that in the other; and the pleasure arising from the imitation seems to be greater in proportion as this disparity is greater.

7In Painting, the imitation frequently pleases, though the original object be indifferent, or even offensive. In Statuary and Sculpture it is otherwise. The imitation seldom pleases, unless the original object be in a very high degree either great, or beautiful, or interesting. A butcher’s stall, or a kitchen–dresser, with the objects which they commonly present, are not certainly the happiest subjects, even for Painting. They have, however, been represented with so much care and success by some Dutch masters, that it is impossible to view the pictures without some degree of pleasure. They would be most absurd subjects for Statuary or Sculpture, which are, however, capable of representing them. The picture of a very ugly or deformed man, such as Aesop, or Scarron, might not make a disagreeable piece of furniture. The statue certainly would. Even a vulgar ordinary man or woman, engaged in a vulgar ordinary action, like what we see with so much pleasure in the pictures of Rembrant, would be too mean a subject for Statuary. Jupiter, Hercules, and Apollo, Venus and Diana, the Nymphs and the Graces, Bacchus, Mercury, Antinous and Meleager, the miserable death of Laocoon, the melancholy fate of the children of Niobe, the Wrestlers, the fighting, the dying gladiator, the figures of gods and goddesses, of heroes and heroines, the most perfect forms of the human body, placed either in the noblest attitudes, or in the most interesting situations which the human imagination is capable of conceiving, are the proper, and therefore have always been the favourite subjects of Statuary: that art cannot, without degrading itself, stoop to represent any thing that is offensive, or mean, or even indifferent. Painting is not so disdainful; and, though capable of representing the noblest objects, it can, without forfeiting its title to please, submit to imitate those of a much more humble nature. The merit of the imitation alone, and without any merit in the imitated object, is capable of supporting the dignity of Painting: it cannot support that of Statuary. There would seem, therefore, to be more merit in the one species of imitation than in the other.

8In Statuary, scarcely any drapery is agreeable. The best of the ancient statues were either altogether naked or almost naked; and those of which any considerable part of the body is covered, are represented as clothed in wet linen—a species of clothing which most certainly never was agreeable to the fashion of any country. This drapery too is drawn so tight, as to express beneath its narrow foldings the exact form and outline of any limb, and almost of every muscle of the body. The clothing which thus approached the nearest to no clothing at all, had, it seems, in the judgment of the great artists of antiquity, been that which was most suitable to Statuary.

A great painter of the Roman school, who had formed his manner almost entirely upon the study of the ancient statues, imitated at first their drapery in his pictures; but he soon found that in Painting it had the air of meanness and poverty, as if the persons who wore it could scarce afford clothes enough to cover them; and that larger folds, and a looser and more flowing drapery, were more suitable to the nature of his art. In Painting, the imitation of so very inferior an object as a suit of clothes is capable of pleasing; and, in order to give this object all the magnificence of which it is capable, it is necessary that the folds should be large, loose, and flowing. It is not necessary in Painting that the exact form and outline of every limb, and almost of every muscle of the body, should be expressed beneath the folds of the drapery; it is sufficient if these are so disposed as to indicate in general the situation and attitude of the principal limbs. Painting, by the mere force and merit of its imitation, can venture, without the hazard of displeasing, to substitute, upon many occasions, the inferior in the room of the superior object, by making the one, in this manner, cover and entirely conceal a great part of the other. Statuary can seldom venture to do this, but with the utmost reserve and caution; and the same drapery, which is noble and magnificent in the one art, appears clumsy and awkward in the other. Some modern artists, however, have attempted to introduce into Statuary the drapery which is peculiar to Painting. It may not, perhaps, upon every occasion, be quite so ridiculous as the marble periwigs in Westminster Abbey: but, if it does not always appear clumsy and awkward, it is at best always insipid and uninteresting.

9It is not the want of colouring which hinders many things from pleasing in Statuary, which please in Painting; it is the want of that degree of disparity between the imitating and the imitated object, which is necessary, in order to render interesting the imitation of an object which is itself not interesting.

Colouring, when added to Statuary, so far from increasing, destroys almost entirely the pleasure which we receive from the imitation; because it takes away the great source of that pleasure, the disparity between the imitating and the imitated object. That one solid and coloured object should exactly resemble another solid and coloured object, seems to be a matter of no great wonder or admiration. A painted statue, though it certainly may resemble a human figure much more exactly than any statue which is not painted, is generally acknowledged to be a disagreeable, and even an offensive object; and so far are we from being pleased with this superior likeness, that we are never satisfied with it; and, after viewing it again and again, we always find that it is not equal to what we are disposed to imagine it might have been: though it should seem to want scarce any thing but the life, we could not pardon it for thus wanting what it is altogether impossible it should have. The works of Mrs. Wright,1 a self–taught artist of great merit, are perhaps more perfect in this way than any thing I have ever seen. They do admirably well to be seen now and then as a show; but the best of them we should find, if brought home to our own house, and placed in a situation where it was to come often into view, would make, instead of an ornamental, a most offensive piece of household furniture. Painted statues, accordingly, are universally reprobated, and we scarce ever meet with them. To colour the eyes of statues is not altogether so uncommon: even this, however, is disapproved by all good judges. ‘I cannot bear it,’ (a gentleman used to say, of great knowledge and judgment in this art,) ‘I cannot bear it; I always want them to speak to me.’

10Artificial fruits and flowers sometimes imitate so exactly the natural objects which they represent, that they frequently deceive us. We soon grow weary of them, however; and, though they seem to want nothing but the freshness and the flavour of natural fruits and flowers, we cannot pardon them, in the same manner, for thus wanting what it is altogether impossible they should have. But we do not grow weary of a good flower and fruit painting. We do not grow weary of the foliage of the Corinthian capital, or of the flowers which sometimes ornament the frize of that order. Such imitations, however, never deceive us; their resemblance to the original objects is always much inferior to that of artificial fruits and flowers. Such as it is, however, we are contented with it; and, where there is such disparity between the imitating and the imitated objects, we find that it is as great as it can be, or as we expect that it should be. Paint that foliage and those flowers with the natural colours, and, instead of pleasing more, they will please much less. The resemblance, however, will be much greater; but the disparity between the imitating and the imitated objects will be so much less, that even this superior resemblance will not satisfy us. Where the disparity is very great, on the contrary, we are often contented with the most imperfect resemblance; with the very imperfect resemblance, for example, both as to figure and colour, of fruits and flowers in shell–work.

11It may be observed, however, that, though in Sculpture the imitation of flowers and foliage pleases as an ornament of architecture, as a part of the dress which is to set off the beauty of a different and a more important object, it would not please alone, or as a separate and unconnected object, in the same manner as a fruit and flower painting pleases. Flowers and foliage, how elegant and beautiful soever, are not sufficiently interesting; they have not dignity enough, if I may say so, to be proper subjects for a piece of Sculpture, which is to please alone, and not as the ornamental appendage of some other object.

12In Tapestry and Needle–work, in the same manner as in Painting, a plain surface is sometimes made to represent all the three dimensions of a solid substance. But both the shuttle of the weaver, and the needle of the embroiderer, are instruments of imitation so much inferior to the pencil of the painter, that we are not surprised to find a proportionable inferiority in their productions. We have all more or less experience that they usually are much inferior; and, in appreciating a piece of Tapestry or Needle–work, we never compare the imitation of either with that of a good picture, for it never could stand that comparison, but with that of other pieces of Tapestry or Needle–work. We take into consideration, not only the disparity between the imitating and the imitated object, but the awkwardness of the instruments of imitation; and if it is as well as any thing that can be expected from these, if it is better than the greater part of what actually comes from them, we are often not only contented but highly pleased.

13A good painter will often execute in a few days a subject which would employ the best tapestry–weaver for many years; though, in proportion to his time, therefore, the latter is always much worse paid than the former, yet his work in the end comes commonly much dearer to market. The great expence of good Tapestry, the circumstance which confines it to the palaces of princes and great lords, gives it, in the eyes of the greater part of people, an air of riches and magnificence, which contributes still further to compensate the imperfection of its imitation. In arts which address themselves, not to the prudent and the wise, but to the rich and the great, to the proud and the vain, we ought not to wonder if the appearance of great expence, of being what few people can purchase, of being one of the surest characteristics of great fortune, should often stand in the place of exquisite beauty, and contribute equally to recommend their productions.2 As the idea of expence seems often to embellish, so that of cheapness seems as frequently to tarnish the lustre even of very agreeable objects. The difference between real and false jewels is what even the experienced eye of a jeweller can sometimes with difficulty distinguish. Let an unknown lady, however, come into a public assembly, with a head–dress which appears to be very richly adorned with diamonds, and let a jeweller only whisper in our ear that they are all false stones, not only the lady will immediately sink in our imagination from the rank of a princess to that of a very ordinary woman, but the head–dress, from an object of the most splendid magnificence, will at once become an impertinent piece of tawdry and tinsel finery.

14It was some years ago the fashion to ornament a garden with yew and holly trees, clipped into the artificial shapes of pyramids, and columns, and vases, and obelisks. It is now the fashion to ridicule this taste as unnatural. The figure of a pyramid or obelisk, however, is not more unnatural to a yew–tree than to a block of porphyry or marble. When the yew–tree is presented to the eye in this artificial shape, the gardener does not mean that it should be understood to have grown in that shape: he means, first, to give it the same beauty of regular figure, which pleases so much in porphyry and marble; and, secondly, to imitate in a growing tree the ornaments of those precious materials: he means to make an object of one kind resemble another object of a very different kind; and to the original beauty of figure to join the relative beauty of imitation: but the disparity between the imitating and the imitated object is the foundation of the beauty of imitation. It is because the one object does not naturally resemble the other, that we are so much pleased with it, when by art it is made to do so. The shears of the gardener, it may be said, indeed, are very clumsy instruments of Sculpture. They are so, no doubt, when employed to imitate the figures of men, or even of animals. But in the simple and regular forms of pyramids, vases, and obelisks, even the shears of the gardener do well enough. Some allowance too is naturally made for the necessary imperfection of the instrument, in the same manner as in Tapestry and Needle–work. In short, the next time you have an opportunity of surveying those out–of–fashion ornaments, endeavour only to let yourself alone, and to restrain for a few minutes the foolish passion for playing the critic, and you will be sensible that they are not without some degree of beauty; that they give the air of neatness and correct culture at least to the whole garden; and that they are not unlike what the ‘retired leisure, that’ (as Milton says3) ‘in trim gardens takes his pleasure,’ might be amused with. What then, it may be said, has brought them into such universal disrepute among us? In a pyramid or obelisk of marble, we know that the materials are expensive, and that the labour which wrought them into that shape must have been still more so. In a pyramid or obelisk of yew, we know that the materials could cost very little, and the labour still less. The former are ennobled by their expence; the latter degraded by their cheapness. In the cabbage–garden of a tallow–chandler we may sometimes perhaps have seen as many columns and vases, and other ornaments in yew, as there are in marble and porphyry at Versailles: it is this vulgarity which has disgraced them. The rich and the great, the proud and the vain, will not admit into their gardens an ornament which the meanest of the people can have as well as they.4 The taste for these ornaments came originally from France; where, notwithstanding that inconstancy of fashion with which we sometimes reproach the natives of that country, it still continues in good repute. In France, the conditions of the inferior ranks of people is seldom so happy as it frequently is in England;5 and you will there seldom find even pyramids and obelisks of yew in the garden of a tallow–chandler. Such ornaments, not having in that country been degraded by their vulgarity, have not yet been excluded from the gardens of princes and great lords.

15The works of the great masters in Statuary and Painting, it is to be observed, never produce their effect by deception. They never are, and it never is intended that they should be mistaken for the real objects which they represent. Painted Statuary may sometimes deceive an inattentive eye: proper Statuary never does. The little pieces of perspective in Painting, which it is intended should please by deception, represent always some very simple, as well as insignificant, object; a roll of paper, for example, or the steps of a staircase, in the dark corner of some passage or gallery. They are generally the works too of some very inferior artists. After being seen once, and producing the little surprise which it is meant they should excite, together with the mirth which commonly accompanies it, they never please more, but appear ever after insipid and tiresome.

16The proper pleasure which we derive from those two imitative arts, so far from being the effect of deception, is altogether incompatible with it. That pleasure is founded altogether upon our wonder at seeing an object of one kind represent so well an object of a very different kind, and upon our admiration of the art which surmounts so happily that disparity which Nature had established between them. The nobler works of Statuary and Painting appear to us a sort of wonderful phaenomena, differing in this respect from the wonderful phaenomena of Nature, that they carry, as it were, their own explication along with them, and demonstrate, even to the eye, the way and manner in which they are produced. The eye, even of an unskilful spectator, immediately discerns, in some measure, how it is that a certain modification of figure in Statuary, and of brighter and darker colours in Painting, can represent, with so much truth and vivacity, the actions, passions, and behaviour of men, as well as a great variety of other objects. The pleasing wonder of ignorance is accompanied with the still more pleasing satisfaction of science. We wonder and are amazed at the effect; and we are pleased ourselves, and happy to find that we can comprehend, in some measure, how that wonderful effect is produced.

17A good looking–glass represents the objects which are set before it with much more truth and vivacity than either Statuary or Painting. But, though the science of optics may explain to the understanding, the looking–glass itself does not at all demonstrate to the eye how this effect is brought about. It may excite the wonder of ignorance; and in a clown, who had never beheld a looking–glass before, I have seen that wonder rise almost to rapture and extasy; but it cannot give the satisfaction of science. In all looking–glasses the effects are produced by the same means, applied exactly in the same manner. In every different statue and picture the effects are produced; though by similar, yet not by the same means; and those means too are applied in a different manner in each. Every good statue and picture is a fresh wonder, which at the same time carries, in some measure, its own explication along with it. After a little use and experience, all looking–glasses cease to be wonders altogether; and even the ignorant become so familiar with them, as not to think that their effects require any explication.6 A looking–glass, besides, can represent only present objects; and, when the wonder is once fairly over, we choose, in all cases, rather to contemplate the substance than to gaze at the shadow. One’s own face becomes then the most agreeable object which a looking–glass can represent to us, and the only object which we do not soon grow weary with looking at; it is the only present object of which we can see only the shadow: whether handsome or ugly, whether old or young, it is the face of a friend always, of which the features correspond exactly with whatever sentiment, emotion, or passion we may happen at that moment to feel.

18In Statuary, the means by which the wonderful effect is brought about appear more simple and obvious than in Painting; where the disparity between the imitating and the imitated object being much greater, the art which can conquer that greater disparity appears evidently, and almost to the eye, to be founded upon a much deeper science, or upon principles much more abstruse and profound. Even in the meanest subjects we can often trace with pleasure the ingenious means by which Painting surmounts this disparity. But we cannot do this in Statuary, because the disparity not being so great, the means do not appear so ingenious. And it is upon this account, that in Painting we are often delighted with the representation of many things, which in Statuary would appear insipid, tiresome, and not worth the looking at.

19It ought to be observed, however, that though in Statuary the art of imitation appears, in many respects, inferior to what it is in Painting, yet, in a room ornamented with both statues and pictures of nearly equal merit, we shall generally find that the statues draw off our eye from the pictures. There is generally but one, or little more than one, point of view from which a picture can be seen with advantage, and it always presents to the eye precisely the same object. There are many different points of view from which a statue may be seen with equal advantage, and from each it presents a different object. There is more variety in the pleasure which we receive from a good statue, than in that which we receive from a good picture; and one statue may frequently be the subject of many good pictures or drawings, all different from one another. The shadowy relief and projection of a picture, besides, is much flattened, and seems almost to vanish away altogether, when brought into comparison with the real and solid body which stands by it. How nearly soever these two arts may seem to be a–kin, they accord so very ill with one another, that their different productions ought, perhaps, scarce ever to be seen together.

b) the Porphyry problem, I cannot think that the porphyry could be painted, quite a crime! shock:
Just marble, common stone and terracotta were painted? Even if it seems impossible to me, anyway, does anyone know evidences of
painted porphyry?

Valete,

[Tarbicus]

b) the Porphyry problem, I cannot think that the porphyry could be painted, quite a crime! Very Happy Think at the tetrarchs painted... Shocked
Just marble, common stone and terracotta were painted? Even if it seems impossible to me, anyway, does anyone know evidences of
painted porphyry?

If only it never rained and the wind never blew, we might never have questioned painted sculpture by the 18th Century. BTW, isn't porphyry purple? :wink:

Thanks for the definitive, no question at all, painting from Pompeii.

[Narukami]

Did anyone see the special on PBS series Secrets Of The Dead about the work being done at Herculaneum? (It aired last night in Los Angeles, I would assume it has or will play elsewhere.)

An amazing program about an amazing city so well preserved that wood doors, beams, and furniture is still intact.

One find (and why I am posting this here) was the head of a statue that still had paint on it, and not just a few flakes but almost fully intact.

The colors were not a bright and vibrant as those on display at the museum show (link at the start of this thread) but no doubt that is due to being flash cooked by Vesuvius and buried under 80' of rock for nearly 2000 years. Even so it was great to see this head with paint on it.

However, perhaps the most fascinating aspect was seeing the streets, with intact 2nd and 3rd floors on the buildings as if you really were looking back in time.

Again, if you see this on the TV schedule make a point to see it -- well worth the effort.

Narukami

[M. Demetrius]

If only it never rained and the wind never blew

And sunlight had no UV....

[Paullus Scipio]

COLOURED !!

But I think Sulla is right - the modern attempts simply give the 'flat' colour deduced by scientific analysis. Any Artist is going to use 'light and shade'etc. Consider that what we now perceive as Art on the walls of Pompeii and Herculaneum ( not forgetting other sites all over the empire ) were in fact examples of decoration by housepainters, not artists !! The techniques were mostly simple and applied hastily ( "...time is money, Crassus - we've three more rooms to finish by tomorrow....." ). In a culture where house decoration is raised to an art-form, is it likely that beautifully carved and finished statues were finished by ( to borrow a term from earlier in the thread) fence painters ? Especially when that sculpture was recognised and prized as great (even it was stolen or copied from the Greeks).It would have offended the aesthetics of even ordinary Romans, nor could I imagine the sculptors accepting such vandalism !!Far more likely that Sulla is right , supported by the Pompeii painting - in it the Mistress of the house ( a widow perhaps?) seems to be viewing the statue critically and comparing it to a painted portrait - perhaps checking the likeness of a deceased husband/son. Less romantically, perhaps the vendor is saying to the Mistress "...the statue is really nice, but I can do you a good price on the painting...". Doubtless the former is more likely.

On a different note, Narukami ( and Mike Bishop and others) are right that any lover of ancient Rome should see/visit Pompeii and Herculaneum.All RAT members should perform a Haj/Pilgrimage there !!
But do it soon ! I have visited there many times since the early 1970's and have been in shock each time at how they had deteriorated since previous visits. The sad truth is that Italy is so full of Art, Architecture and Archaeology that there is simply not enough money to preserve it. Indeed, whereas once visitors could wonder freely through them, most of it is now blocked off, because it is dangerously crumbling, or to prevent vandalism ( 'Salvatore per Marisa' is typical of the schoolboy graffitti now to be seen scrawled across priceless 2000 year old paintings !! )Elsewhere, paintings I remember as vivid are now fading in the sun ( not the 'important' ones, of course, which have long since been carried off to adorn the World's museums.
Nevertheless, they are still places of wonder and I defy any red-blooded RAT member to walk out of the sunlight into the dark and narrow 'death gate'( through which dead gladiators were dragged - see Peter Connolly's 'Pompeii' ) without feeling a shudder !!!

Fortunately for posterity, over two-thirds of Pompeii and most of Herculaneum still lie buried................

Pallus Scipio/Paul McDonnell-Staff