Where are you from?: fragments of frescoes and their spatial context

Archaeological Museum of Naples,
Fragments from the porticus of the Iseum.
The display has no relationships with the
original position in the building.

My idea to experiment with the Generic Viewer comes from two main things that caught my attention. The first one is that, according to its presentation, the Generic Viewer was meant to support projects like IBR in which inscriptions are considered not just as text, but as artefacts, and, more specifically, artefacts thought to be experienced in a particular space, interacting with other features and with the human behaviour in that space. 

The second one, is the potential use of the Generic Viewer not only as a digital model of the real space, but also as a virtual environment where is possible to test different hypotheses about the original position of some decorative features based on geometry, scholarly expertise, and visibility analysis.

Both things, for different reasons that I’m going to explain, reminded me of some of the issues I had encountered studying the artefacts found at the Iseum, and made me wonder if the Generic Viewer was really generic enough that its functions, although developed for epigraphists, could be extended to the study of ancient Pompeian frescoes. 

Moreover, the semantic annotations allowed by the Generic Viewer give me the opportunity to model the relationship between the artefacts, the architectural environment and their documentation all in RDF linked data (using, among others, a few elements of my ontology).

Of course, it would be too ambitious to show the results for the entire Iseum, so I had to pick a specific area. The most interesting one, in this respect, seems to be the ekklesiasterion (and that is the reason why it's the space we have prepared and textured in the Generic Viewer). Although there are other spaces of the Iseum that are rich in surviving artefacts and related documentation (e.g. the porticus), the ekklesiasterion is especially complex. Actually, sometimes 'complex' gets very close to 'pretty bizarre', even for Pompeian standards, bet let me introduce this story of artists, archaeologists, kings, engineers and scholars.

The Palace of Portici in 1745
From wikipedia

The frescoes on the walls of the ekkleasiasterion, as for many other Pompeian buildings, were almost intact when uncovered. Being the Iseum one of the first buildings dug up (1764), it was still very common, at the time, to remove the most eye catching bits of the frescoes (usually the figurative ones) and move them to the Palace of Portici. Everything else was just left in place, if not explicitly destroyed, to enhance the value of the king’s collection or because believed not worthy. Another issue was that the pieces of frescoes stripped off were transported via narrow tunnels dug into the excavation site, so there was no practical means, at the time, to transport anything too big.

Considering what happened (and what is still happening) to the frescoes that have been left in place, we should be happy that some of them have been removed and can now be seen and studied in in the Museum of Naples (or elsewhere). However, we now have only fragments, singularly framed as independent pieces of art and exhibited outside their spatial context (the building) and regardless the relationship with the other parts of the decorative pattern. 

Something that sounded quite close to what the IBR project complained about when discussing inscriptions.

In a 3D model (or in a point cloud generated by a 3D model and imported into the Generic Viewer, to be precise) it is possible to attempt one or more virtual unifications, placing the fragments (visually or just on an informative level) were they might have used to be.

But, first of all: how can we place the fragments in their original position reliably? They are no more in situ, but they have been documented at the time. 

documentation of the north wall of the ekklesiasterion
by Giovanni Morghen

documentation of the south wall of the ekklesiasterion
by Giuseppe Chiantarelli 

documentation of the west wall of the ekklesiasterion
by Giuseppe Chiantarelli

After being harshly criticised by classicists at the time for destroying one of the most valuable source of knowledge about the past, the king of Naples decided to hire someone from the academia of fine arts to document the state of the frescoes before removing parts of them. The documentation of the ekklesiasterion was carried out by Giovanni Morghen (north wall) and Giuseppe Chiantarelli (west and south walls). 

At the beginning of my work on Pompeii, some years ago, I thought that documentation was a very good starting point for digital visualisation; that having a professional documentation was very close to know how things were at the time. Which is true, to a certain extent. But, besides knowing of course that every human representation is intrinsically subjective, I didn't take into account that Pompeii has always an extra layer of complication (if not sheer surrealism…).

Morghen and Chiantarelli's documentation is extremely precious. It tells us about the decorative pattern around the fragments that survived. Shows us the beautiful fake architectural features that Esher would have loved so much. Reveals fascinating illusory doors leading to even more secret rooms.

But…

[part two]              

Raphael and the leg of Venus: the role of expectations in representation

Raffaello Sanzio, The Triumph of Galatea
from wikipedia

As we said, one of the most common feeling expressed by the first visitors of Pompeii was, generally, disappointment. 

The common idea of a Roman town was probably based on literary rather than archaeological evidence. And because, usually, the texts that are transmitted are the official ones, Roman cities were expected to be large, monumental and majestic. 

Unfortunately, Pompeii is quite far from that model. Buildings are cramped and often brightly coloured. But, probably, the most disappointing bit for the first (and contemporary?) visitors were the frescoes.

One (only apparently unrelated) premise: it is interesting to notice the difference between what those visitors said about Pompeii when they were there and what they said about it years later, when they were relying on their memories more than their experience.

Years after his first unexcited comments, Goethe writes that Pompeian frescoes are so excellent that they could stand next to Raphael’s ones.

First, I don’t think it makes a lot of sense to assess archaeological evidence on its aesthetic or artistic relevance. This approach has caused the destruction of many Pompeian artefacts that were jus considered “not pretty enough”.

Second, if we really want to assess the aesthetic value of Pompeian frescoes (from an art history point of view or as simple observers), it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me to compare two artefacts that are so distant from each other like first century AD Roman frescoes and Italian Renaissance oil paintings.

However, if we do compare them, and assume that Raphael’s canons are a sort of archetype all figurative arts should conform to... then... well... Let’s put together the triumph of Galatea by Raphael and the fresco in the House of the Venus in the Shell. 

Fresco in the House of Venus in the Shell
Pompeii (Reg II, Ins 3, 3)
image credit

The subject is vaguely similar, but the images are very different. And I’m not saying that one is better than the other, just that they are very different and that it seems to me that the artists had very different concerns and goals.

The point is that if you’re an enthusiastic Neoclassic (or proto-neoclassic) artist that goes to Pompeii, eager to see and reproduce images that you imagine to be Raphael-like (following the syllogism: Roman art is perfect, Raphael’s art is perfect, Roman art must look like Raphael’s art) and you see our lovely Venus in the Shell... there is going to be quite a clash between your expectation and reality.

This could explain why some of the drawings of the excavation time are, again, slightly dissimilar from the original.  And we can definitely say it, as in some cases the original artefact survived and we can compare it to its documentation. 

So, let’s add some items to the list of things that affect the representation process. We don’t really know for sure what went through the mind of the first artists copying Pompeian frescoes, but we can speculate about it, especially if we focus on what, in my experience, is the element more often “touched up”: the human body (well, divine and semi-divine as well :-))

Drawing by J-C. Bellicard, 1754

We can imagine the artist spending hours and hours learning how to reproduce human bodies in the «right» way (i. e. as more realistic as they can). So, maybe, they just couldn’t help drawing in the way they have learnt and inadvertently “corrected“ the anatomy in the copy. Another hypothesis is that they are drawing not what they are actually seeing but what they were expecting (and wanting) to see.

We could even hypothesise that the artists didn’t want the public to suspect that they were not good enough at drawing. Maybe they didn’t want anyone to think “what a lousy copy! The artist is so useless that cannot even draw the leg of the Venus properly!”.

Here is an example from Herculaneum. The drawing (from the book Antiquity Recovered ) is a copy of one of the Herculaneum frescoes that are now exhibited in the Naples Museum.  All the body proportions (especially in the case of the Minotaur) look much more “harmonic” than the original. 

Fresco from the Basilica in Herculaneum
Image from the Hermitage website

Actually, in the case of Pompeii and Herculaneum there is at least another major, and slightly bizarre, reason that explains why representations are precious sources of information but have also to be treated with a certain care. For the first years it was not allowed to make copies of the exhibits in the Museum of Portici. But the temptation was too strong and some artists (like,  Bellicard, author of this one), took quick sketches that, probably, refined out of the museum, without the original in front of their eyes. According to Lyons and Reed, this would also explain why there are no bootleg copies of the artefacts positioned close to the entrance: there were always too many guards nearby.

A mix of “cosmetic documentation”, the gap between expectation and reality, and memory-based drawing could also explain why there is so much discrepancy between the documentation of the frescoes of the Ekklesiasterium in the Iseum and the actual fragments exhibited in the Museum of Naples. In spite of the very realistic style (always beware of the realistic style!), and the fact that they were commissioned to top class professionals of the time, the drawings not always match the evidence, sometimes quite dramatically. But that story probably deserves a post on its own.

Orpheus' lost twins

The fresco in the House of Orpheus' garden
Photo from pompeiiinpictures

The House of Orpheus in Pompeii owns its (second) name to a big fresco depicting Orpheus surrounded by animals. The image is now mostly faded, especially the left and bottom areas. 

But with Pompeian artefacts there is always a chance that the object we are interested in has been somehow recorded or documented at the time of the excavations, when many features that are now lost were still visible. They might have been described in verbal accounts, photographed, or copied by an artist.

So, if we look into into libraries and archives, we do find that Orpheus’ fresco has been reproduced by Niccolini in 1854. 

It seems that, luckily, we have found the missing information we were looking for: the left side of the fresco shows a charming illusional garden, probably meant to interact, visually, with the actual one. 

If we were about to produce a digital restoration of our fresco, that would look like a precious source of information. And, it definitely is.

However, if we have a better look at our sources, we find another reproduction of the same painting, this time by Emil Presuhn, in 1878.

The two drawings are supposed to be copies of the same original. But, when you put them next to each other, something doesn’t add up...

Left: Niccolini's reproduction of the Orpheus fresco. Right: Presuhn's one

Although the general structure and theme of the composition is definitely very similar, there are countless differences in small and not-so-small details.

Some animals look completely different: the lion in Niccolini’s drawing become an elephant in Presuhn’s one, the big feline in Niccolini’s is an hippo for Presuhn and so on... The colours are also very different: Niccolini shows a green landscape, while in Presuhn we see a quite dry one, with no water streams. We might hypothesise that Presuhn was reproducing an original that was already further degraded, although there are only about 20 years between the two publications. 

But that wouldn’t explain why, on the contrary, the left part of the fresco, looks much more detailed in Presuhn’s version than in Niccolini’s one. The bottom bit, again, is only apparently similar but very different at a second look.

Which one is the right one? Well, sadly we don’t have the original anymore to say which copy is the most accurate. Possibly, they are both equidistant from the model. Or, may be, each of them has more accurate bits than the other. For sure, they are both subjective representations of the same artefact and both influenced by a long list of variables.

I’m using these two drawings to start my little list of some of the most common factors that impact on representations of cultural heritage. 

First bullet point: skills and tools.

Not everyone is equally good at the technique they are using to represent an artefact. Not all the artist are equally skilled (if we consider «skill» as the ability to reproduce the original as close as possible) as well as not all the 3D modellers have the same familiarity with the software.

Then there is training. Although the two drawings are almost contemporary, a different style is clearly detectable, possibly due to the artists different nationality (i.e. different art schools) or just to idiosyncratic differences. I am particularly fond of the lion face in both the drawings. They look very dissimilar from each other and neither of them very much Roman.

Last, the constrains that derive from the tool. For example, in this case, the very bright colours in Niccolini’s drawing and a certain flatness in both of them are probably due (I reckon) to the printing techniques at the time that didn’t allow much sophistication in colour. Likewise, our representation are influenced by the software and hardware that are available. Or, to be more precise, by the ones we can afford.

PS: I was familiar with Presuhn drawing, and I had seen Niccolini’s one before. But I have realised how different they are only when Drew, one of my supervisors, showed me the page of Gardens of Pompeii, vol 2 where they are published together. Funnily, Jashemski uses both the drawings as a source of information about birds and plants in Pompeii, without a word on their striking dissimilarities.