The Chimaera of Arezzo

Chimaera of Arezzo (pictured here on display in Florence), Etruscan, ca. 400 BCE

"The Chimaera...a raging monster, divine, inhuman--a lion in front, a serpent behind, a goat between--and breathing fire. Bellerophon killed her, trusting signs from the gods."

Homer, The Iliad

The Chimaera of Arezzo exhibition is, for me, one of the most anticipated exhibitions of the year. Unlike many other special exhibitions at the Villa, I had opportunities to attend scholarly talks on this show long before it opened, so I had a great preview of what it would be about. Also, it is a pretty big deal that Italy has allowed such a nationally treasured artifact to travel to L.A. This exhibition marks the first time this Etruscan bronze sculpture has ever traveled to the United States. On top of all of this, the great myth attached to the Chimaera of Arezzo is a wonderful tale that appealed so much to people over the centuries, the story eventually made its way into our modern Western culture and iconography (albeit in a somewhat modified form). All of these elements make this installation one of the most interesting and memorable I have yet seen at the Villa.

Homer's account (dated to the 7th c. BCE) of the myth of the hero Bellerophon and the chimaera is the first evidence of writing we have from ancient Greece. The fact that this myth shows up so early in Greek literature suggests this was both an antique and popular tale, even then. The myth tells how Bellerophon, mounted on the winged horse Pegasus, is able to fly above the Chimaera beyond the reach of its flaming breath and cast down a spear from above to kill the monster. The image of Bellerophon flying above the monster, spear at the ready, was depicted on everything from large vases to miniature oil jars to engraved gemstones. These containers and luxury items were traded throughout the Mediterranean world, carrying the story of Bellerophon and the chimaera with them.

Calyx krater, Faliscan, ca. 370 BCE

Thus, an antique tale from Greece made its way west to Italy, where Bellerophon's defeat of the chimaera became the most commonly depicted heroic triumph. The Ertruscans in particular were quite taken with the imagery. The most stunning representation of the chimaera we have from Etruria is the Chimaera of Arezzo. The statue is imposing by itself, but scholars think it likely was only part of a monumental offering made to a religious sanctuary. Most representations of the chimaera include Bellerophon flying above, mounted on Pegasus, ready to launch his spear and kill the monster. Scholars believe the Chimaera of Arezzo must have once been paired with an equally impressive bronze sculpture of Bellerophon on Pegasus, which would have been displayed above it. Although the Chimaera was found in a votive burial with numerous bronze statuettes, no evidence of this sculpture was found, so its existence remains only an educated guess.

If an artifact has a documented history, I find visitors are just as curious about the "modern" history of an artifact as they are about its ancient context and history. As it happens, the modern history of the Chimaera of Arezzo is one of the most well documented of surviving ancient works of art. It was discovered near the Italian town of Arezzo in 1553 and quickly became the crown jewel in the antiquities collection of Cosimo I de Medici, Grand Duke of Etruria. He saw the sculpture as a magnificent testament to the legacy of Etruria, which he claimed for himself. (Naturally!) Cosimo saw himself as Bellerophon and referred to his enemies as "chimaeras." That is, he intended to defeat his enemies as thoroughly as Bellerophon had dispatched the chimaera. Cosimo's adoption of the Chimaera into his collection made the sculpture famous, and ever since it has been one of the most celebrated works of art from Italy's ancient past.

St. George and the Dragon Detail of an Illuminated manuscript, French, about 1410 CE

One of the aspects of this exhibition I like is how it brings the myth of Bellerophon and the Chimaera full-circle. Though the myth declined in popularity during the Roman imperial period, the myth endured in western areas of the Roman empire--and even in some eastern areas, as recent archaeological discoveries have shown (see the illustration of the mosaic floor, below). By the early Christian period, images of this pagan myth were sometimes even paired with Christian symbols. The Medieval image of St. George impaling a fire-breathing dragon seems to be a derivation of the Bellerophon myth transformed into more Christian terms. That is, good, represented by St. George, defeats the dragon, which can be seen as a representation of the devil. This is illustrated in the exhibition by the display of an illuminated manuscript (see above) from the Getty Research Institute's collection. The Villa curators never miss an opportunity to deepen and broaden special exhibitions with manuscripts from the GRI. The GRI's holdings are truly vast, and I am glad our curators here use them so effectively.

A less tangible issue addressed by the exhibition is why the popularity of Bellerophon eventually declines in Greece but becomes exceedingly popular abroad, especially in Italy. One scholar has suggested that Bellerophon becomes an anti-hero in Greek ideology because of his tragic end. In the accounts of Homer and Hesiod, Bellerophon was brought to ruin by Zeus for having the hubris to mount Pegasus and attempt to fly up to Mt. Olympus in order to join the gods there. In Italy, on the other hand, it seems there was no strong central ideology influencing the perception of Bellerophon. Instead, religion in Italy was more of a private, individual practice, and so Bellerophon became venerated as one who could travel between worlds (that is, the earthly realm and the divine realm) and could therefore mediate with the gods on behalf of the dead. This idea is illustrated by a gold ring in the exhibition, which scholars suggest was created specifically to be worn by a deceased individual in the hope that Bellerophon would intercede on his behalf before the gods and aid him in his journey to a life after death.

Roman mosaic floor dating to ca. 260 CE found in Palmyra, Syria

As much as I like this exhibition, I am disappointed in one respect. The mosaic floor shown above, found in Palmyra, Syria, is not a part of this exhibition. This in itself is not a major disappointment, since curators are often unable to get loan approval for every object they want to include from other museums. Also, it occurs to me that in this case, the floor is possibly still in situ, right where the archaeologists found it. Even so, instead of leaving the object out completely, curators chose to display a scale facsimile of the mosaic. What bothers me about this decision is that the number one question I get from visitors is, "Is that real?" By that they mean, "Is it really ancient or is it a copy?" One of the most shocking things I learned when I stepped into a museum gallery as an educator is that many, many people think that museums only display copies of works of art. I am happy to change their perspective and assure them that when they are in a museum they are looking at the real thing, unless it is specifically stated otherwise on the label. Now, of course the facsimile in the exhibition is marked as such, and it is a great illustration to view in the context of the exhibit. Still, I can't help but be a little disappointed that this time, when a visitor asks me, "Is it real?" I have to say no.

Be that as it may, this is an exhibition not to be missed by Southern California museum goers. The Chimaera alone would be well worth the drive to Malibu, but when you add the Golden Graves of Vani to it, you have an irresistible pairing. There will be more from me on Vani in a later post--I am still slogging through the archaeology of the site, so I need a bit more time before I can have a decently informed opinion.

As Summer Was Just Beginning

I know I have been delinquent with my blog updates the past few weeks, but in my defense, I have been rather uninspired and there is not much going on at the moment. By this time, of course, summer has officially begun. Eric just began teaching his course on ancient Egyptian religion at UCLA and I will be wrapping up school group lessons tomorrow. (I have declared it an official day of celebration.) The summer months will still be busy, just with different kinds of distractions. Beginning next week I will have no teaching assignments on Wednesdays, which will give me the luxury of one day a week to research and prepare for upcoming projects. For example, I am preparing a course comparing nudity in the ancient Near East, Egypt, and Greece. Also, two special exhibitions are opening at the Villa this summer: The Golden Graves of Ancient Vani (July 16–October 5, 2009) and The Chimaera of Arezzo (July 16, 2009–February 8, 2010). I have about a month or so to study up on both of those exhibitions so I can be ready to present them to the public by the time they open. I am very much looking forward to both of these shows. They will both have an archaeological bent to them compared to other special exhibitions I have taught here, which will make them particularly fun for me.

In other news, we are now a two car family again. You will recall some months ago I reported that the engine of Eric's old beater overheated and seized, leaving him stranded on the 405 freeway. Since then he and I have been negotiating the use of our one remaining car as best as we could--and not doing half bad, all things considered. Anyhow, last week a friend of his bought a new car and very kindly sold his old one to Eric for a price he could afford. So we now have two cars again, and what a luxury it is! I will enjoy very much not making grocery trips on my day off with my little push cart and waiting on the bus in order to get around and get errands done.

With all that in mind, you could say things are going pretty well right now. We have no extraordinary plans for summer since we usually take our vacation in September, after Eric is done with his summer teaching. What we will be doing is taking advantage of the awesome SoCal summer weather, enjoying time with friends and family, and going to lots of summer movies. I have learned to make the most of my unusual work schedule and have got myself into the habit of seeing movies on Mondays, when everyone else is at work. It is a lot of fun to kick back with your soda and popcorn and see a movie in an almost deserted theater. Once you know how great it is without the crowds, it is almost disappointing to see a movie any other way. Also, at the end of the summer I plan on escaping the city for a visit home.

But, for now, there are miles to go so I had better get to it. Time to get busy learning the stories revealed by the golden graves of Vani.

Summertime in the Villa's Herb Garden

The Lampbearer

Recently a long-term loan from the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, Italy went on display at the Getty Villa. Known as the Statue of an Ephebe (youth) as a Lampbearer, this bronze statue was discovered in Pompeii in 1925 buried in a well-to-do private residence. Being modeled in the style of ancient Greek sculptures of beardless young men, he holds an ornate candelabrum, and so likely served as a functional decorative object in the home.

At the time of the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 C.E., the house was in the process of renovation. The Ephebe was found in a room off the atrium, apparently being stored out of the way with other bronze decorative pieces while the renovations happened. Traces of a protective cloth which had been draped over it are visible on the shoulders and buttocks of the sculpture--apparently the heat of the blast seared the cloth to the statue. Considering he went through a catastrophic volcanic eruption, the Ephebe survived in amazing condition. He survives with his original marble base, and most of the glass paste that served as inlay for the eyes remains. Three workers--perhaps those completing the renovations--were not as lucky. Their skeletal remains were discovered in the front hall of the house.

As always, I am happy to have a new object to work with in the galleries. He's a great object to use in talking about ancient bronze sculptures because he is so well-preserved. The fact that you can still see most of the glass paste inlays for the eyes is wonderful. So many visitors are unaware that ancient sculptures had inlaid eyes. It is an understandable mistake since in many cases the inlays do not survive. It is always fun to have an object to show them that so clearly illustrates what I tell them about the original appearance of the sculpture.

Also, modern conservation has revealed that the lips and nipples are made of copper and that can now clearly be seen. Bronze sculptors often made use of different colored metals to add life to their sculptures, but often the metals darken so much overtime they are not easily seen with the naked eye. But again, in this case, you can clearly see where copper was used instead of bronze.

I have already used the object several times in my talks, and I look forward to including it on my "Roman Connoisseurship" focus tour this summer. As an object that served to decorate the villa in which it was found, it is the perfect object to use when discussing Roman collecting habits.

Since beginning to discuss this object with visitors, some interesting points have come up. First of all, with a date of 20-10 B.C.E., the Ephebe was going on one hundred years old by the time Mt. Vesuvius erupted in 79 C.E. This suggests a longevity for the piece and makes me wonder--was it passed down to its last ancient Roman owner, or did he purchase it himself for his collection? Also, the label identifying the statue in our gallery has a very neat-looking image of the statue in situ (as it was found), buried to its knees in detritus. The picture is definitely one that captures the archaeological imagination, but it's been brought to my attention that damage to the sculptures knees would not have allowed it to stand in such a way. That being the case, this photograph was very likely staged when it was taken in 1925. This is not unheard of--there are several examples of staged archaeological photographs. Academic veracity often fell victim to appearances.

Statue of an Ephebe (Youth) as a lampbearer

Roman, ca. 20-10 B.C.E.

I look forward to getting to know my friend the Lampbearer better over the next months during his stay at the Villa. He will reside here for about two years, then he will return home to the museum in Naples where he will be on display not all that far from the house in which he was first discovered.

III - Part 2: Roman Portraits and Modern Copies

The Getty Commodus. Photo credit: Hal O'Brien

I have really enjoyed having this little exhibit at the Villa. We have such a small collection in comparison with the Getty Center, so it's nice when a new special exhibition shows up and provides new material to talk about with visitors. The title of this exhibition suggests the main point of consideration is Roman portraits and later copies of them, with the bust of Commodus as the centerpiece of the discussion. Curatorially speaking, that's exactly what the exhibit is about. Educationally speaking, I think this exhibit offers educators an excellent opportunity to discuss an example of how objects are continually being interpreted by museums. "Continually being interpreted" is a really nice way of saying that over time museums can change their mind about when and where an object is from, why it was created, and so on.

As I mentioned, this exhibition centers around a marble portrait known as the Getty Commodus. Like the statue of a god discussed in my first entry on the "III" exhibitions, the Getty Commodus has quite a modern history. This marble bust of the Roman emperor Commodus (180-185 CE) was acquired by the museum in 1992. (Note: Off the top of your head, if you want to recall how popular history remembers Commodus, he is the emperor played by Joaquin Phoenix in the movie Gladiator.) At the time, the bust was believed to be the work of a 16th century (or later) Italian sculptor. The reason for the confusion is that later European sculpture very often copied ancient portraits. In particular, elite Europeans of the Renaissance collected both ancient and contemporary portraits of Roman emperors. These aristocrats were very fond of portraits of emperors with acclaimed historical reputations like Marcus Aurelius (father of Commodus). By the 1700's, Neoclassical artists looking to capture the spirit of the antique continued to copy Roman portraits and considered it the height of achievement if an artist was able to sculpt marble exactly like ancient artists. You can imagine how this might complicate a curator's job--it's as if Renaissance sculptors were doing their best to flood the halls of aristocratic homes with nearly undetectable forgeries of ancient Roman portraits. The ancient portraits got mixed in with the "modern" copies within the collections of elite art connoisseurs, and centuries later museums have the task of sorting out what's what.

In light of such circumstances, it's easy to understand how the Getty Commodus was initially thought to belong to the 16th century rather than the Roman era. However, once an object enters the collection, it is studied in detail by conservators, curators, and various other scholars. As I have explained to many a visitor audience, there is no method or test that can reveal the date at which a stone surface was sculpted. Even so, we have other scientific ways of examining an object to help determine its date. For the Getty Commodus, there are essentially two categories of evidence that have convinced most scholars of its Roman date:

First, there is evidence of resurfacing, a process which polishes or smooths away the surface of the marble so it can be recarved. The Getty Commodus was resurfaced mostly on the front of the bust, in order to remove burial deposits or other blemishes. (It also made the bust look as if it was in excellent condition, suggesting a modern date rather than an ancient one.) According to our conservators, the resurfacing removed up to two millimeters of the original marble surface. While Lord Carlisle's caretakers paid special attention to the front of the bust, they did not pay such attention to areas of the bust that would not be readily seen--which leads us to the second category of evidence.

Mineral incrustation is visible on the surface of the base and especially on the back of the bust. This incrustation was analysed and found to be calcium carbonate mixed with traces of volcanic ash. This volcanic ash has a chemical fingerprint that traced back to an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, a volcano in Italy famous for burying the resort towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum in a catastrophic eruption around 79 CE. The analysis of the incrustation led scholars to conclude that the bust likely spent an extended period of time buried in the soil around the region of Naples, Italy, where Mt. Vesuvius is located.

Many scholars have been convinced by this evidence, and agree that the bust should be dated to the Roman period. Even so, just this week I was speaking with a curator at the Getty Center, and he told me some of his colleagues in the sculpture department are still convinced the Getty Commodus dates to the 16th century or later. You can't please everybody, I guess. I, for one, am pretty well convinced by the scientific analysis--I find it a much more compelling argument than one based solely on art historical evidence, which is decidedly unscientific. Whatever the conclusion, I think the case study of the Getty Commodus does an excellent job of illustrating how museums change their mind about objects. Sure, museums are institutions and authorities, but they are also places of study--and study inevitably leads you to change your ideas over time, based on what you learn in your research.

Despite the analysis I just told you about, there are scholars who will continue to argue over the date of this bust. So, I don't think you can say this exhibition ties the story of the Getty Commodus up in a nice, neat bow--for some, the debate will continue. Debates aside, I like this exhibition because, while it's here, it gives me a great means to talk to visitors about how museum work can be messy. We do our best to sort it out for the public based on the best of our knowledge at the time, but that does not mean our interpretation is the final say. It seems kind of a "duh" thing to say, but people trust that museums are authorities in their field. I know they do, because I see it in their faces when I talk to them in the galleries. Everyone just has to remember that authorities change their minds and even--gasp!--make outright mistakes. Just think of all of the stories that have turned up in recent years having to do with museums that have discovered fakes in their collections--objects that in some cases were on display in galleries as genuine. For example, there's the case of the Brooklyn Museum of Art's Coptic fakes.

The gist of it, then, is that museums are places of conversation, discussion, and debate about history and its artifacts--not shrines to final judgements and unequivocal categorization.

III: Part I - Reconstructing Identity

From my perspective as an educator at the Villa, special exhibitions help keep things interesting. Unlike the permanent collection, they change on a regular basis, keeping you on your toes because it's never long before you have to learn your way around the next one. It may be stressful when I only have a day to prep before my first public presentation of the exhibit, but ultimately it's one of the things that keeps me intellectually engaged. Last month three small special exhibitions (known as "III") exploring collecting and conservation of antiquities went on display. These three mini-exhibits take up just one gallery each, but they are all excellent and chocked full of information. I haven't yet taken the public thorough, but I think many people who take the time to check them out will find it kind of cool to get a chance to see a "behind-the-scenes" look at museum work. I'm sure many will also be somewhat surprised to see just how patchy and/or debatable available knowledge about an object can be.

Each of these exhibitions stands on it's own, so I plan to give each its own post. The first of the III is called "Reconstructing Identity: A Statue of a God from Dresden." At first glance this exhibition looks to be boringly simple, consisting simply of a headless, armless monumental statue of a nude male in the center of the gallery. I've seen many visitors just pause for a few apprising seconds before him, then wander on. But those who take the time will learn that this statue has had quite a journey since he was recovered from the ancient ruins of Rome in the 1600's. This exhibition traces the life of the statue since its discovery centuries after the fall of the Roman empire. (I'd say it traces the "modern" history of the statue, but since evidence begins in the 16th century CE, the term is relative.) The statue actually belongs to the Skulpturensammlung, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, but last year they brought it to the Villa to be restored. Conservators and art historians were so intrigued by this case, they held a colloquium to discuss it.

Compared to the history of some antiquities, this statue's life post-antiquity is pretty well-known. The statue was first discovered in the 1600's in Italy, minus a head and right arm (and a few other bits). Without a head or arms wearing or holding attributes that might indicate who the statue was supposed to depict, those who found it drew their own conclusions. It was first identified as Alexander the Great--as they thought, such a monumental sculpture was surely of a significant ruler, and who was more significant than Alex? Since the statue was missing a head, they added a head from another ancient statue to the sculpture. (In the 17th century it was rather common for them to pair random ancient sculptural fragments together to create a complete figure.) In this case, the head they added was likely from a statue of Athena or Roma. She was missing her helmet, so they sculpted one for her. They also sculpted an arm to help complete the sculpture. All of these pieces are on display in this exhibition.

In 1728 the Elector of Saxony, who was looking to build his collection of antiquities, bought the sculpture from a wealthy cardinal and brought it to Dresden. An engraving from 1804 indicates that by that time someone decided to remove the right arm that was added in the 1600's. The archaeological discoveries of the 19th century turned up other statues that looked very much like the Dresden example. These more complete examples were clearly depicting the Roman god of wine (and other interesting things), Bacchus. With such comparative examples available, they changed the identification of the statue to Bacchus, and later refined that interpretation and suggested it was Antinous, the young lover of the emperor Hadrian, dressed as Bacchus. Once this later interpretation was made, a new plaster head was cast for the statue based on portraits of Antinous. Eventually that plaster head showed the effects of time (plaster tends to become discolored over the years) so a new cast was made from a bust of Antinous in the British Museum. The first plaster head survives and is on display in the exhibition, but the second plaster head is lost. You can see three side-by-side engravings of the statue from different periods here.

The history of the statue gets sketchy around the 20th century, but we know it was severely damaged at some point during WWII and was eventually packed away in pieces. In 2007 the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden sent the 150 pieces of the statue to the Villa to be conserved. They disassembled the fragments even further so they could clean them and find the core of the ancient statue. The most recent colloquium on the statue (see link above) renewed the discussion on just who this statue was originally meant to depict--and how it should be identified today. They also discussed how much of the later (i.e. non-ancient) repairs to the statue should be restored (albeit by modern conservation standards, which hold that all restorations should be completely reversible). Ultimately their opinion on the identity on the statue remained much the same as it was in the 19th century--the statue probably depicts Bacchus. As for the restorations, certain bits of non-ancient restorations on the statue's drapery were allowed to remain, but they chose not to add any of the heads or arms used on the statue in the past.

And so he stands, headless and armless, yet still visually impressive in the Villa galleries. It seems right that he is finally relieved of those later restorations and now appears closer to his ancient self than he has been since the 1600's. This exhibition does an excellent job of describing to the public how each generation creates meaning in surviving ancient artifacts that is often completely different from that intended by their ancient creators. I also like the way curators made use of the Getty Research Institute's collection of rare books, displaying with the statue the books in which 17th, 18th, and 19th century engravings of the statue were published. Most visitors will probably not make the connection, but I think it's a great demonstration of the way in which the variety and depth of Getty holdings can compliment a display and create a more three-dimensional history of an object.

Note: For images and interactive features related to the exhibit visit this link. Also, if you've seen the exhibit, leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Orpheus, Hetairai, and Sirens, Oh My...

There is an interesting new exhibition opening at the Villa this week. While the subject of the Getty Villa's collection is Classical antiquity, this new exhibit features contemporary art. This is a particularly interesting and challenging teaching opportunity for me because I am by no means a fan of contemporary art. The exhibition I'm referring to is "Jim Dine: Poet Singing (The Flowering Sheets)." The concept of the exhibit is that Jim Dine, a contemporary artist, created an exhibit after being inspired by objects in the Getty Villa's collection. In particular, he took his inspiration from "Poet as Orpheus with Two Sirens," "Statuette of a Dancer," and "Statuette of a Dancer Playing the Lyre."

All of these are ancient Greek artifacts made out of terracotta and are believed to come from southern Italy. The Orpheus and sirens are large, semi life-sized figures, but both dancer statuettes are less than twelve inches high. All of them at one time were brightly painted. The dancer figurines were possibly votive offerings to deities or funerary offerings to the deceased. The Orpheus group, according to the Getty, came from an ancient Greek burial in southern Italy. It has been suggested that the Orpheus figure is the deceased dressed as Orpheus, thus identifying himself with Orpheus's musical abilities and--maybe more likely--Orpheus's return from the gloomy Underworld. (Orpheus was one of a very few ancient Greek heroes that returned to earth after venturing into the Underworld.) Sirens, of course, are strange bird-woman creatures of Greek mythology who sing a "siren song." The sirens' song was so beautiful it was said to hypnotically seduce sailors and lure them to their deaths by causing them to shipwreck on the rocky shores of the island on which the sirens perched.

Statuette of a Dancer

Greek, 330-200 BCE

Statuette of a Dancer Playing the Lyre

Greek, 200-100 BCE

Poet as Orpheus with Two Sirens,

Greek, 350-300 BCE

This Orpheus group evoked in Dine's mind the idea of a poet surrounded by his muses. (This was his creative inspiration, but remember sirens are not muses.) The dancers took the place of the sirens surrounding the poet, and from that image he created his own artistic arrangement. You can see the images of his work installed at the Villa and a short film of Dine discussing the project here. Dine's artistic vision manifests itself in four eight-foot-high painted wood female figures modeled on the dancer figurines arranged around a seven-foot-high self-portrait head. The walls are covered in a poem by Dine, handwritten in charcoal. An audio recording of Dine reading his poem plays in the background. His poem wasn't written explicitly for this project, but it was written while he was working on it. As hallucinogenic as most contemporary art seems to me, I get this exhibit in the sense that I see that Dine is expressing a connection and communion with ancient artists.

In this instance, I think my perspective is disadvantaged with the archaeological truth behind the objects which inspired him. I've already mentioned that his central inspiration for the project, the Orpheus group, is a poet flanked by sirens--malevolent creatures that lured men to their deaths--not muses. Also, all of the objects he took as his creative focus are made of terracotta, and were created from molds. So, the idea of "communion" with the ancient artist loses its romanticism if you know Dine's counterpart 2,000 years ago (or so) was just slapping clay into a mold and firing the figurines in a kiln. Add to that knowledge the fact that these dancers do not at all represent muses. They likely represent hetairai--high-end, courtesan-type entertainers--who danced and played music as a way to demonstrate their cultured talents to their elite clientele. So, you can see how this knowledge kind of takes me out of the artistic mind-set...

However, I understand that Dine is separated from a detailed knowledge of the archaeology of these objects, which allows him to simply let his creative impulses carry him to his vision. For me, instead of seeing a contemporary artist communing with ancient artists, I see a twenty-first century man looking at this ancient artifacts completely through the lens of his own creative experience. The poem jotted on the walls of the exhibit is largely autobiographical, and in this literary expression as in the artistic expression, he sees himself as Orpheus, a poet: "Once brightly painted/I am a southern Italian singer and prophet/Listing to the left of my companions."

Dine's work is visually intriguing, and I can find some meaning in it (unlike a lot of other contemporary art), so in that sense I enjoy it. I was thinking about my own response to his work, and interestingly, I think I would be more accepting of his artistic license if his creative expression was limited to the poem. For some reason the added visual element narrows my window of artistic appreciation.

I didn't intend for this entry to be quite so long, but this has actually helped me clarify my own reaction to the exhibit, and I feel better now about presenting this show to the public. Attempting to assign any meaning for Dine's work for someone else would be doing the visitor and his art a disservice. Besides, as I think I've established here, the central meaning I find in it is the artist's unfamiliarity with the history of the artifacts that inspired him--and the average visitor isn't going to find such information all that helpful in their attempts to understand Dine's work. That being the case, all I can do is present them with the history of the project and then step back and allow them to gauge their own thoughts, reactions, and opinions.

All things considered, I think there is enough creativity in archaeology without contemporary artists adding to the mix. If you have an opinion about contemporary art being shown at a museum dedicated to antiquity, leave a comment--I'd like to hear what you think...

The Garden Path

This is the last day of my monthly three day weekend. I charged out of the office so fast on Friday I left an Amber-shaped hole in the wall as I left. Earlier this week, on Wednesday, we had two gallery teachers out sick on the same day. There are only four of us, so that meant half of our force was decimated. So, it was a crazy morning, but it also turned out to be one of the most beautiful sunny days we’ve had here in awhile. After lunch, I asked one of the other teachers if she’d like to go for a walk in the gardens to take advantage of the weather, and she thought it was a great idea. We ended up playing hookie for a good hour and a half, wandering through the gardens, chatting about nothing in particular, and soaking up the sun. It was a relaxing diversion after the craziness of the morning. The Villa's gardens are awesome. I can't believe rich people get something like that all to themselves.

These days aside from the usual teaching I'm also simultaneously preparing for a staff ed. session on Greco-Roman Egypt, teaching the UCLA ancient Egyptian religion class, and trying to study for the exhibit opening next week called Color of Life. These changing exhibits are fun to have at the museum, but it's a little stressful when they first arrive and you have only a short amount of time to learn enough about it to teach and discuss it intelligently with the public. This new exhibit features polychrome (multi-colored) sculpture from the ancient world through contemporary art. The academic premise of the show isn't very sound, but I think the public will like it.

Now that I have the exhibition catalogue for this show, I've been reading through it. Looking at some of the objects, I'm really wondering how we're going to handle any school groups we might bring into those galleries. Nudity is one thing--I can handle that--but one object, the Anatomical Venus , is quite another. It looks like a serial killer has carefully and dramatically exposed her innards--and she's pregnant. Disturbing. She was a wax model originally created in the 18th century CE to be a scientific, anatomically correct model for doctors to study. As such, she can be opened and closed. Her face is truly jarring--she looks dead or drugged or both. Even though the Venus is the stuff of nightmares, I prefer dealing with that wax model compared to contemporary art because at least the Anatomical Venus has an historical context. For the most part I loathe contemporary art, but it appears sometime soon I'm going to have to find something good and/or interesting to say about it because this show contains contemporary sculpture too.

I just realized yesterday that the 28^th of February, came and went and I didn’t even think about the fact that it marked five years since Eric and I have been together. Of course we’ve only been married a year, but if we’re counting time served (and I do) it’s been five. With a little luck and careful application of the right drugs, I think we just might go another five.