Nobody knows who the villa belonged to except that they were wealthy, Roman, and keen to dazzle guests with their lavish residence on the flanks of Mount Vesuvius. Not far from Pompeii in the town of Torre Annunziata, the 1st century villa was consumed by lava in the eruption of 79, an eruption so violent that it altered the coastline, creating a landfill so that homes like this one that once had sea views now were further inland.
This particularly lavish country home is variously known as Villa Poppea and Villa Oplontis. By any name, it offers a treasure trove of Roman painting styles and an ingenious decorative scheme designed to keep everyone in their rightful place during extended visits.
That last part, at least, is what the University of Texas team, headed by John Clark and Michael Thomas, believes may be the reason behind a most unusual zebra-stripe motif. It covers the walls in the courtyard reserved for slaves–
Courtyard in the villa’s slave quarters
and the same stripe motif reappears in some of the hallways throughout the villa. Clark’s and Thomas’s thesis is that it let the slaves of guests — as well as the guests themselves — know which areas were reserved for guests and which were to be used by their slaves. Very clever.
John Clark (left) and Michael Thomas (right) in a storeroom-office in Villa Oplontis.
For more information about the work the University of Texas team, check out The Oplontis Project.
And for more on Roman painting styles, there is a fabulous free on-line Yale class which you can also take through Coursera. My husband and I took it before traveling to Pompeii last year, and it proved invaluable — the class was the reason we made a point of going to Villa Oplontis where we had the unexpected good fortune of running into John Clark and Michael Thomas hard at work.
Here are some more photos that relate to my WSJ review of two Japanese gardens. You can see images of the MFA Boston’s garden in my earlier blog and here are photos I took in the Japanese garden of the Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park.
wending our way down to the lake
at the top of the South waterfall, a large (yin) and smaller (yang) boulders
a boulder appears to leap upstream in the south waterfall
view from the peninsula of a group of menhir-like sculptures: “Existence” by Masayuki Koorida
approaching “Long Island Buddha” by Zhang Huan
One of 23 verses carved into boulders: part of “For the Garden” by Jenny Holzer
In the Zen-style rock garden
from atop ‘viewing hill’
Even the gardeners’ gloves strike a mudra
Some of the comments on my review in today’s WSJ complained about the lack of photos, so I am posting a number of pictures I took. Here are some shots of the Tenshin-en or Garden of the Heart of Heaven at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (see the next post for photos from the Frederik Meijer Garden & Sculpture Park ). The MFA also has a mobile site with videos on different aspects of the garden.
from the viewing platform, turtle island on the left, crane island on the right
View of crane island with rocks that suggest wings — while also recalling Mt Fuji on the right and Massachusetts’ Mt. Monadnock on the left
view of turtle island
the waterfall with dark, round pebbles standing in for pooling water
My favorite rock in this garden — easy to see why Japanese designers name rocks.
Moses Mkumpha is a quiet man with unrushed movements and a thorough approach. Watching him dust a basket and meticulously bag every strand that broke off, it was clear that he had the perfect temperament for a conservator. And listening to the respect with which he spoke about the history contained in Malawi’s rock art, the ruins of its ancient slave trading post, and the country’s dinosaur and early hominid fossils, it was clear he had a passion for his country’s heritage.
Moses Mkumpha in the ethnographic conservation lab of the American Natural History Museum – photo: Lee Adair Lawrence
I had the privilege of reporting on him while Mkumpha was in the US getting training at the Conservation Center of New York University’s Institute of Fine Arts. Now Naashon Zalk, a director in South Africa, has followed him in Malawi and made a documentary that aired in the series “Faces of Africa.” You can see it here: http://english.cntv.cn/2015/04/05/VIDE1428230775088513.shtml
Such a delight to see works by one of my favorite painters, An Ho, alongside a painting (on the right) by her teacher Pu Ru, one the last scholar artists of China. There is also a marvelous hanging scroll of a tiger that Pu Ru and An Ho painted together.
China 2000 Fine Art is showing some of An Ho’s figurative paintings from the 1950s (below) …
a couple of stark, winter landscapes in ink from a decade or so ago…
and then, a recent landscape (below) where trees are again in leaf.
An Ho’s vision is as poetic and sharp as ever, and her hand as deft and expressive. A thrill to see.
(I first met An Ho when I wrote about a show at the Oglethorpe University Museum of Art; I then wrote a short feature when An Ho was teaching students at MICA how to handle the brush in the way that Pu Ru once taught her. )
One of the things I love about religious art is the occasional blurring of the line between an object intended to inspire devotion and the depiction of devotion itself. This happens in pretty much all religious traditions, but for whatever reason it struck me recently at “Buddhist Art of Myanmar,” currently on view at the Asia Society Museum in NY. I gave it a rave review in the WSJ as have others elsewhere (or so I’m told — I actually never read reviews of shows that I am myself writing about; a sad predicament when you think about it because I miss a lot of great pieces by Holland Cotter and other wonderful writers).
Back to my musings about depicting and inspiring devotion, a word I use in the broadest of senses. Take a look at the face and posture of this Buddha…
The 11th-century sculpture captures a calm alertness, that sweet spot between relaxation and concentration in meditation. Am I projecting? Maybe. Or maybe (and this is by far my preferred theory) my mirror neurons respond to what I see before me, so that by depicting what a model meditator looks like on the outside the artist creates an object that triggers in those who stand before it an inner echo of what that revered meditator is experiencing. The sculpture therefore inspires devotion to the Buddha as a being who sees through to the essence of life — and, at the same time, describes the path of devotion the Buddha has taken.
Another, very poignant piece in the show does this double act differently. It is 12th-century sculpture of the Buddha meditating as he nears death. In Myanmar such sculptures are placed in niches that cover the walls of temple passageways. Because they are narrow, you don’t get much distance so you see them as you walk past them. So what appears in catalogs and art history books like this —
is experienced more like the view below so that the first thing you would see is a fellow devotee kneeling in prayer, his attention focused on the teacher/master/divinity he cannot see…
…but that you eventually do get to see. A most effective depiction of blind faith and its reward.
And now I cannot resist revisiting another Buddha head, this one disembodied and from 9th century Thailand that was at the Met in the Lost Kingdoms show (I singled it out in my WSJ review). I am adding it here purely for the benefit of my mirror neurons… and yours.
Know the work of Henry Darger? Well last weekend, the paintings, collages, drawings and mad musings of this reclusive, compulsive man came alive through a play by Judith Kampfner. It was just a reading of The Strange Case of Henry Darger and only of excerpts at that, yet utterly engrossing. We got a glimpse into the mind whose phantasmagoria of children, monsters, soldiers, and recurring visions of the crucifix are embodied in the hundreds upon hundreds of works Darger left behind.
The worlds Darger depicts are in turn lyrical, disturbing, sweet and violent, and in the play we see the man summoning them with the intensity of a person struggling to do what comes so easily to others: relate — to people, fears, a news story, beauty, horror, God. It is art not for art’s sake, but for living’s sake and he goes about it as relentlessly as he breathes.
This comes through beautifully in Kampfner’s play and, the next day, standing before pieces on display at the Outsider Art Fair, the collages and paintings compelled me like fragments of a rich and complex whole, snapshots brought back from a hallucinatory journey which Kampfner’s The Strange Case of Henry Darger conjured the day before. No wonder the gatekeepers to Darger’s estate granted her permission.