Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity: The Petrified Gaze (Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies) [1 ed.] 9780415529167, 9780415105498, 0415529166

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Johannes Siapkas is Associate Professor in the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies at Stockholm University, Sweden.

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity

This book offers an international scope and illustrates how academic conceptual foundations influence museum exhibitions. This timely volume discusses contemporary museum exhibitions of ancient sculpture and clarifies how old discourses continue to affect conceptualizations of ancient sculptures. The authors analyze close to 100 museums around the world and demonstrate the ways in which ancient sculptures are mediated across Europe and the West.

C o v er image: With permission of the Akademisches Kunstmuseum, Bonn, Germany

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity investigates the study and display of ancient sculpture from archaeological, art historical, and museum studies perspectives. Ancient sculptures not only give us knowledge about ancient Greek and Roman pasts, but they also mediate ideals that inform modern perceptions of antiquity. This book analyzes how an art historical tradition establishes and preserves an idealized view of antiquity in classical archaeology and in museum exhibitions. The authors investigate how these ideals are kept alive today—an approach that often is neglected in studies on ancient reception.

The Petrified Gaze

Classical Studies

Lena Sjögren is Assistant Professor in the Department of Archaeological and Classical Studies at Stockholm University, Sweden.

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity The Petrified Gaze

Siapkas and Sjögren

www.routledge.com Routledge titles are available as eBook editions in a range of digital formats

Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren ROUTLEDGE MONOGRAPHS IN CLASSICAL STUDIES

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity investigates the study and display of ancient sculpture from archaeological, art history and museum studies perspectives. Ancient sculptures not only give us knowledge about ancient Greek and Roman pasts, but they also mediate ideals that inform us about modern perceptions of antiquity. This book analyzes how an art historical tradition establishes and preserves an idealized view of antiquity in classical archaeology and in museum exhibitions. The authors also investigate how these ideals are kept alive today—an approach that often is neglected in studies on ancient reception. This book stands out among current publications in its international scope and in illustrating how academic conceptual foundations influence museum exhibitions. This perspective is not only relevant to classical archaeology and art history, but also to museum studies and the history of ideas. This timely volume discusses contemporary museum exhibitions of ancient sculpture and clarifies how also old discourses continue to affect museum exhibitions and conceptualizations of ancient sculptures. The authors have analyzed close to 100 museums around the world, and elaborate on how ancient sculptures are mediated across Europe and the Western world. The exhibition of ancient sculptures is similar in most states, which emphasizes the international character of the classical legacy. Johannes Siapkas is Associate Professor in the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies at Stockholm University, Sweden. Lena Sjögren is Associate Professor in the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies at Stockholm University, Sweden.

Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies 1 The Roman Garden Katharine T. von Stackelberg 2 The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society Shaun Tougher 3 Actors and Audience in the Roman Courtroom Leanne Bablitz 4 Life and Letters in the Ancient Greek World John Muir 5 Utopia Antiqua Rhiannon Evans 6 Greek Magic John Petropoulos 7 Between Rome and Persia Peter Edwell 8 Passions and Moral Progress in Greco-Roman Thought John T. Fitzgerald

9 Dacia Ioana A. Oltean 10 Rome in the Pyrenees Simon Esmonde-Cleary 11 Virgil’s Homeric Lens Edan Dekel 12 Plato’s Dialectic on Woman Equal, Therefore Inferior Elena Blair 13 Roman Literature, Gender, and Reception Domina Illustris Donald Lateiner, Barbara K. Gold and Judith Perkins 14 Roman Theories of Translation Surpassing the Source Siobhán McElduff 15 Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity The Petrified Gaze Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren

Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity The Petrified Gaze Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren

First published 2014 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2014 Taylor & Francis The right of Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren to be identified as the author of the editorial material has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Siapkas, Johannes, author. Displaying the ideals of antiquity: the petrified gaze / by Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren. — First [edition]. pages cm. — (Routledge monographs in classical studies ; 15) 1. Sculpture, Classical—Appreciation. 2. Art—Exhibition techniques. 3. Musuem exhibits. I. Sjögren, Lena, 1968– author. II. Title. NB85.S47 2013 700'.4142—dc23 2013007910 ISBN: 978-0-415-52916-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-415-10549-8 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of Figures Acknowledgements

PART I Introduction

vii xi

1

Introduction

3

PART II Discursive Settings

11

Introduction

13

1

Classical Archaeology: A Critical Overview

15

2

Art Historical Discourses

21

3

The Study of Ancient Sculpture

38

4

Current Approaches to Ancient Sculpture

55

PART III Museological Frictions

5

75

Introduction

77

Genealogies

81

vi

Contents

6

Masterpieces

112

7

Art Historical Narratives

146

8

Archaeological Displays of Sculpture

172

PART IV Conclusions

193

Conclusion

195

Notes References Index

203 211 237

Figures

5.1 The Belvedere Torso displayed in the Sala delle Muse in Museo Pio Clementino of the Vatican Museums (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Vaticani). 85 5.2 The so-called Death of Seneca, aka the Louvre Fisherman, is today displayed in the Salle du Manège of the Louvre, Paris (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). 86 5.3 Display of Classical sculpture in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München). 93 5.4 Plaster casts in the Akademisches Kunstmuseum, Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn in October 2006 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Akademisches Kunstmuseum, Bonn). 94 5.5 Interior from the Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome). 96 5.6 a. The 19th-century display of the pedimental sculpture from the Aphaia temple in the Glyptothek München (from Verneisel & Leinz 1980, 200, fig. 3. Permission to reproduce the image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München). 98 5.6 b. The interior of the Glyptothek in München after the reopening in 1972. This photograph is taken from the same location as fig. 5.6a (from Verneisel & Leinz 1980, 393, fig. 5. Permission to reproduce the image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München). 105 5.7 The Parthenon gallery in the British Museum, London (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum). 106 5.8 Ancient sculpture displayed in the museum of the Palatine, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali— Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma). 107

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6.1 The exhibition of the Charioteer from Delphi in the Archaeological Museum of Delphi (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the 10th Ephorate of Prehistoric & Classical Antiquities, Hellenic Republic Ministry of Education, Religious affairs, Culture and Sports). 6.2 Pediment from the temple of Apollo in Delphi displayed in the Archaeological Museum of Delphi (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the 10th Ephorate of Prehistoric & Classical Antiquities, Hellenic Republic Ministry of Education, Religious affairs, Culture and Sports). 6.3 The Frankfurt Athena in the Liebieghaus in Frankfurt. This photo shows the exhibition in September 2006. The exhibition underwent a complete reinstallation in 2008, which also comprised the introduction of a rich color scheme for the walls (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt). 6.4 The Laocoön in the Belvedere Courtyard of the Vatican Museums (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Vaticani). 6.5 The cabinet with the Capitoline Venus in Palazzo Nuovo, Capitoline Museum in Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome). 6.6 The Aristodikos in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund). 6.7 Equestrian bronze statue of emperor Augustus in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund). 6.8 The Horse and Jockey from Artemision in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund). 6.9 The Athena Lemnia and the Kassel Apollo in the Staatliche Museum in Kassel, Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, photographed in October 2006 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Antikensammlung, Museumslandschaft Hessen Kassel). 6.10 The Farnese collection in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image

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6.11

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6.13

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6.15

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6.20

6.21 6.22 7.1

granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali— Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei). The sculpture hall in the Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig, Basel (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig). The pediment sculpture from the Aphaia Temple on Aegina in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München). The Barberini Faun in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München). The Nereid monument from Xanthos in the British Museum, London (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum). Artemis with a Doe (aka Diana of Versailles) in Salle de Caryatides in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). The so-called Lady of Auxerre displayed in a glass case on the first floor of the Sully wing in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). The Athena Parthenos exhibited in the Galerie de la Venus de Milo in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). The Nike of Samothrace in the Daru Stairway of the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). The temporary exhibition of the Venus de Milo in June 2007, Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre). From the video ”24-hour Venus” by Cecilia Edefalk (photo: Carl Henrik Tillberg. Permission to reproduce image granted by the artist and photographer). A replica of Nike of Samothrace in Montepellier (photo: Wikimedia). A replica of Nike of Samothrace in a home decorating boutique in Stockholm (photo: Authors). The Greek room in the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt. This photo shows the exhibition in September 2006. The exhibition underwent a complete reinstallation in 2008, which also comprised the introduction of a rich color scheme for the walls (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt).

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7.2 The Classical room in the Archaeological Museum at Naples (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei). 7.3 Room 22 in the British Museum with displays of artefacts from the Hellenistic period (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum). 7.4 Room V on the first floor of Palazzo Massimo, Museo Nazionale, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali— Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma). 8.1 The statue of Venus Genetrix as displayed in the new exhibition in the Archaeological museum of Thessaloniki (Photo: authors. Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports / Archaeological Receipts Fund). 8.2 Sculptures from Roman Hortii displayed in the Palazzo Conservatori of the Capitoline Museums in Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome). 8.3 Sculpture from the Horti Sallustiani (gardens of Sallustius) in Rome, displayed in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen (Photo: authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen). 8.4 Bronze sculpture from Villa dei Papiri in Herculaneum displayed in the archaeological museum of Naples (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei). 8.5 Sculpture placed in a Roman villa context in the Badische Landesmuseum in Karlsruhe (Photo: authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Badische Landesmuseum, Karlsruhe). 8.6 Emperor Augustus as Pontifex Maximus in room V of the ground floor of Palazzo Massimo, Museo Nazionale, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma). 8.7 Sculpture gallery from the archaeological museum of Delos (photo: authors. © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports/21st Ephorate of Antiquities/Delos Museum). 8.8 Equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the exedra of Palazzo Conservatori (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome).

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Acknowledgements

This book approaches ancient sculpture from two perspectives. First, it investigates the history of scholarship concerning ancient sculpture from the 18th century onwards. Secondly, it scrutinizes primarily contemporary exhibitions of ancient sculptures in museums in Europe and the USA. In order to deal with these topics, we had to expand our academic horizons and ask questions that are often not asked in Classical Studies. One of the joys of working with this project was the opportunity to visit museum exhibitions not as trained archaeologists, which often means focusing on particular objects on display, but rather as general museum visitors embracing different messages mediated through the exhibitions. A study of this scope would not have been possible without the financial support from different research foundations. Foremost, the study is the result of a three-year project financed by the Swedish Research Council. Through funding from the Wallenberg Foundation and the Gihls Foundation, managed by The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities, we were able to visit museums in Germany, Italy and Switzerland. The Magnus Bergvall Foundation gave additional funding for studies of museums in Germany. A longer stay in Italy was made possible through the support of Fondazione Famiglia Rausing. Finally, a scholarship from the Swedish Institute at Athens enabled us to conduct extensive studies of museums in Greece. We would like to thank a number of colleagues for support and feedback. Gullög Norquist welcomed us to the Department of Archaeology and Ancient History at Uppsala University. We are particularly indebted to Peter Aronsson for support, encouragement and the possibility of presenting preliminary results at two workshops organized by NaMu (Making National Museums Program) at Linköping University. Rüdiger Splitter at Antikensamm-lung, Kassel, provided research material about the history of the exhibition. Tomas Lochman guided us through the Skulpturhalle in Basel. Bodil Nordström of the Swedish Institute at Athens helped us with contacts with Greek archaeological museums. Stefania Renzetti at the Swedish Institute of Classical Studies in Rome helped us with all the permits to publish photographs from archaeological museums in Italy. Work in progress was also

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presented at several research seminars at the Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University, the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies, Stockholm University, and the Department of History, Uppsala University. We have also organized a post-graduate course at the Swedish Institute at Athens about the display of classical antiquity in Greek museums. We would like to thank the students of this course whose enthusiasm contributed to further sharpen our arguments. The final manuscript was proofread by Catherine Parnell. Finally, we would also like to thank Laura Stearns, Stacy Noto and Lauren Verity at Taylor & Francis, Routledge, for their assistance.

Part I

Introduction

Page Intentionally Left Blank

Introduction

Ancient sculptures not only provide us with information about ancient Greece and Rome, but they also mediate ideals that provide us with an understanding about modern perceptions of antiquity. The main topics of this study are the constructed ideals associated with ancient sculpture in the context of modern scholarship and museums. Sculptural masterpieces such as the Nike of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo and the Parthenon frieze have become emblematic icons of Western culture. Sculptures such as these are visually present in a variety of public and private settings in contemporary society: thus, they do not only represent individual objects from the past but also embody wider European cultural ideals. In scholarship, sculpture is deemed as “the most prestigious medium in the formation of (classical) art history” (Beard and Henderson 2001, 83). More than any other category of objects from ancient Greece and Rome, sculpture has become a symbol of European fine arts, although the notion of fine art seems not to have existed in antiquity (Kristeller 1951, 498–506). Likewise, the modern division between minor arts, such as miniature sculpture and terracotta figurines, and fine arts, such as monumental marble, bronze statuary and architectural sculpture, is not an adequate reflection of how objects were valued in antiquity (Lapatin 2003, 72–84). Our study explores post-antique ideals, and so the study and display of sculpture will now be discussed. In order to understand how ancient sculpture came to be viewed as fine arts, and why this idea is being upheld today, it is necessary to analyze the discursive frameworks that surround this topic. Conceptualizations of ancient sculpture have been influenced by various discourses, and the objective of this study is to investigate two of the most influential settings for ancient sculpture: modern academia and museums. Both phenomena are firmly rooted in European cultural tradition.1 Research and museums from different European countries and the US, therefore, constitute the main analytical objects of this book. It is a study that is usually defined within the field of Classical Receptions studies. The fact that the study of classical reception is a growing field of research is exemplified by the continuous publication of introductory “companions”

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(for instance, Hardwick 2003; Hardwick and Stray 2008; Kallendorf 2007; Kurtz 2004; Martindale and Thomas 2006), encyclopedic works (Grafton, Most and Settis 2010) and journals, such as the Classical Receptions Journal, which was launched in 2009. In this context, our book can be regarded as yet another contribution to the field. The study should, however, not be seen as a general history of the reception of ancient sculpture (Burnett Grossman, Podany and True 2003; Howard 1990; Haskell and Penny 1981 are only some examples of such studies), since we move beyond the traditional concerns of reception studies. First, we aim to compare academia with museums, something that rarely occurs, and analyze how academic conceptual perspectives can influence museum exhibitions of ancient sculpture. Secondly, our aim is to focus on present-day conceptualizations of ancient sculpture by studying contemporary museum-displays and recent research on ancient sculpture. Reception studies that deal with ancient material culture, and especially with ancient sculpture, often take on a historical perspective, thus omitting any discussion on contemporary appropriations of ancient pasts. Many studies pay particular attention to collections of ancient sculptures and their public and private display from the Renaissance (Barkan 1999; Bober and Rubenstein 1986; Brummer 1970; Weiss 1969; Winner, Andreae and Piertrangeli 1998), the 18th century (Beck et al. 1981; Boschung and von Hesberg 2000; Leander Touati 1998) and the 19th century (Coltman 2009; Jenkins 1992; Tsingarida and Kurtz 2002) without connecting these displays to scholarly developments. Furthermore, there has been a particular interest in the reception of famous ancient sculptures like the Belvedere Torso (Schwinn 1973) and the Laocoön group (Décultot, Rider and Queyrel 2003). We do not, however, entirely dismiss the historic perspective: in order to study contemporary ideals associated with ancient sculpture, we must also take into consideration the historical development of research and museum exhibitions. In a study such as this, it is impossible to cover the entire field of research as well as analyze every museum displaying ancient sculptures. Covering as much as possible is also undesirable, since this often means a cursory and generalized approach to the topic. In this study, we do not examine every issue and study associated with ancient sculpture. In order for the study to become manageable, the objects of analysis must be confined to a selection of representative examples. In order to illustrate the overlapping nature of academic discourses, we analyze a number of studies from various dates, published in different countries, which consequently represent different traditions. In a similar vein, we have chosen to investigate exhibitions of ancient sculptures in a wide range of museums in Europe and the US. Some of these museums have substantial collections of ancient sculpture, which often dominate the exhibition rooms. In other museums with smaller collections of ancient sculpture, however, the sculptures do not tend to dominate in the same way.

Introduction

5

DISCIPLINARY BOUNDARIES AND CONVERGENCES Throughout this book, we consistently use the term “Classical Archaeology” when referring to the academic discipline that mainly deals with ancient sculpture. An inherent problem that can be identified in research on ancient sculpture, however, resides in the definition of disciplinary boundaries. Should a study on ancient sculpture be defined as art historical or archaeological in scope? Similar studies, in terms of theory and method, have been categorized either as art historical or archaeological research. Part of this confusion is due to the fact that the disciplines of Art History and Archaeology converge on many points (Neer 2010, 6–11). It is an issue that will be briefly discussed throughout our study, both in relation to the sphere of academics, and also in relation to the setting of the museum. What we mean by “art historical” and “archaeological objectives” must be clarified, since studies of ancient sculpture belong to both traditions. As material evidence, ancient sculpture holds a complex position. It echoes the familiar problem of art object contra archaeological artifact (Corbey et al. 2004, 357–63), which is dependent on how the modern concept of art was created. Often it is the aesthetic value of an object that determines the classification as either art or artifact. Sculpture, especially that of the Classical period, epitomizes the finest art produced in ancient Greece and Rome. At the same time, sculptures are recovered in archaeological excavations, and are thus regarded as archaeological remains. Ancient sculptures carry the connotations of exceptional pieces of art, masterpieces, but are also connected with a more mundane past, since their occurrence in ancient Greek and Roman settings was fairly common. The former way of looking at sculptures belongs to the realm of Art History, where inherent artistic qualities of the sculptures are emphasized. This approach applies to emblematic examples of sculptures; famous masterpieces of the Classical period (fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E.) which are known from ancient literary texts and/or as copies from the Roman period. Any sculpture from ancient Greece and Rome, however, can receive this kind of art historical attention. The archaeological approach, on the other hand, regards sculpture as material evidence with wider cultural expressions, which go beyond mere artistic concerns. Methodologically, the disciplines of Art History and Archaeology partly coincide, since a prime objective for both disciplines has been to create taxonomies based on typology and chronology. This has resulted in a common interest in defining different styles, and archaeologists and art historians alike base their definitions on aesthetic judgments (Neer 2010, 10). Archaeology and Art History, therefore, have a tendency to categorize the analytical object according to the character of the material. This categorization is often based on formal elements, such as form, material and size. In relation to ancient sculpture, this means formal art historical

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descriptions of proportion, anatomy, execution of poses and the execution of clothing. Features such as these can, however, also be regarded as analytical criteria within archaeological discourse. It seems that the study of ancient sculpture has developed a normative set of descriptive standards based on art historical concerns, which are also used in publications usually defined as archaeological studies, such as excavation reports. The normative approach is further illustrated by the practice of publishing material evidence in detailed catalogues, which is characteristic of both Art History and Archaeology. Catalogues sustain the above-mentioned method of categorizing sculptures according to formal descriptive elements (Donohue 2005, 17). The format of the catalogue is, furthermore, closely connected with the museum, since many museum collections are published as catalogues. It is mainly in the area of contextualization that a distinct differentiation can be recognized between art historical and archaeological works. The art historical approach often means that ancient sculptures are contextualized within a stylistic trajectory. In Archaeology, the context of an object has been regarded as the tour de force that brought material culture out of antiquarianism or Art History and into Archaeology during the course of the 19th century (Crowther 1989, 40). This kind of context differs from the art historical context. Archaeological context can, for instance, comprise the find-context associated with the pragmatic function of a sculpture, or a wider historical context that seeks to explain the sculpture in a historical, social or religious framework. This aspect of archaeology is linked to a historical tradition where sculptures are considered to be evidence that inform us about their social and cultural milieu. Ancient sculptures are studied in order to improve our understanding of antiquity. The museum, in turn, projects yet another, new and different, context for the displayed ancient sculptures. Sculptures have now become museums objects and the way these are exhibited, together with the setting of the object within the museum, determines what messages are mediated to the visitors. In many respects, the art historical and archaeological study of ancient sculpture overlap and it is, at times, difficult to classify research. As an example of the disciplinary confusion, we can take an authority in the field like Brunhilde Sismondo Ridgway (1986, 7), who defines herself as an archaeologist studying art (almost exclusively ancient sculpture). She retains this role in a more recent article (Ridgway 2005, 63), where she seeks to define the study of Greek sculpture in the 21th century and “speak as an archaeologist, not as an art historian, although my topic concerns Greek art.” Ridgway also allows the empirical material to define her professional identity; she is foremost a specialist on ancient sculpture. Methodologically, her oeuvre, which comprises an impressive number of monographs on different Greek sculpture styles, could be characterized as the epitome of connoisseurship in the study of ancient sculpture over the last forty years. Although her studies on ancient sculpture are related to archaeology, they have mainly dealt with traditional art historical concerns, including formal

Introduction

7

descriptions of artistic traits in sculpture that define a specific style. The objective of her books, to investigate the development of individual styles of Greek sculpture, fits nicely into the art historical approach introduced in the 19th century. From the above description of research on ancient sculpture, it is clear that this branch of Classical Archaeology relies heavily on traditional art historical concerns, such as iconography, attributions to individual artists, typology and stylistics (Wicker 1999, 162–65). When categorizing the field, we should, however, consider a sliding scale that ranges from a purely art historical perspective at one end, to more archaeologically orientated ambitions at the other end of the scale. In most current studies on ancient sculpture, we encounter this kind of tension between the two disciplines. For instance, a study with an explicit socio-historical aim may still use traditional modes of approaching and organizing the sculptures. The application of art historical methods often obscures the overarching contextualizing intent of the study. One solution, which was proposed by Natalie Kampen (2003, 373–79) in a reassessment on the study of Roman art, illustrates how classical archaeologists often approach the problem. Stating that art historical approaches are greatly dependent on archaeology in order to obtain a grip of empirics, she advocates a view that treats objects from the past as material culture rather than art. The inherent artistic qualities of the objects should thus be de-emphasized in favor of a more all-inclusive comprehension of art as objects among many other objects from the past. As will become evident from our study, however, the tension between Art History and Archaeology continues in both scholarship and museums, since ancient sculptures continuously embody the ideals of fine art in European cultural tradition. SYNOPSIS The first part of the book (Discursive Settings) examines art historical and archaeological trajectories in the study of ancient sculpture. A critical historiography of how ideals connected to ancient sculpture have been created and sustained in Classical Archaeology from the 18th century onward is presented in four chapters. The aim of these sections is to provide an overview of the development of research on ancient sculpture, highlighting important research traditions at different periods and relating these to wider archaeological and art historical paradigms. We pay particular attention to contemporary research and relate it to these paradigms. In order to obtain a more general background for the discipline that is responsible for most of the studies on ancient sculpture the first chapter (Classical Archaeology—A Critical Overview) briefly considers its development during the 20th century. Three conceptual perspectives can be discerned in the discipline: a traditional empiricist and descriptive tenet based

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on positivistic scholarship of the 19th century, the more explanatory social turn, and the cultural turn inspired by post-structuralism. Each perspective is characterized by an emphasis on specific parts of the overall evidence from antiquity, that is, certain issues, problems and concerns, and the use of specific models. Furthermore, each perspective has different epistemological foundations, which inform and influence our conceptualizations of antiquity. The next chapter (Art Historical Discourses) presents a more in-depth outline of art historical discourses, which have influenced perceptions of ancient sculptures. The chronological framework is wider in this chapter. It begins with an elaboration on Vasari and Winckelmann’s contribution to the development of Art History. After that, we present the perspective of “connoisseurship,” which can be considered as a discourse similar to the traditional perspective in Classical Archaeology. A guiding tenet in Art History has been the notion of mimesis. Art was judged on the basis of its mimetic qualities until the establishment of a formalistic modern perception of art in the early 20th century. Ancient sculptures were an unquestionable ideal in mimetic discourse, but not in modernistic discourse. In order to grasp the theoretical development of 20th-century Art History, a number of “modern art fathers,” such as Riegl, Wölfflin and Panofsky, are discussed. The last part of this chapter analyzes the theoretical turn “New Art History,” which occurred in Art History in the 1980s. Chapter 3 (The Study of Ancient Sculpture) examines the theoretical roots of contemporary studies on ancient sculpture. Three conceptual threads are analyzed: the endurance of Winckelmann’s legacy, the methodologies of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik which were developed in the 19th century and finally, more recent developments in research where historical and social contextualizations have been central concerns. It is not possible to identify a clear-cut chronological development for these conceptual threads, since each of them influence contemporary research on ancient sculpture in different ways. Nevertheless, formal analysis remains essential to the study of ancient sculptures, regardless of a conceptual shift from traditional Art History to more historically motivated studies. This can be seen in the final chapter of part I (Current Approaches to Ancient Sculpture), where we examine how the sculptures of the Parthenon have been studied. We also pay special attention to recently published PhD theses, which can be seen as indicators of the state of contemporary research and its relationship with traditional research. These studies show that although the study of ancient sculpture is a large and vibrant field of research, it is also a field that, to a great extent, sustains traditional approaches to material culture. In the second part of the book (Museological Frictions), we will move on to museums and analyze what kinds of ideals are mediated in exhibitions of ancient sculpture. This part of the book is based on the investigation of 107 museums, which we visited between 2006 and 2011. The investigation included museums of varying character; small-scale archaeological

Introduction

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site museums in Greece and Italy, larger archaeological museums at keysites such as Olympia and Delphi, plaster cast collections at universities, museums specializing in the display of antiquities from ancient Greece and Rome, such as the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, museums with a focus on ancient sculpture such as the Glyptothek in München, and large universal survey museums which are defined as art museums, for instance, the Louvre in Paris and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. A representative number of these museums will be discussed in this part of the book. Chapter 5 (Genealogies) considers the genealogical development of museums from the Renaissance onward. We begin with private collections in Renaissance Italy. The emphasis on the aesthetic qualities of ancient sculptures was already established in these collections. Until the early 20th century, ancient sculptures continued to be displayed as art works. The structural transformation of private collections to public museums during the 19th century did not result in a major shift in how sculptures were conceptualized and displayed. A conceptual shift is detectable around World War I. In the new regime, authenticity emerged as the primary concern. The archaeological potential of ancient sculptures was appreciated to a greater degree. Modern restorations and plaster casts became unfashionable. Nevertheless, displays of ancient sculptures continued to be arranged according to aesthetic and stylistic concerns. The emphasis of the art historical development of sculptures continues to be a major taxonomic principle in different kinds of museums. The three ensuing chapters concern different narratives that have shaped museum exhibitions of ancient sculpture up to the present day. First, displays of masterpieces are analyzed in chapter 6 (Masterpieces). We elaborate on exhibition techniques and interpret how museums convey certain sculptures as masterpieces. We identify different display techniques that enhance the aesthetic dimensions of the sculptures and illustrate how they are used in museums. The masterpiece status of ancient sculptures is, however, not only due to their placement in museums. We also turn, albeit briefly, to commercial and other non-academic, non-museological, appropriations of sculptural masterpieces. The next chapter (Art Historical Narratives) deals with other art historical narratives that define many contemporary museums displaying ancient sculpture. The museum often turns an ancient sculpture into an object of art through exhibition techniques that emphasize the aesthetic aspects. Mediated narratives like stylistic developments of ancient sculpture, the primacy of the classical style, the sculptor as an artistic genius and the Greekness of the Roman copy all enforce the perception of ancient sculptures as fine art. Finally, in chapter 8 (Archaeological Displays of Sculpture) we consider how archaeological perspectives on ancient sculpture are conveyed in museum exhibitions. All of these narratives illustrate the tension between art and archaeology in the display of ancient sculpture, something that has also has defined modern scholarship to a great extent.

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Part II

Discursive Settings

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Introduction

Our conceptualizations of ancient sculpture are influenced by different discourses. In this chapter, we will focus on the academic discourses that have a substantial impact on our perceptions of ancient sculptures. Any attempt to draw sharp dividing lines between the different discourses should be viewed as a futile exercise. The organization of academia differs from country to country, and scholars from different disciplines and traditions are concerned with ancient sculptures and their legacy. It is possible, nevertheless, to distinguish two academic traditions that have had a particularly strong influence on our conceptualizations of ancient sculpture. In the first academic tradition to be dealt with, ancient sculptures are included in the curriculum and canon of Art History and are considered as an inseparable part of the Western art tradition. In this disciplinary setting, ancient sculptures are primarily studied as a category of art that has influenced the development of art during later times. Sculptures are separated from the wider social and cultural context and are studied for their own sake. The second disciplinary tradition takes its starting point in the fact that ancient sculptures originate in antiquity. This is the archaeological and historical tradition where sculptures are considered as evidence that inform us about their social and cultural milieu. In the archaeological and historical discourses, sculptures are studied in order to improve our understanding of antiquity. The social and cultural contexts of the sculptures are crucial in this tradition. There are also similarities between these traditions. Regardless of analytical aims, publications of ancient sculptures are often very descriptive. Also, irrespective of which discursive tradition a scholar comes from, there are theoretical assumptions that bridge the divide between them. The focus on minute details is only one example of such a fundamental tenet of both disciplines. One way to disentangle these shared issues and perspectives is to try to identify the fundamental tenets of the relevant discourses.

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This chapter aims, accordingly, to elucidate on the various relevant discourses and identify the assumptions governing the scholarly elaborations on ancient sculpture. It begins with a brief recapitulation of the development of Classical Archaeology, and then turns to the discursive development of Art History. It will conclude with an elucidation of studies on ancient sculpture.

1

Classical Archaeology A Critical Overview

This chapter focuses on the development of Classical Archaeology during the 20th century. Our aim is to elucidate on the foundations of Classical Archaeology as an academic discipline. Although both the European tradition of appropriating classical antiquity, and Johann Joakim Winckelmann’s publication Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums from 1764, were highly influential in the establishment of Classical Archaeology, these factors will be left aside for the time being (see p. 22 for further discussion). It is enough to point out that the focus on surviving ancient artworks, together with a gradually intensifying interest in collecting ancient artworks during the 19th century, also influenced the academic discipline. Descriptions of the objects and an analytical focus on the exemplary aspects of antiquity were established as fundamental tenets in Classical Archaeology. This can be attributed to the legacy of the antiquarian and connoisseur discourses from the 17th and 18th centuries. This analytical short-sightedness, detectable also in present-day scholarship, sustains the idealization of antiquity. Turning to externalist factors, we can point to the reorganization of the higher education system in Prussia by Wilhelm Humboldt in the early 19th century as the point of origin for an educational system that was organized in a familiar way. Classical education was desirable in 19th-century German social discourses, and this reinforced the veneration of classical antiquity. Furthermore, 19th-century Germany is pivotal in this respect because foreign scholars flocked to German universities. They were certainly influenced on an individual level by their experiences in the German academic world. Turning to a structural level, several states, for example the USA, France, Greece, modeled their higher education systems after the Humboldt University (Marchand 1996; Morris 1994, 18–20). Until around the 1870s, the archaeological field techniques were rudimentary: the focus was on the retrieval of highly esteemed singular finds, while other categories were ignored. This can be characterized as the antiquarian method of excavating. Examples that comes to mind are the early excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum, where tunnels were dug in order to retrieve the desired objects, while the lack of systematic excavations resulted in the negligence of other aspects (Dyson 2006, 18–19;

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Parslow 1998). In contrast to this, by the end of the 19th century, a more methodological, archaeological framework for excavations was in place. For instance, W. Dörpfeld introduced stratigraphy in the German excavations at Olympia (Marchand 1996, 87). This excavation was considered a model and its methods were soon copied in other excavations around the Mediterranean. Archaeological sites were now excavated systematically and the actual retrieval of finds was all embracing, at least in theory and intention. In hindsight, the archaeological techniques were rudimentary and many categories of finds that we process today were not collected. There was, however, a discrepancy between the systematic fieldwork and the publication of the finds and results. Publications of archaeological excavations continued to focus on the material categories with exemplary qualities (see the publication series of Olympia, Delphi, Delos, Athenian Agora, Corinth). The professionalization of academia also had other consequences; the narrative structure of the publications changed. Whereas earlier pre-professional accounts of antiquity had a narrative structure (i.e., they told a story), professional accounts of antiquity lacked a narrative outline and became more descriptive. The narrative concerns were replaced by an overriding desire to be correct. Adherence to facts was pivotal in the discourses that claimed to be scientific. This intellectual turn was also facilitated by the emergence of new techniques, such as photography. The professionalization of the discipline was associated with the adoption of a positivistic agenda. The naïve 19th-century positivism, which was widely adopted in the humanities, aimed to absolve science from metaphysical speculations, stick to the facts, and be objective (see Novick 1988; Roberts 2001). The descriptive emphasis presupposes the existence of an explanatory framework. In Classical Archaeology, this framework was constructed on the basis of the literary evidence from antiquity. Leaving the reasons for this aside, we can note that the framework was founded on a hierarchization of the different categories of evidence from antiquity. In reality, this meant that the literary evidence from antiquity came to be perceived as more valuable than the different categories of material evidence. Archaeological evidence was, therefore, not viewed as evidence that had the potential to challenge perceptions put forward in the ancient texts. Expressions such as “the handmaiden of history” and “the neutralization of archaeology” refer to this reduction of the archaeological evidence to a secondary role (Morris 1994; Shanks 1996; Siapkas 2003). The overall explanatory scheme in Classical Archaeology, the grand narrative as it were, is founded on the literary evidence. In contrast to this, elaborations on the material evidence are mostly concerned with establishing the correct place for the artifacts and artworks in this overall scheme. This reliance on the literary record can also be used to identify two other distinguishing features of Classical Archaeology. First, there is a fascination with the powerful individuals who are identified in the ancient literary texts. The focus on the “great men of history,” whether politicians, generals

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or artists, can on a theoretical level be explained by a naïve positivism that aims to adhere to the facts. Secondly, the archaeological excavations in classical archaeology tend to favor sites that have been mentioned in ancient texts, and thus archaeological activities have been centered on important public, political and religious centers. This reinforces the impression that Classical Archaeology presents an idealized image of antiquity. Excavations of public centers continue to be conducted, and they are often organized according to the blueprints established by the big paradigmatic excavations, such as Olympia and Delphi. In this “big dig” tradition, each category of finds is published separately according to the internal development of the particular category. The discursive organization of the analytical objects is a testimony to the object-centered focus that has prevailed within Classical Archaeology. These publications contribute to the isolation of the archaeological objects from the general course of history, which is one of the characteristic features of positivistic and empiristic scholarship (see Fouilles de Delphes, Olympische Forschungen, Exploration archéologique de Délos, Corinth: Results of the Excavations conducted by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Athenian Agora: Results of the Excavations conducted by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens). Within the study of sculpture, these aspects can be found in the influential Meisterwerke der griechischen Plastik by Adolf Furtwängler (1893), for instance. The tenets mentioned so far constitute a traditional perspective in Classical Archaeology. This perspective should be regarded as a heuristic abstraction that summarizes and encapsulates the, still, dominating perspective in Classical Archaeology. The theoretical foundation for the traditional perspective is 19th-century naïve positivism (see Iggers 1997; Novick 1988). Traditional Classical Archaeology can be summarized as empiricist and descriptive, and is guided by the principle of objectivity (e.g., Lippold 1923; Niels 2001; Picard 1935–1966; Richter 1970 [1929]; Stewart 1990). The general redirection that humanities and social sciences witnessed after World War II also affected Classical Archaeology, albeit not until the 1970s. With the social turn, a new set of issues emerged at the forefront of scholarship. From this perspective, traditional scholarship appeared as authoritarian, since it lacked explicit methodologies. The naïve positivism that guided the traditional model was also explicitly attacked in the early texts of the social turn (e.g., Binford 1962). If we associate the traditional perspective with 19th-century positivism and characterize it as descriptive, then we can associate the social turn with logical positivism, which derived from the inter-war Vienna school, and characterize it as explanatory. One of the consequences of the turn from naïve to logical positivism was that induction was replaced with deduction as the preferred analytical procedure. Scientific inquiry was not merely a matter of observing facts in an accumulative fashion anymore, but rather was a process where one should start with a question and then answer this through logical inquiries. The scientific inquiry should proceed in accordance with logical rules and, ideally,

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result in the formulation of universally applicable laws of human behavior (see Finley 1975; Fotiadis 1995; McDonald & Rapp Jr. 1972; Renfrew 1972; Snodgrass 1980; Trigger 1996, 386–444). The social turn is also characterized by an emphasis on methodological issues. There are certain theories, methods and analytical vocabulary that we can associate with this perspective. A favored theory was “systems theory,” which meant that the analytical topic was conceptualized as a system, where the different parts were perceived to be, or strove to be, in a state of equilibrium. The synchronic function of the different parts in the system was given pivotal importance. This indicates that functionalism was another important discourse in the social turn. Much of the analytical vocabulary was imported from the social sciences, and in Archaeology often from the natural sciences. With the social turn, scholarship in the humanities aspired to be scientific. This was articulated through the adoption of a language that was neutral, value free, and objective: the aim was to construct universally applicable laws, and the emphasis was on methodological issues. The desire for objectivity is shared by naïve and logical positivism, but the means of reaching objectivity differ. The analytical horizon was widened with the social turn, and scholars paid much attention to environmental, social and material issues. The interest in the material conditions of life resulted in many publications about economics, food production, and the social organization of societies. The focus on the “great men in history” was replaced with a focus on social groups, and the focus on high culture was replaced with a focus on everyday social conditions (e.g., Dwyer 1982; Finley 1975; Finley 1981; Hodkinson 2000; Raeder 1985 Vermeule 1977; Zanker 1974; Zanker 1975). The social turn was succeeded by the cultural turn in the 1980s. This reformulation and expansion of the scholarly aims in the humanities was inspired primarily by French (post-) structuralists, but also other continental thinkers. The place of post-structuralism in the humanities and the social sciences remains controversial despite having been discussed for a couple of decades. A distinction between a hard and soft post-structural perspective is worthwhile. Whereas hard post-structuralists turn their attention inward to the disciplinary settings, soft post-structuralists tend to make cursory acknowledgements of the influence of the discursive settings, but in the end retain a focus on the traditional exterior analytical objects of the discourse. The general philosophical foundation for hard post-structuralism is the view that our conceptualization of the analytical objects is a product of our very efforts to analyze them. There are considerable variations among the post-structural philosophers, but a uniting foundation is the constructivist epistemology. It is, therefore, of fundamental importance to study how we conceptualize the past, elaborate on the limitations of scholarship, and critique the political implications of scholarship (e.g., Damaskos & Plantzos 2008; Donohue 2005; Hamilakis 2007; Marvin 2008). Many are still provoked by hard post-structuralism,

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and a common reaction is that these kinds of investigations are not perceived as “proper” within an academic setting.1 Soft post-structuralism has had a wider impact in the humanities than hard post-structuralism. From this perspective, the emphasis is placed on cultural aspects, as opposed to social. Culture emerges as the primary analytical focus. In the cultural turn, culture is conceptualized as a result of perpetual (re-)negotiations. Scholars pay particular attention to ideologies, discourses, power and other notions that acknowledge complexity and tensions in everyday life. Another difference between the social turn and soft post-structuralism is that, whereas in the social turn the focus is on social groups, soft post-structuralism focuses on the individual. The soft poststructural individual, however, differs in at least two ways from the individual in the traditional model. First, it is not the “great men of history” that are elaborated on, but rather the anonymous common individual. Secondly, the individual is no longer regarded as an unproblematic coherent entity, but is conceptualized in accordance with theories of practice. The elucidations attempt to understand how individuals comply with their situation in a given culture, and how they come to participate in the reproduction of ideologies and discourses (e.g., Elsner 2007; Stewart 2003; Tanner 2000; Trimble 2011). The internalization and embodiment of power structures is a key notion here (e.g., Davidson 1997; Dougherty and Kurke 1993; Hodder 1982; Lindenlauf 2004). The general development outlined so far is detectable in many academic disciplines: there are fundamental notions and theoretical currents that cut across academic boundaries and divisions. Nevertheless, it is also important to realize that the different analytical objects and discursive traditions also influence the development of the various academic disciplines. Therefore, we should not expect to find every tenet of the social turn in all academic disciplines. For instance, it would be surprising to find art historians who champion environmental determinism, which is one of the strongest articulations of the social turn in Archaeology. This critical overview has been conceived from an archaeological position. The aim has not been to present a neutral description or an exhaustive presentation of Classical Archaeology, but rather to provide a brief, critical sketch. The chronological structure of our account requires a little clarification. There is some sense in viewing the development of scholarship chronologically as there are variations in scholarship that can be conceptualized chronologically, and different generations turn their attention to different problems. Scholarly issues and notions have a chronological side to them. Nonetheless, scholarship in the humanities also has an atemporal side. The introduction of new perspectives, paradigms and methods seldom results in the eradication of previous ones. Furthermore, a common research strategy is to return to older, often forgotten, scholars in order to legitimize research. In other words, although we can associate certain notions and problems

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with a perspective and a chronological horizon, this does not mean that specific issues are exclusive to any perspective. For instance, the strong interest in environmental aspects in the social turn does not mean that environmental issues are ignored altogether in other theoretical perspectives. Often, new perspectives are used in parallel with the earlier ones.

2

Art Historical Discourses

We often perceive our own academic discipline as diverse, as containing many different traditions. This, we feel, invalidates attempts to analyze and present an account that does justice to the many twists and turns of our own discipline. Yet, when we look across the fence into other discourses, we feel more comfortable drawing conclusions, and construct abstractions that encapsulate that disciplinary setting. It seems that in academia, the perception of fragmentation increases with proximity to your own position. Accordingly, bearing in mind Donald Preziosi’s remark that Art History is so diverse that any attempt to write one authoritative and all-encompassing account is bound to fail, this is not an attempt to write such an account of Art History (Preziosi 1989, xi). This chapter aims to present a framework of the art historical development, and identify some of the fundamental characteristics of the discipline. The purpose of this fragmentary sketch is to sketch an art historical setting for the elaboration of academic conceptualizations of ancient sculptures in the next chapter. FOUNDING FATHERS Giorgio Vasari’s (1511–1574) publication Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects from 1550 is often pinpointed as the origin for modern Art History (Alpers 1960; Belting 1987, 65–94; Boase 1971; Gibson-Wood 1988, 14–32; Minor 1994, 69–70). Vasari introduced several characteristic features of modern Art History. He aimed not merely to produce a simple chart of artists and artworks, but to explain the development of contemporary Renaissance art. In order to do so, he had to construct an analytical scheme within which individual artworks could be situated. The foundation of this scheme was evolutionary and progressive. The development of art was conceptualized according to styles (style was a normative concept) that were perceived to ascend and decay with the passing of time (Alpers 1960, 210; Belting 1987, 73–74). Styles climaxed at a certain time and place. Furthermore, in Vasari’s writing there is an evaluation of styles (both individual and collective). The separation of good artworks from those of lower quality was thus intrinsic to this explanatory

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scheme. To put this differently, art was historicized with the adoption of this explanatory scheme. It should, however, be mentioned that Vasari paid more attention to the individual artists and his scheme was not as systematic as later schemes, for instance Winckelmann’s (Belting 1987, 85–88; Potts 1994, 78; Preziosi 1998a, 23). Ancient art played a crucial role for Vasari. It was credited with an authority over contemporary art, since he considered the principles of beauty to be articulated in the proportions of ancient art. The classical cycle of ascent and decay was mirrored by a modern contemporary cycle. Vasari’s scheme had a teleological quality, and aimed to explain the excellence of contemporary Renaissance art (Belting 2003, 130; Gibson-Wood 1988, 14–15). By including classical art in his treatment, Vasari emphasized that Renaissance art was equal in excellence and quality only to classical art. In effect, this means that Art History, already in its earliest proto-discursive formulation, cast classical art as the standard by which art should be judged. Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768) follows Vasari in the historiographies of Art History. Winckelmann’s Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums from 1764 is regarded as the first systematic history of art. In many ways, Winckelmann revolutionized Art History by departing from earlier conventions and introducing new aspects into the study of art (see Potts 1982).1 The conventions of Art History preceding Winckelmann dictated that Art History should be organized in accordance to a biographical structure, where the lives of the single artists propelled the narrative. Another characteristic was that art was analyzed according to subject. The identity of the artwork was the primary concern at the time. Ancient texts were often used in order to identify the represented motif. The date of origins of the artworks was, however, a minor concern (Potts 1982, 381–82). In contrast, Winckelmann emphasized the importance of direct observation of the artworks. The intense observations he carried out preceded, and resembled, the program of connoisseurship formulated by Morelli more than a century later (Potts 1982, 388–89, 397–98). Winckelmann, however, might have been empirical, but his empiricism comes across as rather crude when compared with the 19th- and 20th-century formalists (Potts 1982, 401–402). These observations are detectable in Winckelmann’s text, since it contains many detailed and accurate descriptions of artworks. Another fundamental tenet in Art History, which was introduced by Winckelmann, was that the dating of artworks be a priority. Although there are many examples where Winckelmann was simply mistaken with regard to single artworks, he nevertheless modernized Art History by associating the artworks with a social and cultural context. The notion of political freedom as a condition for the production of art was important for Winckelmann. Winckelmann’s contextualization of Art History also had a more idealistic and abstract side to it. Winckelmann’s fundamental concern was not the history of artists, but the essential nature of art. Art became an ideal, constructed by the art historians, and it was the

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rise, development, and fall of this ideal that Winckelmann aimed to explain. He conceptualized the development of ancient Greek art as a cycle, which was further separated into four styles, with distinct phases of rise, climax and fall, which was a very common conceptual scheme during the Enlightenment. In comparison, Vasari categorized the development according to styles, but he ended his scheme with the peak, and left the decay out of his scheme (Potts 1982, 382). Winckelmann’s publication proved to be very influential. With his publication, art was historicized, that is placed within a historical and cultural context. Another consequence of his publication was that the focus in the art historical discourse shifted from single artworks to art as an ideal construct. Winckelmann introduced an approach to art that was primarily concerned with a master narrative of art. His scheme gained widespread publicity and was used as a blueprint by art historians (Belting 2003, 128–29). Winckelmann and his followers have, however, also received criticism (see Podro 1982, 28). On a more popular level, Winckelmann’s elaborate descriptions of ancient artworks were widely read and admired during the 19th century. The most influential part of Winckelmann’s legacy is that his conceptual scheme for the development of ancient art is still considered as a blueprint that determines our conceptualizations of ancient art (see p. 38–45). CONNOISSEURSHIP A fundamental part of the art historical discourse is the authentication of artworks and their attribution to certain artists, schools and styles. This initial analytical step is not only evident in Vasari and Winckelmann’s accounts, but is also detectable in contemporary Art History. This basic methodological discourse is called “connoisseurship.” For many art historians, the activities denoted by the term are merely a part of their overall inquiry, whereas others restrict their focus to the set of issues denoted by the term. Due to the fundamental role that the discourse of connoisseurship plays in the field of Art History, it merits further attention. A connoisseur prefers to focus on detailed visual examinations of the artworks. Generally, he devotes his life to one single topic or problem, such as the art of one period, style or nation. The preferred analytical focus, however, is the production of one artist. Typically, the whole production of the artist is presented in a monograph. The monograph is, furthermore, organized according to a well-established scheme. It contains a presentation of the artist’s life, an exhaustive catalogue of his work, and an exhaustive bibliography of works about the artist. The artist’s development is often presented in chronological order, according to a biological template. The monograph, as such, can be read as an argument for the artist’s importance: it serves to legitimize the artist’s place within Art History. Another characteristic feature of connoisseurship is that it aims to provide an exhaustive

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presentation of the artist in question. This means that bits and pieces of information are sought in archives and libraries around the world, and the connoisseur is often compared to a detective. The connoisseur develops a set of skills in order to attribute and authenticate artworks that are useful for museum curators and art dealers. Connoisseurs often become museum curators or art dealers (Minor 1994, 134–35; Wind 1985, 31). Although basic features of connoisseurship are detectable in art historical treatises from Vasari onwards, connoisseurship is particularly associated with Giovanni Morelli (1816–1891), and his disciple Bernard Berenson (1865–1959) (Gibson-Wood 1988; Friedländer 1960). Morelli is perceived as the prime connoisseur, since he actually elaborated on his method of study. He is, therefore, viewed as the founder of scientific connoisseurship. Morelli confirmed the empirical foundation of connoisseurship when he described how he paid special attention to the details of various artworks. The methodological assumption is that an artist is more likely to paint insignificant details mechanically and without premeditated consideration. The personal stylistic development primarily affects the central parts of the artwork according to this logic, and an artist is, therefore, more likely to paint insignificant details in the same way. The initial step in Morelli’s method was to establish a set of repeated characteristics, or typical forms, of an artist, the so-called grundformen, for example, the rendering of hands or ears. Once the grundformen were established through an examination of securely attributed artworks, the next step was to examine artworks with uncertain attributions. The aim of connoisseurship is, therefore, to attribute the artworks to the correct artist and authenticate them. Morelli’s method is often associated with Freud and private detectives, especially the fictional Sherlock Holmes, who used similar techniques and emerged approximately at the same time (Ginzburg 1983; Ginzburg 1990, 96–102; Maginnis 1990, 105; Minor 1994, 136; Spector 1969; Wind 1985, 36–38; Wollheim 1974, 181–83; see also p. 103–104). The characteristic narrow analytical focus of connoisseurship has also attracted its fair share of criticism (see Maginnis 1990; Schwartz 1988). This criticism can be divided into three points: 1) Connoisseurs have an authoritative view of scholarship. Their endeavors are guided by the principle that long personal experience guarantees a deeper and more accurate knowledge. The emphasis on empirical observations results in the lack of explicit discussion on theory and method. Connoisseurship exhibits one of the characteristic features of naïve positivism. On a theoretical level, there are clear similarities with the traditional perspective in Classical Archaeology. Furthermore, the criticism against connoisseurship echoes the criticism that processual archaeologists voiced against traditional archaeology; 2) Connoisseurs focus on individual artists. Art historians, in contrast to connoisseurs, focus on artistic groups, regional/national schools and styles to a greater extent. This polarity between connoisseurs and art historians should, however, be viewed as a gradual transition rather than clear-cut

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polarizing dichotomies. 3) The narrow focus on attribution and authentication provides the connoisseur with skills that are valuable to art dealers and museums. Their association with art dealers results, occasionally, in a suspicion that their judgments are made with financial expectations in mind (Maginnis 1990, 104). Furthermore, Maginnis mentions psychological experiments that have shown that the perceptual processes of how art is perceived are more complicated than assumed. This calls into question Morelli’s method (Maginnis 1990, 108–116). It is our view that discourses in academia tend to persist. We do not agree with the modernist teleological view on scholarship, according to which a paradigm replaces earlier paradigms in a chronological order. Rather, we endorse the view that, in the humanities at least, discourses, once appropriated, evolve in parallel to those already extant. One indication of this is that certain topics tend to persist: the color of ancient sculptures, for instance, is an issue that has received much attention during the last decade, but this was also discussed during the 1830s by Gottfried Semper (Podro 1982, 44; see also p. 185–87). Another example of discourse persistence is how the discourse of connoisseurship has influenced studies of ancient art. In Classical Archaeology, a discussion about connoisseurship has evolved around the scholarly endeavors of John Beazley. He devoted his life to the study of vase-painting in ancient Greece, in particular the black-figure examples from Attica. Beazley worked out a systematic taxonomy of ancient Greek vase-painting. His classificatory scheme was based on style, and not function, shape or context. Beazley’s method, which bears clear resemblances to Morelli’s, was to isolate details, analyze them carefully, and by comparing vase-paintings with each other, attribute them to specific artists, workshops or schools (von Bothmer 1985, 11; Elsner 1990; Kurtz 1983, 68–89; Kurtz 1985; Kurtz and Beazley 1983, 11; Neer 1997, 10–23; Oakley 1998; Robertson 1985, 26; Rouet 2001; Whitley 1997, 40–44). The influence of Morelli’s scientific connoisseurship on Classical Archaeology is not restricted to Beazley. Beazley’s work can be situated within a well-established tradition in Classical Archaeology; other representatives of this tradition are Adolf Furtwängler, Ernst Pfuhl, and Robert Cook. The characteristic that differentiates Beazley from the others is that he emphasized the identification of individual hands through stylistic criteria, and downplayed the importance of signatures, relying on his own empirical examinations (Whitley 1997, 40–41). Beazley is important not only for his systematic taxonomy of ancient pottery, but also because his work has been used as a blueprint by many younger scholars. There is a “Beazleyan” legacy in Classical Archaeology. In this discourse, many publications in Classical Archaeology take a single painter, often identified by Beazley, as their analytical topic. These studies are characterized by a narrow empirical focus, elucidating on issues of whether vase-paintings have been correctly attributed, the stylistic development of the artist, or the place of the artist within a wider conceptual scheme. Typically, they have little to say about their methodology, or

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a theoretical rationale that would indicate a wider scholarly aim than the authentication of the ancient material. The Beazleyan school, like connoisseurship, adheres to the principles of naïve positivism. The steady stream of publications that testify to his legacy illustrates the fact that discourses within an academic setting persist (e.g., Buitron-Oliver 1993; Oakley 1990). Beazley’s legacy is also detectable in other areas of Classical Archaeology, for instance in Aegean Prehistory, and sculpture studies (Cherry 1992; Morris 1993; Whitley 1997, 45). Turning to a more theoretical level, there are four points of connoisseurship and the Beazleyan legacy that deserve mention: 1) We can note that the delimited scope of Beazley and his followers complies with common definitions of connoisseurship among art historians; 2) Although connoisseurship has been effective in identifying and ordering the ancient evidence, it is also characterized by an emphasis on minute details. The research agenda of connoisseurship is descriptive; 3) Considering the primarily taxonomic qualities of this legacy, it is fair to claim that Classical Archaeology is deeply embedded in connoisseurship (Neer 1997, 7–9); and 4) Connoisseurship is founded on the same naïve positivism that underpins the traditional model in Classical Archaeology. One of the characteristic features of this perspective is the emphasis on the empirical observations at the expense of a theoretical explicit discussion (see also Vickers 1987). Theory is often viewed as a distorted dogma that clouds the judgment of the rational skepticism that the naïve positivist perceives he possesses. The following remark by John Boardman, a follower and friend of Beazley, illustrates these sentiments: “I am not particularly sorry that Oxford is making no very determined or committed contribution to what is called the New Archaeology in the classical sphere. New Archaeology, like nouvelle cuisine, is seductive in appearance but nutritionally unsatisfying, and we may do well to be, in the Beazley manner, fastidious in our selection of lost causes, and refuse to be dominated by a school or dogma” (Boardman 1985, 52–53). Suffice to say that naïve positivism also is a theoretical perspective, or dogma, as much as any other perspective, despite its lack of explicit elaborations on methodological and theoretical matters. The perception of New Archaeology as a novelty in the mid-1980s confirms the narrow empirical horizon of Boardman and naïve positivists.2 FROM MIMESIS TO MODERNISM Let us return to Art History on a more general level. A fundamental concept in the history of art is the notion of mimesis. This concept has ancient origins; Aristotle, Plato and Pliny the Elder, among others, elaborate on it.3 In the concept of mimesis, the attention is drawn to the fact that representational art has a mimetic quality and, thus, art is evaluated in accordance with how well it represents a reality. The more natural an artwork or a style

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is, the better it is perceived to be. Furthermore, art is perceived to gradually improve its ability to represent the real world. The ideal artwork is one that is so natural that it can be confused with the object it represents, as in the story about Zeuxis, told by Pliny the Elder, who painted grapes so true to nature that birds arrived and started to pick on the painting (Plin. HN 35.64–66). This anecdote has been attributed with a paradigmatic role in Art History, hence the references to “the Plinian tradition.” In the mimetic discourse, art is not separated from other realms of reality. In contrast, it is evaluated by how well it mimics reality. Art is not yet an autonomous field. The mimetic tradition stands in contrast to a formalistic perspective, where art is elucidated only through internal criteria. Until the middle of the 19th century, the mimetic model of art was often portrayed as normative. Both art and the criticism of art up to this paradigmatic shift were governed by issues concerning how well art imitated reality. From the 19th century, artists abandoned mimetic concerns in favor of stylistic concerns. This abandonment signaled the separation of art from other realms, and the conceptualization of art as an autonomous system. Formal, technical aspects of art emerged as more important criteria by which art was judged, as denoted by the formalist perspective. The formalist discourse articulates one of the fundamental aspects of modernity, namely the importance of delimiting and categorizing various parts of reality. Despite the differences between the mimetic discourse and the formalistic discourse, however, there are also substantial similarities between the two. Both presuppose that the visual encounter with art is determined by the immediate perception and experience. Preconceptions, personal agendas and experiences are not considered to be influential. In this respect, both the mimetic and formalistic tradition adhere to principles of modernist art theories. After all, the formalistic discourse is also founded on an empiricism that assumes a simple and straightforward correlation between reality and representations of it (Bryson 1999, 29–31; Evans 1999, 11; Minor 1994, 138, 140). Art History is often conceptualized according to conceptual schemes that emphasize the chronological order of different paradigms. Although schematic, and in certain respects questionable, these scheme continue to influence our conceptualizations of the development of Art History (Kristeller 1951; 1952). The first turn occurred during the 18th century (Minor 1994, 85), when art was redefined as an autonomous field. This change should, furthermore, be viewed as a result of the discourse of the Enlightenment, and the fact that taxonomization now became important. The separation, or distinction, of art as a separate domain is, thus, a product of a conceptual trajectory that originated during the Enlightenment. In relation to the concept of mimesis, it is important to realize that this change during the 18th century did not result in an abandonment of the mimetic discourse. Although reflexivity toward art was introduced, the ideal was still to reproduce, admire and relate to the ancient works in this tradition of fine arts (Minor 1994, 14).

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The second turn occurred during the next century. This is often associated with Romanticism. This shift can be discerned in several areas. The imitation and reproduction of exemplary artworks was now replaced as a dogma by the cult of the artistic genius. Originality emerged as a pivotal criterion for the valuation of art. Gradually, the earlier separation of art was enforced and art was now analyzed according to stylistic/formalistic aspects in its own right; internal formal criteria of composition, quality and style were now prioritized in discussions about art (Minor 1994, 140). As art emerged as an autonomous realm, and art was no longer studied in a utilitarian way (that is, in order to furnish artists with examples to imitate), Art History became more akin to other academic disciplines. The search for aesthetic exemplars was abandoned in favor of a descriptive empiricism. Another facet of this turn was that art was historicized to a higher degree. Art was associated with a culture; it articulated and reflected the essence of a (national) culture. The philosophical foundation for this kind of Art History is found in Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art from 1835–1838. Hegel, of course, viewed the analytical boundary between different races as determinative, and art is viewed as an expression of national and racial characteristics in the Hegelian tradition. A second facet of the Hegelian discourse is that the world is perceived as improving with time, and the modern Western world is regarded as the teleological end of history. Contemporary Western art is, thus, regarded as the norm by which all art traditions are compared. The Hegelian philosophy also originated the view that the scholar is able to detach himself from the historical development and to analyze his objects objectively from a distance (Belting 2003, 131–33; Hegel 1975). The set of ideas that both these perspectives represent are bundled together in the modernist discourse, which has determined the conceptualization of art during the 19th and a major part of the 20th centuries (Belting 2003, 126; Minor 1994, 69). With the obvious risk of reductionism, the modernist approach can be summarized by a couple of central tenets. The preferred method of analysis is to focus on an individual work of art. Authenticity, creativity and uniqueness are crucial notions within the modernist discourse. The development of art is viewed as a story of progress. The modernist approach is universalistic. It assumes that all artworks can, and should, be evaluated according to the same criteria. This apparent objectivity is, however, embedded in a Western framework and art historical tradition, which means that Western art is cast as the normative standard for all other art traditions. History is a guiding principle within which artworks are situated and analyzed. Furthermore, art is often associated with élite culture (hence the denomination “fine arts”), against which an anti-bourgeois avant-garde is contrasted. Since art is separated and regarded as an autonomous field, its development is sought according to an internal logic. On an institutional level, we can note that the modernist discourse concerning Art History is established in parallel with the establishment of museums. There

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is a mutual dependence between Art History, in its modernist version, and museums (Belting 2003, 4–16, 67, 81; Preziosi 1989, 9–10, 68–69). The set of ideas and assumptions described in the last paragraphs, that are denoted as the “modernistic meta-narrative,” have been scrutinized by art historians influenced by post-structural notions (e.g., Belting 1987; 2003; Bryson 1981; Danto 1997; Preziosi 1989).4 MODERN ART FATHERS Two national traditions in particular have determined the development of academic Art History. German scholars dominated Art History up until World War II. After this, the power balance shifted in favor of the USA. An example of the dominating position of German Art History is that Charles Eliot Norton, who established Art History at Harvard (and the USA), was inspired by the German discourse (Minor 1994, 20–22). Norton was also instrumental in the founding of the American Institute of Archaeology, and the development of Classical Archaeology in the USA (Morris 1994; 2000; 2004). There are clear parallels between the development of Art History and Classical Archaeology. Although institutional conditions are important for scholarship, this is not the place to investigate the institutional conditions of Art History. Every academic discipline has its share of heroes, or “great men,” as well as its share of marginalized scholars. For various reasons, some scholars receive more attention than others. The great men of a discipline are detectable by certain traits; these scholars are referred to more often than other scholars and they receive most of the attention in textbooks. A brief elucidation on some of the determining scholars in the History of Art may, thus, help us to understand the discursive landscape of 20th-century Art History, however fragmentary this sketch might be. Furthermore, the study of ancient art did not develop significantly from a theoretical point of view; Art History developed, instead, through the works of Alois Riegl and Heinrich Wölfflin (Bernbeck 1997, 20). The Viennese art historian Alois Riegl (1858–1905) is remembered for two things: his theoretical concept of Kunstwollen and his influential publication Spätrömische Kunstindustrie from 1901. In this study, Riegl departed from earlier conceptualizations of Late Antique art as inferior to the previous classical art of antiquity. In contrast, he argued that Late Antique art, like art from all other periods and cultures, should be understood in its own right. An intrinsic part of Riegl’s research agenda was to pay attention to marginalized aspects. His influential position ensured that hitherto marginalized topics, such as the decorative arts, emerged as legitimate topics in Art History (Elsner 2002, 359–60, 369–70; Minor 1994, 108; Olin 1989; Podro 1982, 71–97; Preziosi 1998b, 167). Riegl’s emphasis on the understanding of Late Antique art in its own right is associated with his concept of Kunstwollen. The foundations for Riegl’s

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work were accurate and detailed descriptions of the artworks. He championed a direct analysis of the objects and developed a range of theoretical concepts; the binary concept of tactile and optic art for instance, used in the analysis. In particular, the inner coherence of artworks was a fundamental notion for Riegl (Podro 1982, 76, 95). The attention paid to formal and stylistic details in his observations has generated the denomination “formalism,” which captures the empiricism of Riegl and others in the study of Art History. The development of artworks (or the fundamental problem of change) should, according to Riegl, be understood as a consequence of inner (i.e., stylistic and artistic) necessities. His explanatory scheme can be characterized as internalistic and deterministic, since he regards internal, formal factors as determinative for change (Minor 1994, 107; Podro 1982, 71–73, 95, 97). This brings us to the enigmatic concept of Kunstwollen. With Kunstwollen, Riegl tried to capture the development of art. It emphasizes that there is intentionality in all art, and that the objectives and ideals of art vary between different periods. This, in turn, means that the Kunstwollen is articulated differently in different times and, therefore, art should be understood according to its own ideals. Kunstwollen was an attempt to articulate a universal principle of art, which emphasizes that the artist’s (or even a culture’s) will to create is delimited by the available material, technique and functions of art in a given culture. Style is an important analytical notion for Riegl. Kunstwollen is also a concept that can be associated with a culture/period; the analysis of Late Antique art facilitated the characterization of a collective Kunstwollen of the time. However, Riegl’s emphasis on inner necessity should not be confused with a Hegelian progressive and teleological scheme (Elsner 2002, 360–70; Minor 1994, 106; Preziosi 1998b, 166). In conclusion, Riegl complemented his attention to minute details with an overarching theory and search for universal principles, or in the words of Jas Elsner: Riegl’s “empirical formalism [was] embedded in profound idealism” (Elsner 2002, 375). Another paradigmatic figure in the history of Art History was the SwissGerman art historian Heinrich Wölfflin (1864–1945). His comparative method was made possible by the widespread use of photography and photographic reproductions. Wölfflin is famous for introducing juxtaposed slides in his lectures, through which comparisons could be made. His method was based on the wide circulation of images of famous artworks, often denoted as the universal archive of art history (Adler 2004, 444; Nelson 2000, 430). Like Riegl, Wölfflin aimed to professionalize Art History by introducing an analytical vocabulary. Another similarity between these two scholars is that they were concerned with finding general principles of art, particularly for the interpretation of art (Adler 2004; Minor 1994, 125, 145; Podro 1982, 98–151). On a methodological level, Wölfflin devised a binary conceptual scheme. According to this, artworks are categorized in accordance with one of two characteristics. The basic conceptual pair is linear—painterly. In linear artworks the emphasis is on the lines that define the edges/contours of objects,

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while in painterly artworks, the emphasis is on the masses inside the contours; the contours are not that well-defined and the objects have a fleeting quality to them (Adler 2004, 433–39; Podro 1982, 101–103). Furthermore, linearity is also a principle by which artists aim to achieve clarity and spatial distinction, whereas painterly denotes a search for elusiveness (Podro 1982, 118). This analytical pair provided Wölfflin with a foundation for a scheme that included several other analytical pairs. For instance, in connection with shallow relief from the Classical period, he devised the concept of plane— recession, according to which reliefs can be taxonomized (Podro 1982, 119). Other conceptual pairs that Wölfflin introduced were the concepts of closed—open, multiplicity—unity, and absolute—relative clarity (Minor 1994, 115–24). Furthermore, these conceptual pairs were also associated with the development of art. Generally, Wölfflin viewed style as developing from linear to painterly, or from plane to recession. In other words, the analytical scheme has a quality beyond the mere descriptive (Podro 1982, 133). It is important to realize that these conceptual pairs were determinative in Wölfflin’s conceptual scheme. Accordingly, in linear art for instance, the linear principle defines the artwork and all others aspects are regarded as secondary (Podro 1982, 149). Wölfflin’s influential analytical scheme is in many ways representative of the core of Art History, and it articulates several art historical tenets. Wölfflin paid close attention to details in his analysis, and he is therefore compared with Morelli and the antiquarian discourse. In contrast to Morelli’s method, however, Wölfflin’s attention to detail served as a stepping-stone for his aim to identify a larger system of art (Podro 1982, 104; Wind 1985, 39; Wollheim 1974, 201). Wölfflin’s binary scheme also possessed qualities besides those that were merely formal and analytical. Daniel Adler (2004) argues that “painterly” should be associated with such notions as modern, German, and scientific, and be regarded as an articulation of Wölfflin’s attempt to get rid of connoisseurship in Art History. The development of the notion of painterly reflects the formalists desire to professionalize Art History. Additionally, painterly art was more valuable in Wölfflin’s opinion, because it was better suited to his educational and normative agenda. Wölfflin perceived direct experience to have a moral and educational value. Wölfflin’s analytical scheme, together with Riegl’s, are prime examples of the formalistic discourse in Art History, which is characterized by the attention to minute details, the search for universal principles for the interpretation of art, and the explanation of development in art through internal (stylistic and formal) causes. The deterministic aspect of his scheme, coupled with the notion that the scholar stands besides and outside the development he studies, means that Wölfflin is situated within a Hegelian tradition that has been determinative in modernist discourses (Belting 1987, 71; Schwartz 2005, 1–25). Erwin Panofsky (1892–1968) was another important art historian. Like Riegl and Wölfflin, Panofsky aimed to professionalize Art History, and

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move away from the antiquarian fixation on the attribution and description of artworks. In order to achieve this, Panofsky introduced iconology, which is a systematic theoretical framework. He tried to construct an absolute viewpoint from which all art could be understood. A consequence of this was that he reinforced the modernist separation of art and viewed it as an enclosed system. The separation between the analytical objects and the scholar who is placed outside, in a transhistorical position, is also a revival of Hegel’s project. The search for an absolute objective position can also be viewed as a complement to Wölfflin and Riegl’s stylistic formalism that emphasizes psychological and innate principles of mind as determinative for the interpretation of art (Minor 1994, 105; Podro 1982, 178, 191; see also Neher 2004). Panofsky introduced a tripartite methodological scheme in order to achieve a better understanding of art. The initial, pre-iconographic stage is associated with factual meaning. In this stage, the most elementary aspects of artwork are studied. Panofsky mentions Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper as an example. A pre-iconographic reading would merely note that 13 men are seated around a laid table. The iconographic, second, level is associated with conventional meaning. In reference to the Last Supper, this means recognition that the painting has its source in the Christian worldview, which is manifested in the biblical narrative. The identification of artistic motifs, stories and allegories are associated with the second level. The iconological third level aims to extrapolate the possible unconscious meaning beyond the artist’s intention. At this level, the analysis aims to identify underlying cultural principles of a nation, period, class or religious persuasion. The Last Supper is, thus, not only an expression of Leonardo’s genius, but is also an articulation of the worldview of the Renaissance. Ideally, the artwork is contextualized in its original setting, where it was isolated in the beginning of the analysis (Holly 1986 40–41, 59–60; Panofsky 1955, 26–41; see also Preziosi 1989, 112–4). It is important to realize that Panofsky treated art as an isolated system, and regarded single artworks as part of a general system of meaning. As contextualizing as iconology was in the integration of art with literature and other sources, it is important to bear in mind the fundamental differences between his search for one true meaning and the archaeological, contextual approach (see chapter 1). Iconology traces the development of meaning in art diachronically, and regards meaning to be universally true. Themes in artworks are, in themselves, considered to be signs with a meaning that needs to be decoded.5 Furthermore, the quest for a deeper meaning meant that an artwork was regarded as an articulation of a theme in Art History. The deeper meaning that Panofsky searched for replaced the concept of style, which was fundamental to the formalists (Argan 1975, 301; Belting 2003, 141–42; Panofsky 1955, 26). One of the shortcomings of Panofsky’s scheme was that the individual artworks were reduced to representations of themes in his analytical scheme (Podro 1982, 198; Holly 1984, 162–64).

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The three art historians presented so far are all representatives of traditional Art History. Despite their methodological differences, they all focused on Art History in a confined traditional way, where art was regarded as morally inspiring. Furthermore, these scholars elaborated on the Western art tradition. Their analytical and methodological inventiveness was primarily developed in order to taxonomize art or facilitate the (psychological) understanding of art. These methodological proposals should be understood as reactions against a prevailing antiquarian discourse that was cast as pre-, and anti-, scientific in the discipline of Art History. Influences from the social turn in Art History are detectable in the work of Ernst Hans Gombrich (1909–2001). Although he was keen not to identify Art History as a social science, he paid attention to issues, particularly the call for methodological rigor, which were characteristic of the social turn. A defining part of the social turn was the turn away from naïve empiricism and inductivism. The realizations of the severe shortcomings of these approaches resulted in the adoption of deductive methods during the social turn. These methods, in turn, were influenced by logical positivism. These sets of issues are explicit in the writings of Gombrich. He criticized the empiricism of formalistic Art History and argued for the adoption of Karl Popper’s theoretical program. Gombrich inverted the art historical investigation and proposed that it should take the artist’s idea (which s/he aimed to represent) as the starting point, not the empirical observation of the art works. In other words, Gombrich viewed both the making of artworks and Art History as deductive practices. In a sense, he associated Art History with the history of science. Karl Popper conceptualized the development of science to be propelled by the falsification of earlier perspectives. In Gombrich’s view, this is also true for the progress of art and Art History. It develops through the rejection of earlier, prevailing perspectives and ideas (Danto 1997, 49–50; Elsner 2002, 360; Gombrich 1961, 28–29, 73, 116, 118; Gombrich 1975; see also Bryson 1983, 13–35). Although Gombrich departed from the object-centrism of formalism, criticized the Hegelian legacy, and emphasized a psychological perspective, he nevertheless remained firmly within the discursive limits of modernism (see also Bann 1986, 21–23; Gombrich 1979, 1984; Harris 2001, 37; Rampley 2005, 525–26; Rees and Borzello 1986a, 9). NEW ART HISTORY It was with the emergence of “New Art History” that the social turn was incorporated more widely into Art History. T. J. Clark, who authored “The Conditions of Artistic Creation” in The Times Literary Supplement in 1974, is credited with the introduction of the term (Clark 1974). In it, Clark called for an Art History that accounted for the social settings in which art was produced. Clark’s call has been characterized as historical materialism, and

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it resonates with the concerns of the social turn (Overy 1986, 133; see also Harris 2001, 3, 1, 21; Rees and Borzello 1986a, 5–6). Clark’s article is representative of the genre of “crisis literature.” Crisis literature is a telltale sign of a paradigmatic crisis, characterized by the identification of the shortcomings of a paradigm, or reflections on the state of an academic discipline, and the call for the introduction and adoption of new features, theories and methods. Nevertheless, it was not until the 1980s that New Art History had a wider impact (Rees and Borzello 1982, 2–3).6 The content of this epistemological turn in Art History is diverse; socio-political, feminist, Marxist, semiotic, psychoanalytic, structuralist, and post-structuralist perspectives were introduced in Art History and bundled together as the New Art History. This indicates that it is more fruitful to see New Art History as a variety of perspectives that challenge, oppose and widen the analytical focus of traditional Art History, as opposed to one coherent theoretical perspective (Harris 2001, 7; Overy 1986, 136; Rees and Borzello 1986a, 2). New art historians reacted against some of the fundamental assumptions of traditional Art History. They questioned, for instance, the claim that Art History is value-free and impartial, the avoidance of viewing aesthetics and arts as part of a historical context, the suspicion against theoretical reflection, the obsession for fact-gathering, and the blindness toward aspects of class and gender (Rees and Borzello 1986a, 7). In short, traditional Art History has a diachronic emphasis that elaborates on art as an autonomous field detached from society, whereas synchronic contemporaneous social factors are emphasized in New Art History. The influence of the social sciences is indicated by the adopted analytical vocabulary, where concepts such as connoisseurship, style, quality and genius are regarded as old school and are replaced by ideology, patriarchy, class and methodology in the New Art History (Rees and Borzello 1986a, 4; see also Burgin 1986, 41–43). New Art History, however, cannot be confined to an articulation of a 1970s agenda of social history. New Art History also denotes art historical perspectives that focus on issues characteristic of the cultural turn, which is detectable in the humanities in the 1980s (e.g., Bann 1986, 24–27). The New Art History is thus characterized by a double focus. In addition to the issues of the social turn, it also incorporated the cultural turn. The latter is characterized by a focus on discourses, ideologies, worldviews, marginalized groups, and everyday individuals and practices, and views culture as a result of perpetual (re-)negotiations. Furthermore, New Art History includes the critical self-reflexive facet of the cultural turn, which turns the attention to the discursive foundations of a scholarship (Rees and Borzello 1986a, 8; e.g., Bal and Bryson 1991; Bryson 1983; Clark 1973a, 1973b; Danto 1990; Duncan and Wallach 1978, 1980; Gouma-Peterson and Matthews 1987; Hadjinicolaou 1978; Nead 1992; Orton and Pollock 1996; Preziosi 1989).7 New Art History is, thus, equivalent to both processual archaeology and post-processual archaeology, and it bridges the distinction made earlier between soft and hard post-structuralism. It is, perhaps, fruitful to regard

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New Art History as the interface between modernism and post-structural Art History, as Preziosi has suggested (Preziosi 1989, 166). A post-structural critique of the disciplinary settings is also found among art historians. Arthur C. Danto champions the thesis that Art History has come to an end. This does not mean that he argues that art is not produced anymore, but rather that the development of the History of Art has ended. In other words, art developed according to a stylistic order during the modernistic period. It was possible to conceptualize art as history. Artistic production was limited by various discourses, and as one of Danto’s favorite quotes from Wölfflin goes: “Not everything is possible at all times, and certain thoughts can only be thought at certain stages of the development” (Danto 1997, 44; quotes Wölfflin 1950, ix). This discursive order was turned on its head with Andy Warhol’s Brillo Box from 1964, according to Danto. Warhol’s display of an ordinary cardboard box as art is interpreted by Danto as the ultimate self-referential artwork, posing the question: “What is art?” Accordingly, art cannot continue to develop since its very essence is called into question. Likewise, Art History cannot continue to analyze art according to the modernistic meta-narratives, since art in the post-historical era is not confined by stylistic discursive boundaries. Artworks can no longer be placed in a stylistic scheme, because this order is sidestepped in the post-historical era. Therefore, the conceptualization of art after 1964 is no longer an (art) historical endeavor, but rather a philosophical endeavor (Carrier 1998a, 12; Carroll 1998, 18; Danto 1984, 1997; Kelley 1998, 33). Although Danto’s confinement of Art History to modernism can be viewed as an articulation of post-structural concerns, there are other facets of his work that are firmly rooted in modernism. For instance, he does not accept the post-structural relativization of truth claims (Carrier 1998a, 4). Another tenet of modernism present in Danto’s work is that he also subscribes to a Hegelian view on the development of Art History (Carrier 1998a, 12; see Carrier 1998b; Kelly 1998, 30–31; Rollins 1993). In short, it is not the issue of the representation of reality that fuels Danto’s concerns, but rather the disintegration of a universal, art historical meta-narrative. Danto focuses on contemporary art in his analysis and keeps the attention on the exterior analytical objects of Art History; in contrast, Donald Preziosi pays attention to the discourses of Art History. Preziosi articulates another tenet of post-structuralism, since he persistently takes a self-critical deconstructive position in his production (Preziosi 1989, 2003, 2006). An important indication of Preziosi’s post-structural perspective is that his critique of Art History is not followed by the construction of (yet another) teleological, chronologically ordered account of the development of Art History. Instead, he focuses on and traces fundamental discursive foundations in his critique of Art History. This is achieved through an articulation of basic, and by now classic, post-structural tenets, which serve to relativize the claims of modernistic scholarship (Preziosi 1989, 13–15, 82–83) Other post-structural tenets in Preziosi’s work are that aesthetic taste, and other

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notions, are cultural products of a socio-historical milieu (Preziosi 1989, 25), the questioning of modernist Art History’s object-centrism (Preziosi 1989, 62–67) and the questioning of the assumption that language is value-free (Preziosi 1989, 38; see also Belting 2003, 4–16). Preziosi attributes the rupture between modernist and post-modernist discourses with a determinative effect (Preziosi 1989, 16, 108). Within modernist Art History, which is caught between positivist science and professional connoisseurship, Preziosi discerns, and elaborates on, the shortcomings of three generic discourses: connoisseurship, semiotics and social history (Preziosi 1989, 9–10, 12, 21–27, 80–121). Although Preziosi formulates an acute critique of modernist semiotics, he nevertheless anchors his perspective in the semiotic discourse. His target is not semiotics but modernism. Preziosi’s perspective is also informed by the critical, deconstructive tenets of hard post-structuralism, and can, therefore, be characterized as critical semiotics. The deconstructive focus on the discursive foundations and constraints of the discipline is also exemplified by some, albeit brief, examples of how art can be interpreted in accordance with a critical semiotics perspective. One of the examples that Preziosi provides us with is an interpretation of the Athenian Acropolis during the fifth-century B.C.E. (Preziosi 1989, 168–79). Preziosi stresses the fluid meaning of art, and questions the assumption that one universal meaning can be established. In contrast to modernistic essentialism, agents are thought to reread and impose meaning onto art. This emphasis on a subjective, interpretative perspective serves to contextualize art, since the artworks become legible in different ways, depending on the preconceptions of the agents. In other words, the aim of Art History has departed from a focus on universal aesthetic values to a focus on the variable culture-specific meanings of art. Preziosi introduces the notion of “anamorphism.” Anamorphism denotes that something is legible only from one particular perspective. The discipline of Art History, as such, is an anamorphic practice, since it teaches a specific perspective from whence to view, and thus understand, art. This also means that other possible perspectives are excluded. An anamorphic perspective can also be adopted for interpretations of artworks. An anamorphic view of art stresses the importance of a certain point of view, in order to perceive art as meaningful (Preziosi 1989, 39–40, 57). On the Acropolis, Athena was represented by sculptures— Athena Parthenos (virgin), Athena Nike (victory), Athena Promakhos (warrior), and Athena Polias (city symbol, city protectress)—thereby manifesting her different roles. The name of the goddess alludes to the name of the city, and this symbolic ambiguity serves to underscore that the Acropolis can be viewed as a representation of the city itself. Another representation of Athena provides us with the key to Preziosi’s theories. The sculpture of Pallas Athena was placed in the Pinakotheke on the northern side of the Propylaia. The door and windows that facilitated a view of the sculpture were not, however, placed symmetrically in the wall. This indicates a departure from the fundamental principle of symmetry in classical architecture.

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The colonnade in front of the wall obscured a view of Pallas Athena, except for one specific point. It is from this specific point that a person climbing up to the Acropolis would have had the first glimpse of the helmet of the statue of Athena Promakhos, through the doorway of the Propylaia. Athena Promakhos had an important function, in addition to its symbolic value, since it was used as a reference point for ships approaching Athens. If the person turned around, he would see Salamis in the opposite direction. In other words, if we deconstruct the architectural environment, and reread it, we can perceive how the Periclean Acropolis was understood by agents through dispersed symbols and cues. The symbolism of the Acropolis is legible from one specific perspective. The interpretation of art thus mirrors the understanding of Art History, since they are both perceived as anamorphic. Through the critical semiotic approach, Preziosi implodes the modernistic tendency to separate the exterior analytical reality and the interior discursive practices, since he illustrates how both Art History and art can be understood as preconditioned by anamorphism. SUMMARY In conclusion, then, it seems that Art History as a discipline has the same general development as other disciplines in the humanities. We have a set of empiricist discourses, connoisseurship and formalism, which form the backbone of a traditional Art History. Traditional Art History was challenged with the introduction of New Art History in the 1980s. New Art History includes a wide variety of perspectives. The common denominator for New Art Historians is the critique and departure from the issues of traditional Art History. The late introduction of New Art History, which in effect means that the social turn was introduced simultaneously with poststructuralism, may testify to the hegemonic position of naïve empiricism in Art History. As far as ancient art goes, we can note that art historians occasionally incorporate it in the discussions.

3

The Study of Ancient Sculpture

Due to the fact that an unequivocal line of development cannot be identified in the study of ancient sculpture, the aim of this chapter is to examine the characteristics of modern research and the premises upon which it is based. Such an aim, which entails an examination of the discursive roots of contemporary studies of ancient sculpture, results in the exposure of a conservative academic field. In doing this, our focus will be on three conceptual threads that have influenced the paths that sculpture studies have taken since the 18th century. These conceptual threads are the legacy of Winckelmann, the methodologies of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik, and, finally, historical and social contextualizations of ancient sculpture. WINCKELMANN AND HIS LEGACY Earlier studies of ancient sculptures have not only shaped Classical Archaeology as an academic discipline, but also to some extent the emergence of Art History. Johann Joachim Winckelmann’s exploration of ancient art, and in particular Greek sculpture, is often seen as the starting point for modern Art History (Potts 1994, 11–46). He has been recognized, together with the 16th-century artist and theorist Giorgio Vasari (Potts 1982, 380–4), as the intellectual founder of the discipline (Preziosi 1998a, 21). Winckelmann’s approach and sentiments toward Greek sculpture greatly influenced the formulation of the academic discipline of Classical Archaeology during the 19th century, especially in Germany (Bruer 1994, 63–90; den Boer 2002, 89–90). His achievement, developing a system to make sense of the empirical diversity in the history of art, complies with scholarly research from the 18th century. For instance, the sorting of artifacts according to national styles and chronological sequences builds, to a great extent, on the antiquarian work of Comte de Caylus (Donohue 1995, 334; Marchand 1996, 10; Potts 1982, 394–95; Potts 2006, 23–27). Winckelmann’s method of systematic categorization, which was based on observations and careful descriptions of the object of study, can be compared with the work of 18th-century naturalists such as Comte de Buffon (Marchand 1996, 10). His systemization, that is, conveying the idea of the rise, flourish and decline of art, and his idea that

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art expressed the political freedom of the Greeks during the fifth-century B.C.E., are also in tune with ideas put forward during the Enlightenment. He also advocated an idea that flourished in 18th-century thought, namely the effects of climate and physical environment on the appearance of art (Potts 2006, 17, n. 51). It has, however, been suggested that the terminology and formulations Winckelmann applied to ancient sculptures were not unique (Kaufmann 2001, 526–41), and that he had been inspired by the rhetoric of classical texts. Alice Donohue (1995, 334–8) argues that Winckelmann’s analysis of visual monuments is based mainly on conceptions derived from literature, rather than on empirical observations (cf. Ettlinger 1981, 510–11). She mentions the work of Dionysius of Halicarnassus as an important inspiration for his writing. Winckelmann’s writings consolidated the notion of the supremacy of classical Greek sculpture, a central notion in both Art History and in more specific studies on ancient art. This idea constitutes the conceptual basis for traditional research on ancient sculpture. At the end of the 18th century and early 19th century, during which Winckelman’s influence was strong (Sheehan 2000), several important collections of ancient sculptures became public when national museums were established across Europe. To understand the role of ancient sculptures in modern research and museum exhibitions a regular approach is to start with Winckelmann, although the study of ancient sculpture was important before him (Pollitt 1996, 2–7). STYLISTIC SYSTEMATIZATION Winckelmann’s major contribution to ancient art, Geschichte der Kunst der Alterthums, was first published in 1764.1 In this book, he discussed different artistic traditions that were rooted in distinct cultural demarcations: Egyptian, Phoenician, Persian, Etruscan, Greek and Roman. Focusing on the development of Greek sculpture, he set out to categorize ancient art according to four chronological phases, which were defined on the basis of stylistic properties of artworks. Sculpture was, however, not the only empirical material he used. Many of his stylistic categorizations emerged from meticulous observations of details on ancient coins and gems (Lapatin 2003, 76). Before Winckelmann came to Rome, his knowledge of famous antiques seems to have been based on engravings, casts and books (Ettlinger 1981, 507). Unlike ancient sculptures, this was material more immediately accessible to European scholars of the 18th century. Winckelmann’s descriptions of ancient sculptures according to the four stylistic phases, however, made the greatest scholarly impact (Winckelmann 2006 [1764], 227–44). In Winckelmann’s scheme, the more ancient style, der ältere Stil, was characterized as a stylistic forerunner to Phidias. This style roughly covers what we today denote as archaic art. The second style, der hohe Stil, is defined as the “high” or “grand” style. It was a style that Winckelmann associated with Phidias and the artists of his time. Today,

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scholars often refer to this style as the High Classical style of the fifth century B.C.E. This is followed by a beautiful phase, der schöne Stil, which covers art from Praxiteles to Lysippos. Art has now acquired a more graceful style. Winckelmann’s beautiful style is today often equated with Late Classical sculpture of the fourth century B.C.E. The decline of art, der Stil der Nachahmer, the style of imitators that, according to Winckelmann, started after the death of Alexander the Great. Here he refers to the Hellenistic and Roman phases of art, which today generally, but not always, have lost the degenerative status implied by Winckelmann. He placed Roman art at the end of a progression that started with archaic art. This thought on development was contested during the 20th century by, among others, Roman art historians such as Otto Brendel (Kampen 2003, 371–3). These styles were concretized through various examples of famous sculptures available to Winckelmann in Rome. Due to the analytical emphasis placed on these sculptures, a principal problem with Winckelmann’s methodology arose that has caused scholars to refute him, and at the same time sustain his scheme as a relevant research topic. The problem relates to the fact that he exemplified the development of Greek art through Roman copies, not through Greek originals. Even at the time of Winckelmann, there was awareness that many “Greek” works were Roman copies (Potts 1980b; Marvin 2008, 124–25), something also partly noted by Winckelmann himself (Borbein 1986, 290). Original Greek sculptures like those from the Parthenon or the Pergamon Altar, emblematic of classical and Hellenistic art, respectively, had not been available to him. As a result, discoveries and publications of Greek sculptures and Roman copies during the 19th century created modifications and discussions of the boundaries of Winckelmann’s stylistic classifications. These discussions ultimately gave rise to the important tradition of the so-called Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik, where the appearance and style of lost Greek sculptures associated with master-artists were traced through later copies. It is a tradition that acts as a referencepoint for most 20th-century research on ancient sculpture. The basic prerequisite of Winckelmann’s stylistic development of Greek sculpture is, thus, something most modern studies on ancient sculpture relate to in one way or another. As Anthony Snodgrass (2007, 15) states in an assessment of the art historical branch of Classical Archaeology: “Many of Winckelmann’s most illustrious successors have retained similar attitudes, and almost all later narratives of Greek art have accepted (though with a very different terminology) the skeleton of his outline for its development.” AESTHETIC IDEALS Famous ancient sculptures such as the Laocoön and Apollo Belvedere formed the basis for generalized aesthetic ideals in the antiquarian field even before the days of Winckelmann. Winckelmann’s elevation of Greek art, and

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especially sculpture, to a higher level that the art of other ancient cultures, however, had a great impact on the creation of more specific classical ideals (Winckelmann 2006 [1764], 186–91). The two phases defined as the high and beautiful styles embodied these ideals. While the high style represented a restrained aesthetic, the sensuous form of the sculptures in the ensuing beautiful style was interpreted as a more sublime aesthetic expression (Potts 2006, 34–35). The two styles became synonymous with the Greek quest for ideal beauty, something that modern art should emulate. This meant that the true Greek ideal was no longer identified with some larger Greek and Roman tradition, but rather with a specific moment in Art History, namely the Classical period of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E. The beauty of the naked body represented the aesthetic peak of ancient Greek art and is captured in Winckelmann’s most famous citation: “noble simplicity and calm grandeur” (“eine edle Einfalt und eine stille Grösse”). It derives from the earlier essay Thoughts on the Imitation of Greek Works (Kleine Schriften) published in 1755 (Potts 1994, 1 & n. 2; Marvin 2008, 104–5). The way in which the naked male body was realized in the shape of Greek sculpture came to epitomize the acme of these aesthetic ideals. In his description of the Belvedere Torso (see chapter 5, fig. 5.1), for instance, the beauty of a perfectly formed naked male body is emphasized rather than the heroic qualities of this supposed Hercules (Winckelmann 2006 [1764], 323; Potts 2006, 34). This ideal is accounted for in the general proportions of the sculpture and in individual parts of the human body. To associate an ideal with such bodily criteria is still a valid enterprise in the study of ancient sculpture. In methodological terms, stylistic characteristics and artistic quality are often evaluated through detailed descriptions of anatomical parts of a sculpture (see examples discussed in chapter 4). These aesthetic ideals represent the peak in the evolutionary scheme of Greek art, and they had universal connotations. They also became the model for which modern art should strive and an important incentive for Neoclassicism of the late 18th century, where an artist such as Jacques Louis David epitomized Greek ideals as Winckelmann had defined (Potts 1994, 222–38). Although we would, on scientific bases, claim that today we have abandoned the bombastic attitude toward beauty that is conveyed in Winckelmann’s texts, this idealized aesthetic continues to influence the premises for studying ancient sculpture to the present day. Moreover, it is a prerequisite for the classical narrative that is commonly projected in museum exhibitions of ancient sculpture (see chapter 7). WINCKELMANN’S INFLUENCE ON MODERN SCHOLARSHIP Winckelmann’s work was not particularly original, but it was the first attempt to produce a coherent history of Greek art. The often-cited novelty of this work is that it incorporated a synthesis of the available information

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on Greek art, mainly sculpture, into a system of historical processes in antiquity. The immediate and long-standing impact of Winckelmann’s work during the 18th and 19th centuries is important (Potts 1994, 18–33; Potts 2006, 29–31; Marchand 1996, 13–16). As a result, Winckelmann was cited, discussed and debated by such influential German writers and thinkers such as Friedrich Hegel, Christian Gottlob Heyne, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Gottfried von Herder. Ancient sculpture, and especially those of the Classical period, came to be regarded as the highest form of art (Marchand 1996, 15). This does not mean that Winckelmann’s ideas were generally accepted on all points. For instance, even at the beginning of the 19th century, an Italian archaeologist, Visconti, disputed the theory of decline in ancient art (Jenkins 1992, 23; Potts 1994, 30–31). Still, Winckelmann’s book remained the standard work on ancient art until Karl Otfried Müller’s Handbuch der Archäologie der Kunst appeared in 1830. Both directly and indirectly, Winckelmann’s view on the history of Greek art continues to influence modern scholarship. Take, for instance, the emergence of classical Greek sculpture, which has often been called the “Greek revolution,” the “classical revolution,” or the “Greek Miracle” in art. As a term, it embraces the entire cultural landscape of fifth- and fourth-century B.C.E. Greece (Stewart 2008, 6–12), not only the visual arts. In other words, it signals a new intellectual environment that “changed the course of Western culture forever” (Stewart 2008, 6). How and why was the classical style introduced in Greek art? This central problem has engaged scholars in the field since the 19th century and can be traced back to the elevated and idealized position that Winckelmann imposed on the high and beautiful styles (Hallett 1986, 71–75). Additionally, the aesthetic ideals of classical Greek sculpture were the ultimate goal for his system of stylistic development in ancient art over time. The issue continues to be important in sculpture studies (Neer 2010), which also means that the aesthetics connected with classical sculpture is upheld as the essence of ancient ideals. Without Winckelmann’s praise for the high and the beautiful styles, there would perhaps not have been such attention paid to, and amazement toward, the stylistic properties of classical sculpture as opposed to the earlier Archaic period and later periods. In a sense, the fact that we denote our discipline as Classical Archaeology could in part be explained by this focus on classical culture and the Classical period. It can be argued that the ideals mediated in the texts by Winckelmann have some role to play in the use of this term. The label classical does not only stand for Greek culture of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., but represents the larger timeframe of antiquity and a wider geographical setting that usually comprises the Mediterranean region. The classical discourse (Porter 2006) has, thus, become a defining feature for an entire discipline. It also has a bearing on how the ancient Greek and Roman pasts are perceived, since it perpetuates Helleno- and Athenocentric perspectives. The fact that many canonical ancient text sources are written

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from an Athenian perspective sustains the Athenocentric stance in modern research (Hall 2002, 172–228). The reverence of classical ideals thus remains strong, and our relationship with Winckelmann has a lot to do with this. Even though, in the present day, we may not agree with the details of Winckelmann’s ideas on the rise, flourish, and decline of Greek art, we still conceptually adhere to his stylistic scheme as a fundamental taxonomy for ancient sculpture.2 Two extensive monographs by influential scholars in the field illustrate this legacy well. Martin Robertson’s comprehensive introduction to Greek art from 1975 follows the stylistic developments suggested by Winckelmann, with a special focus on the artistic qualities of Greek sculpture. Thus, he arranges his study using familiar art styles: a brief pre-archaic prologue concerning early Greek art, a preceding archaic phase, a High Classical style connected with Phidias, a fourth-century B.C.E. classical style mainly associated with Praxiteles and finally Hellenistic art, which is characterized by exaggeration and diversity in style. In true Winckelmannian spirit, he praises the classical ideal style of the fifth century B.C.E., while the post-Periclean development in art is seen as the beginning of an artistic decline that culminates after Alexander the Great with the dissipate styles of the Hellenistic age. Robertson (1975, 180) emphasizes the importance of “the classical revolution” by calling the change from archaic to classical style in sculpture one of the most important moments in the history of European art. As a contrast, Hellenistic sculpture is more disparate and unstructured in its stylistic developments (Robertson 1975, 548). Similarly, in Andrew Stewart (1990), Greek sculptures are presented in an order that essentially follows this stylistic development. He departs from both Winckelmann and Robertson in his division of the chronological development of sculpture, which is much more specific. Regional differences in style are emphasized, in a way that recalls the archaeological categorization of pottery styles, for instance. Even though the praise for the classical revolution in sculpture may be played down in Stewart’s study, in comparison to Robertson, it is given a fair amount of appraisal. This can, for instance, be observed in his characterization of the Early Classical sculpture from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia: This is early classical sculpture at its apex, a style of great strength and sensitivity, and thus a perfect vehicle for storytelling. Its directness enables the sculptor to narrate with compelling force; its wealth of mimetic resource allows bold experiments with issues like youth and age, facial expression, or critical differences between classes and sexes; and its economy hints at depths below. (Stewart 1990, 143) Consequently, Stewart’s underlying message concerning classicism in sculptures, both in the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., is that it signifies the ultimate achievements of Greek sculptural art (Stewart 1990, 175–76).

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One can take an authority such as Brunilde Sismondo Ridgway as a more explicit example of Winckelmann’s legacy affected stylistic categorizations in contemporary research. Of course, Ridgway’s work should also be viewed in the light of connoisseurship that has dominated 19th- and 20th-century research on ancient sculpture. From the 1970s onward, she has, in a number of monographs, explored sculptural styles that conceptually follow the basics of Winckelmann’s systematization of Greek art. Each book systematically examines a stylistic development that is related to one of Winckelmann’s four phases (Ridgway 1970; 1981; 1990–2002; 1993; 1997), although she uses the terminology established during the 19th and 20th centuries. Ridgway is also inspired by 19th-century developments in research on ancient sculpture by presenting more detailed divisions of styles based on descriptions of an array of criteria, like anatomy and drapery, which are used to define a particular style. An entire monograph is devoted to a transitional phase between the Archaic and Classical styles, the socalled severe style (Ridgway 1970), which is a further expression of the stylistic adjustments made since Winckelmann. Her studies also make use of a larger body of material. In effect, emphasis is placed on variations of styles, that is there is a less monolithic categorization within the specific styles and a greater focus on regionalism. She also moves away from the Winckelmannian tradition of associating a particular style with ideals within ancient Greek society. She sees stylistic development as a response to the changing conditions that affected the sculptors. The classical style may, for instance, have been the result of a change in the nature of sculptural commissions connected to the growing needs of organized state religion during the fifth century B.C.E. (Ridgway 1981, 11). Although she does not follow Winckelmann on every account, Ridgway’s research is an excellent example of how his stylistic systematization lives on as the discursive framework and analytical taxonomy for studies on ancient sculpture. There are several specific research issues within the study of ancient sculpture that emanate from the adoption of Winckelmann’s stylistic systematization. The problem of “archaizing” and “classicizing” styles is one of the most telling examples. Since this issue remains unsolved, it continues to be a relevant topic. Although these are not terms used by Winckelmann himself, the identification of “archaizing” and “classicizing” elements in sculpture is indirectly a result of his classification according to the four well-defined styles. “Archaizing” elements are found in Classical, Hellenistic and Roman sculpture, while “classicizing” traits appear in the latter two phases. They are often explained as stylistic archaisms imitating features characteristic for older styles (Fullerton 1998, 70–71). “Archaizing” and “classicizing” styles can, however, also be seen as constructs within the modern stylistic taxonomy of ancient sculpture. Their existence becomes problematic because they do not follow expected stylistic developments. Consequently, these stylistic traits do not comply with the evolutionary tenet implied by the development of styles in ancient sculptures. They are, however, as much a reality in the

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past as a reflection of our expectations of how sculpture styles should be defined and delimited. The “archaizing” and “classicizing” traits are defined by what we think recapitulates an older style. To solve their problematic existence, a more differentiated terminology was invented. It is a strategy that reflects our notions of stylistic influences and of the longevity of styles. When a more detailed categorization is applied, there is a belief that a correct terminology clarifies stylistic inconsistencies. In other words, the problems arising from Winckelmann’s systematization can only be solved with further systematization. Thus, for Ridgway, “archaizing” applies to sculptures with some formal traits of the archaic style, “archaistic” should be used for sculptures where archaic elements predominate, “lingering archaic” are later sculptures which exhibits only few or minor deviations from archaic practices, and finally there are Roman copies of archaic originals (Ridgway 1993, 445–46). This kind of systematization, however, gives rise to new questions rather than solving the problem of stylistic inconsistencies. As pointed out by Mark Fullerton (1998, 71), where do we draw the line between sculptures with some archaic influences and sculptures where the archaic influences dominate? The methodological framework of ancient sculpture and many of the questions posed in present-day research are grounded in Winckelmann’s systematization of ancient art. Furthermore, the persistent focus on the classical style in sculpture echoes Winckelmann’s descriptions of the high and beautiful styles. In the 19th century, the legacy of Winckelmann was formalized by the traditions of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik, which continue to be a major methodological influence in the study of ancient sculpture. MEISTERFORSCHUNG AND KOPIENKRITIK: LONG-LIVED TRADITIONS Diverging interpretations of the meaning of sculpture in ancient societies were proposed at the beginning of the 19th century. In a book on ancient art such as Müller’s, it was argued that art was an expression of national characteristics (Siapkas 2003, 47). Unlike Winckelmann, Müller regarded the peak of Greek sculpture as an expression of spiritual harmony inherent in the peoples of ancient Greece, not as the result of political freedom (Marchand 1996, 46–47). As was briefly mentioned above, the discovery of ancient sculptures required a modification of Winckelmann’s scheme and his conceptualizations of ideals were also questioned (Borbein 1986, 291–92). In other words, there was a call for a more scientific approach to the study of ancient sculpture. According to Preziosi (1998a, 28), with the institutionalization of the discipline, there was a change from a subjective to a more objective relationship between the art historian and the object of study. This was also accompanied by an increasing contestation of

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Winckelmann’s idealized language of aesthetics (Marchand 1996, 104–5), which was believed not to be scientific enough. Ancient sculptures were also made more accessible through the publication of several catalogues in the first-half of the 19th century, like that of the sculptures from the Louvre by Comte de Clarac (1841–1853). The fact that the illustrations in these publications consisted of line drawings, however, meant that they were not an incentive for more detailed stylistic studies. A development in the studies of stylistics demanded a higher degree of accuracy in the depiction of details (Pollitt 1996, 9–10). The prerequisites for sculpture research were, however, about to change with the creation of plaster cast collections and, more importantly, with the later introduction of photography. Both of these provided the means for a more detailed and comprehensive documentation of ancient sculptures, which was an incentive for comparative studies in stylistics. In the middle of the 19th century, the research of Heinrich Brunn and Johannes Overbeck had systematically paved the way for a critical reading of the literary sources connected with Greek art. This meant a greater interest in the sculptors and in the attribution of particular sculptures to famous artists. The foundations for the tradition of Meisterforschung had been established. The persistence of this tradition is echoed today when a current authority in the field like J. J. Pollitt (1996, 11) praises Overbeck’s history of Greek sculpture as a principally correct description of sculptural development in antiquity. THE MASTERPIECE AND ITS SCULPTOR Adolf Furtwängler’s seminal study on Greek sculpture Meisterwerke der griechischen Plastik, published in 1893, must be viewed as fundamental to the development of 20th-century research on ancient sculpture. The traditions that Furtwängler gave birth to, the so-called Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik, can briefly be summarized as follows; the resurrection of the personal styles of sculptors through the use of ancient literary sources, inscriptions, illustrations on coins and gems, and the matching of these to Roman copies of Greek originals that can be attributed to a particular master sculptor and/or his school. This line of thought has been connected with a modernistic praise for authenticity and originality (Gazda 2002, 6) and it belongs to the art historical realm of connoisseurship (see p. 23–26). Furtwängler was definitely not the first scholar to take an interest in identifying sculptures that were known from ancient literary sources. The early discovery of sculptures such as the Laocoön, which was mentioned by Pliny, had established a fascination for famous masterpieces. Winckelmann’s focus on certain well-known sculptures conformed to this general treatment of ancient sculptures. Furtwängler, however, was a student of Brunn, which would explain his focus on sculptors and masterpieces.

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Brunn stated that fine art could only be produced by a genius, a statement that elevated the role of individual artist in the development of ancient sculptural art (Borbein 2005, 224). It has also been pointed out that the interest in Roman copies of famous Greek statues in the late 19th century concurs with a more widespread practice of owning and displaying sculptural reproductions of famous masterpieces (Marvin 1993, 175–77). The academic and cultural climate during the 19th century thus presented a breeding ground for a tradition like Meisterforschung. The further systematization of the connoisseur’s approach toward ancient sculptures made Furtwängler’s study innovative, as well as the fact that he, through a growing number of photographs (Marvin 2008, 139–41), had access to a larger amount of material, which enabled him to make wide-reaching comparisons. In this way, he transferred a Morellian approach to the study of ancient sculpture. The 20th century witnessed examples of work applying Furtwängler’s methodology that crossed national and academic borders. For instance, G. Lippold’s Kopien und Umbildungen griechischer Statuen (1923) embraces Furtwängler’s methodolgy, while expanding the terminology applied to the production and usage of Roman copies. Thus, by using a more varied vocabulary to describe copies, differences in the appearance and style of the sculptures were explained. Some sculptures were described as originals, others as copies and yet others as variants of the original sculptures. In the many volumes of C. Picard’s Manuel d’archéologie grecque: La sculpture antique (1935–1966), special attention was paid to particular sculptors in the various art historical epochs of ancient Greece. Gisela Richter’s The Sculpture and Sculptors of the Greeks (1970 [1929]) is an Anglophone representation that provides brief presentations of various sculptors besides a description of the stylistic developments in Greek sculpture. She links her attributions with sculptors, based on close readings of the literary sources coupled with detailed formal descriptions of the sculptures. Continuing this tradition, Andrew Stewart’s 1990 monograph on Greek sculpture includes an extensive section on the literary texts that deal with individual sculptors and their oeuvre. As late as 1993, Luigi Todisco’s monograph Sculture Greca del IV secolo. Maestri e scuole di statuaria tra classicità ed ellenismo (1993) presents Greek sculpture of the Late Classical period in the spirit of Meisterforschung. Another more recent example is the volume Personal Styles in Greek Sculpture from 1996, which explicitly pays “homage to Furtwängler by carrying on the type of research that he made famous in classical scholarship” (Pollitt 1996, 1). Sculptors such as Phidias, Polykleitos, Praxiteles, Lysippos and Damophon have each obtained an extensive chapter where their artistic personalities are scrutinized. This can be compared to how Furtwängler organized his book by treating a particular sculptor and attributed sculptures in separate chapters. All of the above-mentioned studies follow an

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aspect of Furtwängler’s approach, which implies that one may gain a complete comprehension of the development of Greek sculpture by including as many examples of sculpture as possible. These texts on famous Greek sculptors also show that the fascination for the artistic freedom, inventiveness and influence of individual artists is still a major focus in contemporary research. Numerous monographs on famous Greek sculptors have appeared over the years and Greek sculpture continues to be a valid subject in the field. Sculptors who have received separate studies are, for instance, Phidias (Davison 2009; Höcker and Schneider 1993), Skopas (Calcani 2009; Stewart 1977) and Polykleitos (Beck and Bol 1993). How do we define these kinds of studies? A series of monographs such as Antonio Corso’s The Art of Praxiteles (published in 2004 and 2007) are written in the spirit of the connoisseur in that he tries to map out the life of Praxiteles through biographical information and artistic activities in different workshops. Such an enterprise calls not only for a reliance on ancient literary sources, but also conveys a presumption that the sculptor expressed his artistic skills through an individual style, which can be recognized through a close scrutiny of the sculptures’ details. A very similar project concerning another master sculptor, Phidias, was published in 2009. In three volumes, Claire Cullen Davison covers the masterpieces and statue types attributed to Phidias by discussing the written sources and cataloguing known replicas. The study of proportions and measurements of sculptures fits well within the discourse of Meisterforschung, since both concern intrinsic properties of statues. It is thus an analytical thread accompanying studies on ancient sculptures throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. Since the objective is to study the measurable, technical side of sculpture, this methodological approach also falls within the social turn that developed in Classical Archaeology from the 1970s onwards. Assumed objective facts connected with sculptures are recorded through detailed measurements and calculations. Thus, it can be seen as a variation of the Morellian approach and, as such, it confirms the persistence of traditional perspectives within this field. Above all, the mathematical principles of Polykleitos’s Kanon have been fundamental for the application of metrology on ancient sculptures (Pollitt 1995; von Steuben 1973; Stewart 1978; Tobin 1975). There are countless studies dealing with the reconstruction and application of his Kanon in relation to sculpture from the Classical era. The application of canonical measurements has, for instance, been used as a method to attribute sculpture to Polykleitos. Hans von Steuben (1973, 56–58) bases his attribution of the so-called Sosikles Amazon on measurements of the statue that he associates with Polykleitos’s Kanon. However, since the metrological approach has developed into a specific research branch, it has also been applied to sculptures beyond the sphere of Polykleitos. The method can, for instance, be found in studies on archaic kouroi and korai (Guralnick 1978; 1981) and in Late Classical and Hellenistic female sculpture (Flemberg 2002).

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KOPIENKRITIK Meisterforschung and the study of masterpieces are also closely connected with the methods of Kopienkritik (Marvin 2008, 7–8), which entails how well-known sculptures, often mentioned in ancient sources, are preserved over the centuries through the practice of copying. This method implies that original Greek masterpieces can be reconstructed through a detailed analysis of various replicas. The emphasis is on the lost original masterpieces (Trimble and Elsner 2006, 204). Traditional Kopienkritik has incessantly put a focus on Greek sculpture and at the same time marginalized Roman sculpture. Roman copies considered to be exact or authentic copies of Greek originals are, in this tradition, implicitly treated as examples of Greek sculptures. Therefore, in textbooks on Greek art, the development of sculpture is often illustrated through Roman examples. As a parallel result, in textbooks on Roman art, there is a consistent omission of copies of Greek originals that could reflect Roman attitudes toward statuary (noted by Perry 2005, 88–89). This kind of approach toward ancient sculpture can be placed in a discursive setting defined by “the modern copy myth.” According to Miranda Marvin (2008, 121–67), the prerequisites for the development of Kopienkritik should be related to the well-established practice of copying famous masterpieces of art in the Early Modern period. Reproductions of wellknown sculptures and paintings found their way into private collections and a criterion for their inclusion was fidelity toward the original art object. As a practice, Kopienkritik was transferred to the scientific study of ancient sculpture in the 19th century, and the Roman copy came to be regarded as a reproduction of a Greek masterpiece. The quest was to uncover the appearance of the original Greek version through the Roman copy. At the same time, Kopienkritik relies on the anachronistic assumption that Roman patrons, like art patrons of the Early Modern period, wanted a sculpture that was true to the original masterpiece. The endurance of Kopienkritik is, for instance, evident in Detlev Kreikenbom’s monograph on Polykleitos published in 1990. Kreikenbom’s perspective is to trace the “afterlife” of Polykleitos’s most famous sculptures by studying the appearance of copies and their relationships with lost prototypes. Kreikenbom’s concern is with the impact of Polykleitos’s artistry on an ancient sculptural tradition, albeit the Roman dates of the sculptures. It is a study on Polykleitos, not on Roman statuary in a Roman historical context. The tenacity of Kopienkritik in current sculpture research is exemplified in an article by Anna Anguissola (2005) on Myron’s Discobolos. It includes a catalogue of known Roman examples (copies) of this famous statue. The objective is to give a very short formal description of each copy, in order to elaborate on the style of the original Greek statue. A similar discursive persistence of the individual master sculptor and the importance of copies are visible in the anthology Polykleitos, The

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Doryphoros, and Tradition from 1995 (Moon 1995), which contains contributions from a symposium held in 1989 devoted to the career, intellectual environment and stylistic tradition of Polykleitos. The general aims of this volume reflect the concerns of connoisseurship and Meisterforschung: to receive a full picture of the artist’s life and work. This tradition is exposed through the following themes: precedents and parallels for the intellectual and theoretical aspect of Polykleitos’s work, copies of the Doryphoros and the tangled problem of how they relate to one another and to the original bronze, the evidence for the oeuvre of Polykleitos as a whole and the reception, adaptation and influence of the Polykleitan style in Antiquity and in post-Classical Europe (Moon 1995, xi–xii). The last theme does, however, reflect a more recently held perspective within this tradition: how the sculptures of Polykleitos were appropriated throughout antiquity and beyond. Although, such a perspective still emphasizes the impact of the master sculpture, it also points to an interest in how copies functioned within the societies they were produced. In other words, how stylistics rooted in the Classical period was reformulated in later times. In the contribution by John Pollini (1995), the famous statue of Augustus from Prima Porta is interpreted as an adaptation of the Doryphoros, where Polykleitan stylistic ideals are valued through certain key concepts in Roman society. Such an idea is also developed by Tonio Hölscher (2006, 242–44), who stresses that the ordinary viewer of this statue in Roman times would not have understood the stylistic references to Polykleitos’s Doryphoros. Like Pollini, Hölscher believes that the Prima Porta statue should be viewed through the filter of a Roman value system. Approaching the copies in their own right can be seen as a critique of traditional Kopienkritik (Gazda 2002, 5–6). Instead of explaining inconsistencies that arise when tracing original masterpieces from copies, the analytical focus is directed toward the social function of these copies in their proper historical context. Paul Zanker took such a methodological stand in his monograph Klassizistische Statuen (Zanker 1974), where he studied how classical sculptures were reworked in Late Hellenistic and Roman societies. In part, Zanker’s study conforms to the methods of traditional Kopienkritik, since he uses its empirical framework. He studied the development of replicas that were linked with the work of a famous Greek sculptor. There is, however, a clear shift in the interpretation of the material. By focusing on how statue types once attributed to Polykleitos, for instance, were stylistically transformed and how new statues types were produced in a Polykleitan style, he aims to investigate the changes in artistic taste during Hellenistic and Roman times. Cornelius Vermeule’s 1977 study on how the Romans expressed their taste for art through the collection of Greek sculpture is an early example of this shift from traditional Kopienkritik to more historically bound perspectives (see further discussion on p. 51–54). In many cases, however, this discourse has been bound by premises of connoisseurship, since it is the aesthetic appreciation

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of Greek sculpture by cultured and educated Roman élite groups that is emphasized (Hölscher 2006, 251–52). The most recent consequence of a shift toward the Roman context is a broadened historical contextualization of ancient sculptures, characterized by questioning whether the intention of the Roman copy was to faithfully copy the original Greek sculpture. The Roman copy is instead treated as a reformulation of Greek artistic traits in response to Roman ideals and should, therefore, be studied in a Roman historical and social setting. In this sense, the term “emulation” (Gazda 2002; Perry 2005) rather than “copy” is used to emphasize a more historically orientated interpretation of Roman sculptures. Furthermore, there has been an increasing emphasis on the subjectivity of both the enterprise of Kopienkritik and the notion of the copy (Trimble and Elsner 2006). A very influential piece of work in this context is Tonio Hölscher’s essay The Language of Images in Roman Art (2004), originally published in German in 1987. It deals with a central problem in Roman art, namely its debt to Greek tradition. This problem has often implied that Roman art is interpreted as lacking in originality, and it recalls the idea of decline in art, as advocated by Winckelmann (see Brendel 1979, 15–24; Brilliant 2007). As a departure from this theory, Hölscher explains Roman art’s relationship to Greek art as an active appropriation of Greek styles, motifs and themes in order to suit the cultural context of Roman society. Roman art is categorized as a semantic system that was used as an instrument of communication. In spite of the introduction of new perspectives and the use of a new terminology, however, this recent trend adheres to the fundamentals of stylistic divisions and the realm of formal aesthetics (Trimble and Elsner 2006, 205), which in terms of idealization enforces the dichotomy between Greek and Roman sculpture. HISTORICAL AND SOCIAL CONTEXTUALIZATIONS The critique of traditional Kopienkritik and Meisterforschung can be seen as a response to the increasing socio-historical focus that characterizes many contemporary art historical studies. To regard ancient sculptures as images of ancient history is, however, not an entirely new idea. A monument like the Parthenon was treated as an evidence of Greek religious and political history from early on, even though research on its sculptures mainly focused on formal aspects of art. Historical studies of the Parthenon do, however, almost always converge with an idealized narrative associated with fifthcentury Periclean Athens (see chapter 4). Although the sculptures that Winckelmann analyzed lacked this kind of spatial and temporal setting, his approach had an historical outlook since he linked the development of Greek sculpture with political evolvements and underlying currents of social mentalities (Potts 1982, 384–93).

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Functional contextualizations of ancient sculpture have long been relevant topics for classical archaeologists. The reconstruction of sculptures in different architectural contexts was a central concern in research of the 19th and 20th centuries. Themes like the placement of sculptures, the mythological identification of the imagery, the stylistic development, the issue of colors, and the relationship between architects and sculptors continue to characterize research on Greek temple sculpture (Ridgway 1999). These interests rely on the numerous publications that aim to reconstruct the sculptural programs of Greek temples, such as the temple of Zeus at Olympia (Ashmole and Yalouris 1967) and the Parthenon (Brommer 1967; 1979; Palagia 1993). Thus, most studies on architectural sculpture follow formal art historical trajectories, even though there have been recent attempts to place sculpture of this kind within a more social and cultural framework. An interesting example is Clemente Marconi’s study on the metopes from the archaic temples Y and C at Selinus in Sicily (Marconi 2007). Even though Marconi expands his discussion on the sculpture to include the cultural identity of the Selinuntine people, it is primarily a detailed publication on the metopes with a focus on iconographic analysis and architectural context. Studies on Roman sculpture, and not only architectural sculpture, tend to focus on the more pragmatic contexts of display, that is, how the sculptures functioned in a wider architectural surrounding. The well-preserved domestic settings in Pompeii and Herculaneum have attracted studies on how sculptures in the round were used as decorations in the private sphere. For instance, Eugene Dwyer (1982) investigates how sculptures functioned in private houses in Pompeii, while the research by P. G. Warden and David Romano (1994) on the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum is an example of a study on private sculptural display with ideological undertones. Also, semipublic environments, like Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli, are studied as backdrops for sculptural display (Raeder 1985). Several studies have also explored the role of sculpture in a more public milieu, for instance, the Baths of Caracalla in Rome (Marvin 1983). Thus, the historicizing trend has meant a greater focus on functional and historical aspects and a move away from artistic concerns. It follows a general shift in Art History away from formal analysis toward social interpretations of works of art. This shift is generally referred to as New Art History (see chapter 2) and had a wider impact from the 1980s (Harris 2001; Rees and Borzello 1986b). As a result of this shift, in the last few decades mainstream studies on Roman sculpture, in particular, revolved around different functional aspects—socio-political, religious and more prosaic aspects, such as the setting and composition of larger sculptural monuments. These interests are, for example, present in a study (Varner 2004) on a tangible aspect of usage: the phenomenon of damnatio memoria, which is the intentional mutilation of Roman imperial portraits for political ends. Such a study belongs to a discourse whose aim it is to investigate the language of political

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propaganda conveyed through imperial sculpture (statuary, portraiture and reliefs). As an overriding approach, it was introduced in the mid-80s and was, to a great extent, initiated through the publication of Paul Zanker’s monograph on Augustus’s usage of images to mediate political propaganda (Zanker 1988). Sculptural assemblages are often interpreted as part of a programmatic display of Roman ideology, both in private and public settings. This socially aimed approach, that is how viewers of Roman art in particular (Elsner 1995; 2007) perceived messages that were mediated through sculpture (Gregory 1994; Hölscher 2006), has partly resulted in a change in focus from the sculptures and sculptors to the producers (patrons, commissioners and customers) and consumers of images. To study the role of patrons in the shaping of sculptures and their display implicitly means emphasizing the sociological and political aspects of the material. Portraits from the Roman republic have, for instance, been studied from such a perspective (Tanner 2000). Methodologically, viewer perception accentuates the notion of visualization (Elsner 2007; Trimble 2011), which can be seen as a subjective point of view, in comparison to traditional concerns in sculpture studies. In other words, it is a major departure from the assumingly objective aims of, for example, Meisterforschung. Although studies on the viewers of sculptures to a great extent focus on how established élites in Roman society used art to convey certain values, one parallel consequence is the interest in the role of art producers and viewers in other social groups. An increasing number of studies deal with the art of the common man. Implicitly, through a focus on marginalized social groups, the study of sculpture is given a new meaning beyond pure art historical concerns. These research themes indicate an evident wish to include images in the broader discussions of ancient history (Smith 2002). The historical and functional drive has been greater in the study of Roman sculpture than of Greek sculpture (Kampen 2003), which can probably be ascribed to the persistence of classical aesthetic ideals that still characterize research on Greek art. Consequently, such aesthetic ideals enforced the continuing study on formal aspects of sculptures. It is perhaps the most telling expression of the objectification of the past. In a sense, the legacy of Winckelmann thus remains strongest in the study of Greek sculpture, while research on Roman sculptures complies with more recent theoretical developments in Art History. When a historical perspective is brought into the study of Greek sculpture, it often concerns pragmatic issues like the placement of sculpture in a larger architectural composition (for instance, Barber 1990; Jacob-Felsch 1969; Vedder 1985). There has, however, been a tendency to investigate the setting of sculptures from an aesthetic point of view (Vermeule 1968a; 1968b). In other words, although historic aspects have been considered, the setting of sculptures has been approached as an art subject. When the perspectives of the producers and viewers of art are brought into to the study of Greek sculpture, the sculpture is often placed in a

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Roman context, that is, how Romans perceived Greek sculpture or used classical artistic elements. It is a perspective found in Sheila Dillon’s study (2000) on Greek portraits in Italy. In a slightly different context, Catherine Keesling (2005) explores how Roman viewers of the Imperial period re-interpreted the meaning not only of Greek sculptures brought to Rome as collector’s items, but also of sculptures still on display in various Greek settings. A historical reading is also applied to Greek sculptures is when political aspects are analyzed (for instance, Castriota 1992; Hölscher 1973). In relation to the Greek context, the political interest remains on a small scale compared to the study of Roman art. For instance, one area that has attracted such an interest is the study of Hellenistic royal portraiture and its usage of images as political propaganda.3 Often, the Roman connection prevails, even in these studies. Political symbolism conveyed in Roman imperial portraits has, for example, been traced to Hellenistic royal portraiture (Bergmann 1998). SUMMARY Ancient sculpture has from the 18th century until today enjoyed a central position in Classical Archaeology. This position is partly the result of the continuous acceptance of normative scholarship, and a lack of critique on the fundamental conditions for the study of ancient sculpture. No matter how great the shift from traditional art historical concerns toward a more historically grounded discourse in the study of ancient art, formal analyses still remain essential to the study of ancient sculpture. Implicitly, the study of stylistic development is regarded as an accepted framework and, as shall be explored in the next chapter, is one reason why current sculpture research consistently deals with, in one way or another, issues that have shaped scholarship since the 18th century.

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Current Approaches to Ancient Sculpture

The study of ancient sculpture is a vibrant and large research field within Classical Archaeology. This is evidenced by the continuous publication of a number of books concerning well-known sculptures, sculptural styles and sculptural types. The sheer amount of studies motivates a scrutiny of the field, since it has great bearing on the entire discipline. In this chapter, we will analyze current approaches to ancient sculpture through an emblematic analytical object, namely the Parthenon, and a number of doctoral dissertations published in the last decade. SCULPTURES FROM THE PARTHENON: A CASE OF HARDCORE TRADITION One way of sustaining a tradition is to choose the “right” analytical object. A case in point is the Parthenon sculptures, whose fame was established in the 19th century (Jenkins 1992, 24–29). In research literature, complexity of style, artistic merit and the narrative of the sculptures are often construed as decisive incentives for further explorations of this ancient monument. Another important cause for interest is the pivotal role classical sculptures have played in the modern perception and appreciation of ancient sculpture, and ancient culture as a whole. In the case of the Parthenon sculptures, there is also the factor of authenticity. We do not have that many original sculptures from the Classical period, and the fact that we know that these sculptures were made in the fifth century B.C.E. makes them valuable testimonies of classical art (Neer 2010, 9). Three citations from Parthenon scholars of different generations convey the enduring importance of the monument: The Athenian Parthenon is not only an embodiment of the highest artistic achievements of Greece. It is also the central monument of the splendid culmination of the political power of Athens, in the fifth century before the Christian era. (Smith 1910, 1) The sculptures of the Parthenon are probably the best-known monuments of Classical Greek art. They exemplify the high point in the

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At the end of the 19th and the early 20th centuries, a number of publications appeared that set the standard for Parthenon studies up to the present day. Their aim was to present the sculptures, both interpretatively and visually, from a comprehensive point of view. In 1871, Adolf Michaelis published a book covering the historical, religious and architectural aspects of the Parthenon. In another early publication of the Parthenon sculptures, the objective of Arthur Smith (1910) was to document the originals and casts in the British Museum through detailed descriptions, drawings and photographs. He also included the metopes that were still attached to the temple on the Acropolis. In other words, it was an all-inclusive account where his interpretation of meaning was based on descriptions of design, composition, stylistics, placement, and the identification of scenes and individuals. These analytical principles have since come to epitomize research on the Parthenon sculptures. Present-day counterparts are, for instance, monographs by Frank Brommer (1979), John Boardman and David Finn (1985), and Alkistis Choremi-Spetsieri’s 2004 publication, which documents every known sculpture and sculptural fragment from the Parthenon. The frieze has, in particular, enjoyed a superior position in modern research. Interestingly, of the sculptures from the Parthenon, it was not the frieze but rather the colossal Athena Parthenos statue that was mainly revered in antiquity. The frieze is not even mentioned in ancient literature (Lapatin 1996). Thus, the scholarly interest in the frieze is more than anything a result of modern perceptions on how ancient sculptural ideals are materialized. Representative of this idea is Jenifer Neils’s monograph on the frieze, which was published in 2001. A deeper analysis of her study reveals the current status of Parthenon research. Her study is an exposé on topics and methodologies familiar to sculpture studies, and in particular to Parthenon studies (cf. Robertson and Franz 1975; Jenkins 1994), from the 19th century onward. Neils (2001, 24–31) starts her book with a familiar topic; she places the temple in the historical and political framework of fifth-century Athens. The political background of the monument is central to several other Parthenon studies (Smith 1910, 1–2; Robertson and Franz 1975, 3–4; Boardman and

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Finn 1985, 217–21; Jenkins 1994, 9–15). Neils concentrates on Pericles’s involvement in the construction of the Parthenon, alluding to the tradition of a “Periclean” age. (cf. I. Jenkins 1994, 13–15; Hurwit 2004, 94–105). The Parthenon has been called “the brainchild of the Athenian leader Pericles” (Onians 1999, 45), which suggests that this tradition is continuously being validated by modern research (Fullerton 2000, 11–19). The most explicit representative of this view is perhaps Jerome Pollitt, who interprets the subject of the Parthenon frieze as an expression of the cultural ideology of Pericles. To substantiate his view, he uses the public funeral oration from 430 B.C.E. ascribed to Pericles by Thucydides and states, “there is, it seems to me, a structural analogy between the components of the frieze and the distinctive features of Athenian society that Pericles delineates in this famous speech” (Pollitt 1997, 61). Although the vagueness and lateness of the literary sources (Diodoros, Plutarch and Strabo) concerning Pericles’s involvement are pointed out as problematic, Neils (2001, 24–26) cannot evade this issue. She does, however, not give us a conclusive answer. The anachronism of the literary sources is acknowledged, but the importance of Pericles’s policy shines through in her interpretation of the frieze (Neils 2001, 194, 200–1). Her references to Pericles imply that the Parthenon was a visual expression of fifth-century Athenian democracy. It is an idea that adheres to traditional notions on the development of ancient art. To relate the visual aspects of a monument to the political spirit of a particular time and space ascribes to ideas that were already formulated by Winckelmann (Winckelmann 2006 [1764], 187–88). The inconclusiveness that characterizes Neils’s argumentation can also be identified in another well-known issue; who was the master artist responsible for the sculptures? From an early date, Phidias was deemed responsible for the sculptural program of the Parthenon. In other words, early on, the sculptures were considered to be the result of one man’s artistic genius. Nikolaus Himmelmann (1977, 67–71) states that the Italian archaeologist Ennio Quirino Visconti was the first to make the connection to Phidias in 1792. The connection was much debated during the 19th century, however, and it did not gain a general foothold until the beginning of the 20th century. Noting once more the late date of the literary sources that attribute the sculptures to Phidias (Plutarch, Pausanias, Pliny), Neils is skeptical in ascribing the entire monument to one artist. When discussing the design of the building, its construction, carving techniques and the stylistics of the relief, however, she cannot resist the assumed connection to Phidias.1 In this way, she perpetuates, perhaps involuntarily, the tradition of Meisterforschung by praising one artistic genius. Another issue for Neils is the ethnic and cultural attribution of the frieze. The identification of traits particular to Doric or Ionian styles is in accordance with the ideas of ethnic essentialism that flourished in 19th-century scholarship (Siapkas 2003, 46–47). In practice, such an idea meant a considerable emphasis was placed on the identification of regional schools in

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sculptural styles. According to Alice Donohue (2005, 97–98), regionalism, rather than the identification of individual artists, became an important aspect in the study of early Greek sculpture in the early 20th century. Neils does not directly associate the “Ionicness” of the frieze to ethnic concerns. Still, she makes it into an important issue when she states that the most intriguing feature in the design of the Parthenon was the decision to place a low-relief Ionic frieze on the outside cella-walls of a Doric temple (Neils 2001, 35–39). Thus, she suggests that the designers of the Parthenon consciously contrasted the Doric temple with an Ionic frieze and thereby implicitly made a statement about stylistic differences. Following a tradition of sorting out traits particular to a specific style, Neils is not the first to be astonished by the “stylistic mix” of the Parthenon. Bernard Ashmole (1972, 116) defined the decision to have an Ionic frieze as “an extraordinary one” and that “it was dictated by a kind of artistic hubris.” By using the Parthenon as an example, we can see that the idea of stylistics indirectly referring to ethnic groupings continues to be an important aspect in the study of ancient Greek sculptures. Another major, and familiar, issue is the narrative content of the Parthenon frieze in the Athenian fifth-century setting. Almost every study on the frieze bases the identification of individuals on their function in Athenian society and mythology (for example, Boardman and Finn 1985, 238–45; Brommer 1977; Buschor 1961; Smith 1910, 52–65). Neils approaches the subject by identifying the characteristics of people, mythological figures and gods who are evidenced in the literary and epigraphic sources. She basis her interpretation of separate figures from the frieze on detailed descriptions and comparisons with vase-paintings. When it comes to solving the meaning of the frieze in an Athenian fifth-century context, she begins with an overview that recapitulates older interpretations. She refutes these interpretations mainly by arguing that there are problems with the identification of individuals. Yet, her interpretation that the gods are participating in a theoxenia, a ceremony where the gods are invited by the Athenians to watch the city’s most important ritual the procession of the Panathenaia, is a variant of earlier interpretations. Ashmole (1972, 143) suggests that this is how the scene has usually been interpreted. Furthermore, the most widely held opinion on the subject of the frieze is that it represents the procession of the Panathenaia (Pollitt 1997, 51). Pollitt, himself, refutes this interpretation, since there are too many inconsistencies between the representations on the frieze and what the literary sources tell us about this festival. Instead, he sees the frieze as an allusion to the cultural and religious ideology of Periclean Athens. Neils’s idea that the subtext of the frieze is a celebration of the victories of the Athenians comes close to “the general accepted view that the Parthenon as a whole commemorates Athens’ part in victory over the Persians” (I. Jenkins 1994, 26). Neils’s suggested interpretation could, therefore, be seen as a refinement of earlier research on the frieze.

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The end of Neils’s book touches on another well-known issue—the afterlife of the sculptures and their artistic inspiration in antiquity and beyond. The afterlife is an essential part of most studies on the Parthenon that investigate the sculptures as comprehensively as possible (Boardman and Finn 1985, 213–15; Brommer 1979, 12–16; Corbett 1959, 10–11; I. Jenkins 1994, 16; Robertson and Franz 1975, 12–15; Smith 1910, 4–6). This kind of perspective draws attention to the centrality of the sculptures as a heritage of Western culture (Schneider and Höcker 2001). Therefore, today, it seems almost obligatory to include the afterlife in studies on the Parthenon and the Athenian Acropolis (Hurwit 1999, 291–302; Ousterhout 2005; St. Clair and Picken 2004) and its impact on modern art (Lydakis 1996, 230–57; Tournikiotis 1996). The problematic issue of where the sculptures should be displayed today certainly belongs to the afterlife of the Parthenon. Neils finalizes her study by contributing to the debate on the restitution of the Parthenon marbles in the British Museum. Here she takes the balanced, and politically correct, position that the sculptures should be housed in an environment that preserves them most efficiently and exhibits them as they once were displayed on the temple. Her view is that this will be accommodated with the new Acropolis Museum in Athens (which had not opened at the time of her publication), and it would enable the sculptures to be appreciated in their right historical and archaeological setting (Neils 2001, 244–48). By comparison, a more ideological discussion can be found in Mary Beard’s short publication on the Parthenon (2002, 11–22, 173–81). Although Neils is very careful not to impose any ideological perspectives on her opinion, her interest in this issue can be seen as an attempt to make her analytical object relevant in a context outside of academia. She does not take this interest very far, however, leaving out any deeper discussions on the political meaning of the Parthenon in modern times (Hamilakis 2007, 243–86; cf. Yalouri 2001). In this sense, she complies with traditional forms of Classical Archaeology, where the analysis of the Parthenon sculptures still often takes place in isolation from modern social and political concerns. Another more explicit example of this is Jeffrey Hurwit’s extensive publications on the Athenian Acropolis (1999; 2004), where the sculpture plays a major analytical role. There is not a single word on the recent debates on the restitution of the Parthenon marbles, however, or of the importance of the Acropolis for modern Greece. Through detailed scrutiny of these topics, Neils seeks the truest possible reading of the frieze. The following citation reveals her main methodology: “if one makes the attempt to learn its [the frieze] visual language, it is possible to come closer to an understanding of its constituent parts and, in the end, closer to its true meaning” (Neils 2001, 125). Neils’s solution for understanding the frieze is a detailed, ostensibly neutral, descriptive approach based on stylistics. This approach includes a close analysis of a number of formal elements such as poses, physiques, facial features and hairstyle, drapery and footwear, landscape, horses and attributions (Neils

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2001, 95–123). Unfortunately, there is no discussion of how and why this method enables us to come closer to the true meaning of the frieze. Several of the traditional issues and approaches from Neils’s book can be found in new anthologies on the Acropolis and the Parthenon (Barringer and Hurwit 2005; Cosmopoulos 2004; Neils 2005b). The power of Meisterforschung, for instance, is still a reality in many of these books. This can, in particular, be noted in Sarantis Symeonoglou’s study on different artistic hands for the frieze. He claims that he is conducting a new analysis of master identification based on qualitative and technical aspects of the carving. As has already been noted, however, the identification of hands on the basis of these kinds of criteria is by no means a novel methodology in sculpture studies. Therefore, Symeonoglou’s main result—that the identity of the master-hand showing the highest artistic quality belongs to Phidias— comes as no surprise. The following quote reveals his attitude toward the object of study: “His name [Phidias] has not been associated with the Parthenon and with classical art in vain. Thanks to hand analysis, his innovative designs and diverse forms clearly emerge from this massive sculptural program. His work served as a paradigm of the most successful art ever to emerge from ancient Greece. Countless generations of artists have been inspired by it” (Symeonoglou 2004, 41). In his panegyric praise of Phidias’s mastery, he also echoes a long-standing tradition in studies of Greek sculpture, namely the acknowledgement of the artistic supremacy of individual master sculptors. Another major objective in Parthenon studies is to make the sculptural fragments less fragmentary. The proper identification of depicted individuals in the sculptures is discussed continually. As we saw in Neils’s study, identifying the right attributions is essential in the identification of the frieze. With regard to the pediments and metopes, however, the aim is to reconstruct lost fragments. Georgios Mostratos’s suggested reconstruction of the east pediment adheres to earlier concerns in solving the entirety of the pediment composition, which are tellingly present in his list of references (Mostratos 2004, 144–49). Katherine Schwab’s (2004) use of digital photography and image-based computer software on the east metopes aims to secure the reconstruction of fragmentary compositions. In that sense, she follows an old quest to understand the original appearance and identity of the sculptures (for instance, Brommer 1967) through new technologies. Most of the recent Parthenon studies belong partly to a traditional art historical strain in Classical Archaeology, because they focus on artistic execution and connoisseurship. They can also be defined as archaeological studies, as they try to understand the sculptures in a historical, political and religious context. The Parthenon sculptures have a concrete setting, which is associated with historical and political events (Castriota 1992, 134–229), namely the temple on the Acropolis. Whether pertaining to an art historical or archaeological approach, or both, the most disturbing fact is that current research on the Parthenon sustains an Athenocentric perspective

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on the ancient Greek past. Furthermore, this research also acknowledges the supremacy of classical art and fifth-century Athenian culture. Scholars may be aware of this problem, but they excuse their studies through the high artistic quality and historical interest of the Parthenon sculptures (for instance Neils 2001, 8–9; Neils 2005a). Such a view seems to imply that sculptures, which have reached this kind of empirical dignity within the discipline, deserve continuing research, even if this results in only minor adjustments to older interpretations. The recent publications on the Parthenon also reflect the impact that one sculptural monument has had on an entire research field. Tradition makes the Parthenon sculptures the acme of ancient sculptural development, which is a heavy argument for recurrent studies. The sculptures have also come to represent the peak of Athenian culture and, thereby, also a pillar of European civilization. The view is perpetuated when a leading classical archaeologist such as Pollitt claims that the Parthenon frieze was created “in one of the most original and expansive periods in the entire history of European art” (Pollitt 1997, 63). As a result, tradition demands a disproportionately large bibliography for the Parthenon sculptures. In most of these studies, the quest is to solve questions that have perplexed scholars for almost two centuries. As long as these issues remain unresolved and attract the attention of scholars, traditional approaches to the Parthenon remain the norm. NEW DISSERTATIONS: A STRUGGLE WITH TRADITION Doctoral theses often represent attempts to present new perspectives on old issues, and accepted truths are frequently challenged. At the same time, these studies tend to conform to tradition by not departing from rules of good scientific production. Paradoxically, while claiming to renew research, doctoral dissertations cannot deviate too much from normative scholarship in terms of subject matter, form and methodology. These studies epitomize various trajectories that are identifiable in current research on ancient sculpture: the dominating descriptive approach, the hegemony of categorizations, typology and stylistics, and attempts to contextualize ancient sculptures beyond artistic concerns. The study of ancient sculptures has, to a great extent, been an Anglophone (with an American preponderance) and German academic affair. The fact that it continues to be so is illustrated by the selected doctoral theses mentioned in this chapter. Although this selection is not representative of the entire field, it reflects current research perspectives that have distinct theoretical and methodological links to earlier traditions. The chosen dissertations were submitted to academic institutions with well-established art historical research within the discipline of Classical Archaeology. Furthermore, the fact that respectable academic publishers have published the revised dissertations vouches for their validity within the academic community.

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CATALOGUING, CATEGORIZATIONS AND PROBLEMS WITH STYLISTICS The practice of creating catalogues enforces a descriptive approach. The convention of cataloguing artifacts still applies to publications of unpublished material from archaeological sites, museum collections, and in explorations of styles and particular sculptural types. The latest publication on the sculpture from the theater at Corinth (Sturgeon 2004) is a typical site publication, with detailed descriptions of each sculptural fragment. In the most recent sculpture catalogue from the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (Kaltsas 2003), the sculptures are organized according to a well-established stylistic development. Each sculpture is presented with a short description focusing on the state of preservation, measurements, material, provenance, anatomical form and dating according to stylistic features. Another example of a study that relies heavily on catalogues (Boschung 2002) investigates how portraiture of the Julio-Claudian family is arranged in different architectural contexts. Each chapter that treats a site or a type of architectural context begins with a catalogue of the sculptures. The catalogue descriptions, which cover more than two-thirds of the book, are clearly separated from the analysis. The idea that objective and neutral descriptions can be obtained through cataloguing is, however, a naïve assumption. The words we apply and the aspects we emphasize in a description is an active choice on the scholar’s part. In two recent dissertations, one dealing with Roman sculpture and the other with Greek sculpture, catalogues determine the analytical focus of the studies. In the catalogue of Annetta Alexandridis’s 2004 study on female imperial portraiture, each portrait is defined using well-established statue and image typologies.2 These typologies were, in turn, developed using features such as the identity of the women depicted, the size of the portrait, the find-location, place and visual context of display, attributes and dating. Thus, her meticulous descriptive approach aims to categorize the material into distinctive types. The catalogue is about the same size as the analytical text of her book and determines much of her iconographic analysis, which concerns political implications of different portrait types and changes from early imperial times to the third century C.E. Through an analysis of the information conveyed in the catalogue, she assesses the role of female portraiture in both the official imperial sphere and in a more private domain. Angeliki Kosmopoulou’s 2002 study on sculptured statue bases from ancient Greece is also dictated by the way in which the empirical material is formally organized. Her discussion of the sculptural bases recounts information listed in the catalogue.3 Each catalogue entry is presented with measurements, the type of stone, find-location, state of preservation and dating, as well as a very detailed description of the iconography on the bases. The manner in which the bases are defined in her analysis depends on this information. In other words, the analytical part of the book follows the design

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of the catalogue. As a result, her analysis aims to systematically uncover a tenable pattern for the dating, typology and definitions of these statue bases. Kosmopoulou’s concern is with neutral issues within a descriptive discourse of sculpture studies. The descriptive approach found in present-day sculpture catalogues with mainly “objective” and “measurable” information is rooted in late-19thcentury positivism. Thus, contemporary research is, to a great extent, shaped by analytical tenets that originated from a different scholarly environment and atmosphere than today. Issues that are still fundamental to the field may, therefore, appear obsolete in comparison to wider art historical and archaeological developments. The fact that a distinct 19th-century connection exists in present-day research has been aptly illustrated by Donohue’s historiographic account (2005) of the study of early Greek sculpture. She characterizes the conventions of description as an ostensible way of gaining a more scientific frame for the analysis of ancient sculpture (Donohue 1995, 17–19). The continuing focus on stylistic issues, both on a chronological and regional level, and on artistic questions such as master identification, helps to sustain this tradition. These research interests also encourage an objective description of the empirical material. The categorization of the object of study is often connected with a detailed descriptive approach. The definition of a category can be far reaching in terms of material, form, motif and chronological distribution. This is, for instance, the case for the sculptured bases from ancient Greece studied by Kosmopoulou (2002, 3–35), where the function as bases for statues constitutes the delimitation for this category. Studies that focus on a particular type of sculpture often follow a strict empirical approach, where it is the material, and our delimitations of that material, that dictates the analysis. A category of sculpture can be restricted in form, time and space, for instance, the archaic korai from the Athenian Acropolis. Three recent dissertations concern this type of sculpture and a deeper exploration of these studies, and their argumentation, reveal current research trajectories. Although they are not part of the canon connected to classical sculpture, archaic korai have attracted a fair amount of attention since the 19th century, as a category of pre-classical sculpture of assumed high quality, and, thus, this subject enjoys a secure position in the field. The category has been referred to as the most intensively studied group of archaic Greek sculptures (Holloway 1992, 267). Archaic korai possess an allure that makes a contemporary scholar such as Nigel Spivey (2005, 76) exclaim that “their loveliness is every bit as striking; if it were not for Egypt’s Nefertiti, they would be the first female beauties in the art of the world.” In general, there is a fairly well-established chronological sequence for the korai, which is mainly based on the stylistic development of the drapery from the stiff rendering of the garment in the seventh century B.C.E. to the elaboration of folds in the dress of the late sixth century korai (Richter 1968; Ridgway 1993, 134–46). Aside from stylistics, the main interest of research concerns the

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meaning of these sculptures on a very pragmatic level. The majority of korai statues are found within the precincts of sanctuaries, which suggests that they functioned mainly as votive offerings. The fact that some of them were found in funerary contexts further emphasizes the religious connotations of this sculpture type. The main unresolved question is what the statues originally depicted—divinities, dedicators, priestesses, maidens or idealized images of generic young women (Keesling 2003, 98–102, 107–10; Stieber 2004, 21–41). Katerina Karakasi’s book Archaic Korai (2003) presents the most comprehensive archaeological approach, examining all korai with known find-locations, in this sense, a modern update of Gisela Richter’s 1968 monograph on archaic korai.4 Information on the korai is systematized in tables that are equivalent to a catalogue. The tables present the date, provenance, material, size and appearance of the korai. The chapters of her book are arranged according to archaeological find sites. The following statement in her introduction reveals a descriptive approach toward the analytical object: “my chief source in this investigation, my point of departure, was what the korai themselves tell us. I first noted their external features, their condition, their sizes (a matter of reconstruction in the case of surviving torsos and other fragments), and finally their appointments; clothing, jewelry, and— if present—attributes and meniskoi” (Karakasi 2003, 12). Not only does Karakasi’s methodology adhere to the traditional descriptive tenet, but the book itself conforms to the tradition of publishing ancient sculptures in big and expensive volumes with extensive photographic material covering more than half the book. Furthermore, the reproduction of illustrations made at the time of the korai’s discovery on the Athenian Acropolis could be interpreted as a desire to present the material as comprehensively as possible. The book signals an exclusivity that may only appeal to experts in the same field. Although Karakasi states that her study does not concentrate on questions of chronology and style, the fact that she begins each chapter with a detailed discussion on the dating of korai and that her tables are organized using chronological sequences suggests the opposite. Her study can, therefore, mainly be defined as an archaeological study where, besides dating, the focus is on descriptions of the tangible features of the korai, such as size, attributions and materials, and find-contexts. Her conclusion that the korai were portraits of actual women is based on the archaeological contexts, detailed iconographical analysis and correlations with descriptions of young women in archaic literary sources. Following an archaeological positivistic tradition, the format, arrangement and illustrations of the book reflect Karakasi’s objective to let the korai speak for themselves. Nonetheless, even choosing such an objective means that the ancient statues are “speaking to us” through a discursive tradition. A somewhat different research strategy, but with a similar result, is found in Mary Stieber’s book The Poetics of Appearance in the Attic Korai (2004).5 Stieber’s interpretation of the korai as lifelike portrayals of

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individual women coincides with Karakasi’s suggestions that the korai were portraits. Like Karakasi, Stieber has a desire to let the korai speak for themselves when she suggests that simply by looking at and trusting in the judgment of the eye one will find the right interpretation of these statues (Stieber 2004, 12). It seems to be a methodology like the one we also encountered in Neils’s study (2001, 11) on the Parthenon frieze. The analytical focus in Stieber’s book is placed only on the Acropolis korai, with a digression on the Phrasikleia kore from Merenda in Attica. Stieber’s main argument concerning the identity of the korai is that they were mimetic representations of real women. Contrary to the general perception of archaic art, she identifies a quality of realism in the korai. The variation in how details were rendered would be one indication of the sculptors’ ambition for realism and naturalism. In order to establish the mimetic realism of the korai, Stieber subscribes to the tradition of formal analysis. She analyses the korai according to well-established categories: eyes, noses, mouths, skin tones, composite physiognomies, hair, garments, accoutrements (headdress, footgear, jewelry), and general body structures (Stieber 2004, 44). Similar categories were used by Gisela Richter in her 1968 monograph on korai (Richter 1968, 6–20) and can also partly be found in Karakasi’s description of the statues. Although pertaining to a seemingly neutral categorization of analytical elements in the sculptures, the language used by Stieber reveals preconceived notions about beauty, which she also connects to the personalities of the young women whom the korai presumably represent. For instance, her descriptions of some of the korai’s smiles are indicative of an approach that confirms modern stereotypes on beauty and personalities: The inscrutable expression of kore 674, which barely qualifies as a smile, might be contrasted with the soft, beguiling openness of kore 696’s expression, and the coy, seductive grin on the face of kore 616. All three korai smile just perceptibly and each is rendered more lifelike by her smile, but the expression of two (696, 616) may be read while that of the third (674) remains impenetrable. The smile of kore 616 suggest that she could be a young woman in possession of a ready sense of humor, in contrast to the more reserved appearance of kore 696, beneath whose lips one might picture perfectly formed white teeth, displayed only on rare occasions for the pleasure of a fortunate few. The coarse and smug pursed cupid’s bow mouth of kore 661 is unmistakably repugnant; this kore seems to be a woman whose smile would come slowly, grudgingly, and perhaps at someone else’s expense; with this look, it is not difficult to imagine a person whose language could be as indelicate as the contours of her lips. (Stieber 2004, 53) Stieber does acknowledge the subjective nature of this kind of description, but uses it to further stress the individualization of the korai. Beyond formal

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analysis, Stieber tries to corroborate her idea of realism by contextualizing the korai within archaic literature, mainly lyric poetry. She tries to relate the korai to an archaic society conveyed through the texts, and she concludes “what the poets brought about through literary devices, the artists achieved in stone—that is, mimetically realistic portrayals of the appearances of real archaic women” (Stieber 2004, 140). The korai were beautifully dressed and ornamented, which together with their placement in a central religious and political setting, suggests that they were girls from aristocratic Athenian families. In other words, by finding out how the women of the Archaic period appeared through literary representations, one can determine the degree of likeness in the sculptures. It is a study under the yoke of classical philology, since Stieber’s whole argument relies on the authority of certain ancient text sources. Yet another research strategy applied to archaic korai can be found in Catherine Keesling’s book The Votive Statues of the Athenian Acropolis (2003).6 Keesling studies the religious functions of votive statues on the Acropolis during the sixth and fifth centuries B.C.E. by combining iconographical analyses of the statues with information taken from associated inscriptions. Although she deals with various types of votive statues, there is a particular focus on interpretations of the archaic korai (Keesling 2003, 97–161). It is the epigraphic information about the dedicators and dedicatory mechanisms, rather than the sculptures per se, that determine her interpretation of religious, historical and social meanings of the votives (Keesling 2003, xv). She does not present the statues according to traditional sculptural categorizations based on stylistics and sculpture type, but rather tries to concentrate on identities read from the connected epigraphy. The study is, therefore, an excellent example of a historicizing trend in Classical Archaeology. In order to implement this historic approach to an art historical material, Keesling had to choose the Athenian Acropolis, for practical reasons. No other sanctuary has yielded such an amount of votives with epigraphic evidence. Her historical approach toward understanding functions of votive offerings means that she upholds the same kind of Athenocentric stance that we saw earlier in research on the Parthenon, and in Stieber’s study on the korai. Context is the key in Keesling’s study. Accordingly, the interpretation of the identity of the korai should be based on the context of the korai rather than on a formal analysis of the iconography (Keesling 2003, 102). By considering context, she proposes multivariate interpretations of meaning. Although they appear to be generic, the korai could have had different meanings in different contexts. Nevertheless, she argues that the korai represented female divinities, which for the Athenian Acropolis means Athena. Nonetheless, the fact that the earlier suggested interpretations of korai as maidens, priestesses or divinities are plausible in a sanctuary shows that, in this case, context becomes a fairly meaningless analytical concept.

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To substantiate her interpretation, Keesling uses both iconography and Pausanias, a literary source she defines as contextual. This “contextual evidence,” however, conveys Pausanias’s personal observations, which are historically detached from the korai by almost seven hundred years. In his account of the Athenian Acropolis from the second century C.E., Pausanias refers to a group of ancient agalmata of Athena that had been blackened by fire during the Persian sack of 480 B.C.E. Since several of the korai had traces of burning, Keesling (2003, 128–29) assumes he is talking about the korai statues and that the term agalmata refers to their divine status. Otherwise, in her treatment of the Acropolis korai, Keesling falls into a traditional iconographical approach by trying to reconstruct appearances of individual korai to suit her arguments on a divine identity. It is indicative that the epigraphy is conspicuously silent in relation to her interpretation of the korai, since they have nothing to offer about the identity of the statues. Stieber (2004, 14–19) has pointed out the paucity and formulaic nature of the information conveyed by the inscriptions. Keesling’s suggestion of a divine identity is based on circumstantial evidence in the form of ambiguous iconographic elements, such as metal spikes on top of the heads that might have been attachments for helmets, or a hole in a statuary base that might have held a spear (Keesling 2003, 129–35). These are attributes that would make the korai into images of Athena. Furthermore, she connects the gesture of outstretched arms found among some of the korai with a function described by the fifth-century comedy writer Aristophanes. He states that divine statues received some of the splanchna (internal organs from sacrificial animals) in their outstretched arms (Keesling 2003, 158–61). Thus, instead of seeing the outstretched arms as a gesture of korai giving offerings, as is usually suggested, Keesling sees it as an indication of the statues receiving offerings. This method of reasoning shows that Keesling’s historicizing approach amounts to finding proof for a divine identity in different textual sources. Even though they are not contemporary sources, their authoritative status seems to qualify them as reliable evidence in Keesling’s interpretations. We see yet again the strong authoritarian impact of ancient texts on the interpretation of ancient sculptures. In this sense, Keesling presents a study that is fairly characteristic of contemporary research on Greek and Roman sculpture. While she aims at studying historical, social and religious contexts of statues, rather than their artistic merits, she nevertheless conforms to traditional iconographical and text-related methods. The drive of all three studies is to understand the true identity of these sculptures and by doing so they contest the influential idea that the korai were generic representations of young women (Schneider 1975). Consequently, the authors propose solutions that have been suggested before: goddesses (Ridgway 1993) or mimetic representations of real women (Lechat 1903, 279–91). Although archaeological, historical and literary contextualizations give different meanings to the sculptures, all three interpretations

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are based on detailed iconographic analyses and a search for confirmation in the ancient sources. Such a perspective has been defined as a form of naïve empiricism that arises when an assumingly objective approach is applied to the study of ancient sculpture (Tanner 2006a, 213–14). Stylistic problems arising from categorizations are common in studies on ancient sculpture. Typology and style constitute central analytical endeavors in categories of sculpture as varied as portraits of Roman emperors like Hadrian (Evérs 1994), and statues of Greek goddesses, the Aphrodite Knidian type (Havelock 1995) or statues of Nike (Gulacki 1981). Despite the inconsistencies in time, historical context, function and appearance between Roman imperial portraiture and Greek goddesses, these studies are united in that they aim for consistent typologies based on stylistic developments. In the aforementioned dissertations, we are confronted with categories of sculpture that have secure positions in the scholarly field, which chronologies based on stylistic elements have long been established. Although these studies discuss stylistic problems, it is not this discussion that propels their central arguments. Chronology based on stylistic changes is a fundamental notion in the field, however, and so style is a convention that must be considered, one way or another. This holds true even if the material is so fragmentary and heterogeneous that no clear typology can be created merely from stylistic traits. The sculptured statue bases in Kosmopoulou’s study are, for instance, presented in chapters that follow art historical epochs, even though a straightforward stylistic development cannot be established from this material. For some recent dissertations, typologies and stylistic problems are of central importance to the argument. One example is Lea Stirling’s examination of sculptures from Gaul during the Late Antique period (Stirling 2005, 91–137).7 Although her study on mythological statuettes concerns the collecting and display of a certain statuary type in Gallic villas, a perspective that is linked to historical contextualizations of ancient sculptures, she devotes an entire chapter to the issues of style, chronology and origins. In a way, she assumes that questions central to the modern art historical discourse also determined how ancient collectors viewed statuary. Many contemporary studies, thus, follow a goal pertinent to traditional studies on ancient sculpture; the systematic establishment of a chronology based on the stylistic development of a particular category of sculpture. Dirk Piekarski’s 2004 study on anonymous Greek fourth-century portraits is the most obvious representative of this tradition.8 His study is motivated by what he claims to be the lack of stylistic research on this particular category of sculpture. Hence, there is no universally applicable chronology and typology for Greek anonymous portraits of the fourth century. Chronology and typology are the two main analytical themes of Piekarski’s study. Since the majority of these portraits are Roman copies, the study closely follows traditional Kopienkritik, in the sense that the portraits are not studied as examples of Roman sculpture but as remnants of Greek originals.

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The issue he addresses is how the Roman copy relates to the lost original Greek portrait. There is no discussion on artistic prerequisites, historical contexts or social realities associated with the Roman world. Instead, he tries to reconstruct the stylistic development of male portraits of the Late Classical period: the Greek artistic sphere of the fourth century. The portrait sculptures are treated as isolated objects of art and as illustrations of a general stylistic development in Greek sculpture. In another German dissertation published in 2005, Johann-Christoph Wulfmeier sets out to create a chronology based on the style of Greek double-sided reliefs: a rather small amount of material (sixty-three pieces), which is also fragmentary.9 Thus, the category is created when a particular practice, the carving of relief on two sides of a slab, is deemed relevant to the meaning of the sculpture. This practice occurs both on votive and burial reliefs over a rather long period of time, from the Late Archaic period to imperial Rome. The centrality of chronology means that Wulfmeier’s study, to a great extent, concerns stylistic issues of the different motifs on the reliefs (Wulfmeier 2005, 6–35). Until a chronological sequence has been established for the votive and burial reliefs, respectively, he cannot deal with functional aspects of this category. Chronology and stylistics, however, do not have the greatest bearing on the ensuing functional study. Style, therefore, becomes an analytical tool that is not connected with wider contexts of the ancient past. Here, it is the iconographical interpretation of motifs and setting of the relief that indicate function. The embrace of a stylistic focus in the study of ancient sculpture has often meant a reluctance to relate sculptures to ancient societies beyond art historical developments. Recently, the method of categorizing sculpture according to style has been criticized in connection with the study of Roman art (Bartman 1999, 10; Perry 2005, 99–100). Also, as we shall see next, the recent historicizing trend in Classical Archaeology, especially the study of Roman art, has resulted in a greater interest in different contextualizations beyond stylistic concerns. THE HISTORICAL SETTING OF ANCIENT SCULPTURE Most recently published dissertations on ancient sculpture have, to different degrees, embraced a general historicizing, or socio-historical, trend in ancient Art History. This trend has had a greater impact on the study of Roman art than on ancient Greek art. Greek sculptures are still mainly approached and evaluated as products of high artistic quality, thus the functional and historical aspects are put aside. The examples discussed, therefore, concern sculpture produced during the Roman period. Peter Stewart’s Statues in Roman Society: Representation and Response (2003) is an explicit example of a dissertation within the present sociohistorical discourse in Classical Archaeology.10 His main concern is how

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Roman statues were perceived and used in different temporal and spatial settings of Roman society. In other words, it is the Roman attitudes toward statuary representations that form the core of his study. Rather than studying the artistic qualities of statues, his focus is on the Roman practice of displaying images in the round, both in private and public environments. He recapitulates questions on function that have motivated research on Roman art in the last decades. Familiar research topics are analyzed through a socio-political reading of the material. Portrait statues are, for instance, not primarily studied as expressions of naturalistic portraiture. By looking at various elements of portrait statues, including the heads, bodies and bases with inscriptions, the social framing of the statues is examined. His focus is on issues of meaning for different groups in Roman society and how images could be exploited for varying effects. One of Stewart’s main objectives is to break with traditional disciplinary categorizations. In methodological terms, he distances himself from many former studies when he contests the modern usage of the term “sculpture” in the study of Roman images. Furthermore, the application of modern categorizations such as “imperial portraits,” “ideal sculpture,” “cult statues” or “votive reliefs” in relation to Roman sculpture may not be the most successful way to understand Roman attitudes. He argues that narrow categorizations often reflect preconceptions on the meaning of the material and, therefore, impose limitations on our interpretations (Stewart 2003, 300–1). Instead, his objective is to bring Roman statues back to their correct historical setting, beyond modern categorizations. To reach the correct setting means, in this case, an analysis of literary sources and the Latin terminology related to statuary. Although Stewart shows an impressive command of the literary sources, they are used in a sweeping way to create a general understanding of Roman views on statuary representations. Categorizations commonly used in the study of Roman statuary are replaced with analytical boundaries imposed by the literary sources. Throughout the book, the analysis is based on an array of citations from Roman authors of different periods, from Varro, Cicero and Tibullus to Juvenal, Tacitus, Pliny the Elder and Pliny the Younger. The literary sources reflect multivariate meanings, depending on the author and the text. As a result, since the temporal and spatial range of Stewart’s empirical material is so vast, general attitudes about statuary must always be juxtaposed with exceptions and variations. Stewart’s book is an example of the historicizing trend in Classical Archaeology that criticizes modern categorizations by advocating a return to the sources. One may question, however, whether there is an explicit need to advocate a return to the sources or to the empirical material, since there has traditionally been a close adherence to these in the study of ancient sculpture. One needs only to mention the immense impact of Pliny’s text in the identification and evaluation of famous ancient sculptures. The idea of ancient texts being superior to material culture should be attributed to the

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dominance of Philology over Archaeology that has come to characterize the discipline of Classical Archaeology (Tanner 2006b, 16–17). Concerning a return to the empirical material, Alexandridis’s dissertation on female imperial portraits, which was discussed previously, is a good example of such an approach. The subject has lately attracted a fair amount of scholarly attention (Bartman 1999; Kleiner and Matheson 2000; Wood 1999) and her study is, therefore, in tune with recent research. In this case, the close adherence to the empirical material also means accepting categorizations as a viable methodology for studying sculptures in ancient societies. Therefore, it is a study more related to traditional categorizations of sculpture, but she still explores functional aspects of the statuary in a historical setting. Although the overall aim of her study is to analyze the function of the display of Roman imperial women who had no official political power, the categorization of types is an important analytical tool. The study of types also determines whether there was a differentiation in the official contra the private display of these women. The historical and ideological contextualization of her study is largely dependent on a very close investigation of the empirical material. Alexandridis’s study can, therefore, be characterized as a traditional study of ancient sculpture with a historical outlook. Another recent dissertation that acknowledges a political and ideological point of view is Jeannine Diddle Uzzi’s 2005 study on children in visual Roman art.11 She uses representations of Roman and non-Roman children in official art, mainly in relief sculpture, to analyze the language of propaganda of the Roman élite. She thereby adheres to a rhetoric that has dominated research on Roman art during the last three decades. On the other hand, her study deviates from the habitual focus in children studies: it does not immediately deal with the socialization of children in ancient families and societies. Instead, she interprets images of children as artistic expressions that consciously enforce the policy of the Roman ruling élite, recapitulating the commonly accepted notion that Roman official art provides the means for an élite to communicate with the general public. From her point of view, the élite politicized the child in order to articulate messages of Roman identity (romanitas) and power toward Roman contra non-Roman viewers. It is not only in terms of the theoretical outlook that Diddle Uzzi conforms to the general field of Roman art historical research, but her analysis is also governed by the use of well-established categorizations of Roman relief sculpture in the public sphere. Thus, scenes that mediate messages of élite power, such as public gatherings, submission, triumph and battlegrounds, constitute the empirical framework for her analysis. In methodological terms, depictions of children are defined through tangible analytical elements that are well known in sculpture studies: composition, background or setting, and gesture and posture of the figures. This, coupled with a close description of the empirical material, is an approach that has already been encountered in several of the dissertations under discussion. Diddle Uzzi’s dissertation is an illustrative example of how political and ideological readings have

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become normative in current research on Roman sculpture. She uses a social group that is usually not given any political significance to argue for their importance as an intermediary for imperial propaganda. The manner in which several recent studies handle the question of Roman copies of Greek sculpture is another expression of the historicizing trend in Classical Archaeology. In contrast to earlier studies on Roman copies of Greek originals, this recent trend emphasizes the artistic choice and freedom of the Romans, as well as their culturally and aesthetically based attitudes towards statuary with Greek stylistic connotations. The topic of Roman emulation can be seen as a contemporary reply to the tradition of Kopienkritik (Gazda 2002), where the goals of research have been reformulated. Instead of tracing the appearance of original Greek masterpieces through later copies, the focus is placed on the meaning of artistic emulation in a Roman historical and social setting. In Ellen Perry’s The Aesthetics of Emulation in the Visual Arts of Ancient Rome (2005), copies of Greek originals are studied from a Roman perspective.12 She takes an explicitly critical position with regard to the issue of tracing Roman copies of lost Greek original statues: she questions the methods and goals of traditional Kopienkritik (especially in Perry 2005, chapter 3). A major critique is that, since this kind of research searches for the most authentic copy of a Greek masterpiece, it tends to marginalize statues that more freely emulate Greek styles and motifs. Indeed, Perry claims it is in this marginalized material that artistic innovation and Roman aesthetic attitudes can best be uncovered. In her own analysis, she works extensively with many ancient literary sources in order to understand Roman mentalities that shaped attitudes toward statues and, in the end, the appearance of these statues. She seeks artistic analogues in concepts mainly used by Roman authors in rhetorical and literary contexts. By linking a concept like decorum, cultural appropriateness, with Roman statuary, she emphasizes the intimate involvement of patrons in the production of art. Thus, the appearance of a statue is dictated by the buyer of the piece, that is what was appropriate for his or her cultural and social status. She further analyzes Roman views on aesthetics through the concepts of eclecticism (the employment of two or more models, subject types, or period styles in a single work of art) and phantasia (artistic visualization). In her interpretation, the application of these concepts to Roman statues overturns the primacy of the exact copy as the highest expression of Roman artistic imitation. Perry’s book is an elucidative illustration of the historical contextualization that characterizes current research on Roman art. Like Peter Stewart, she criticizes traditional approaches by advocating a return to the Roman cultural and social context in the study of statues. Like Stewart, this historical perspective results in a reading of the Roman literary sources in addition to analyzing the sculptures. Unlike Stewart, her focus is not on general Roman attitudes toward statuary, but rather on how particular aesthetic

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concepts are applicable to this material. Studies such as these are shaped by historically based questions. Data collection and analyses follow these historical aims and are not primarily governed by formal descriptions and categorizations of ancient sculpture. SUMMARY Notwithstanding the historically aimed dissertations discussed here, current research on ancient sculpture has not entirely freed itself from traditional descriptive frameworks and the drive to organize the empirical material in well-established categories. In such an obsolete conceptual framework, it is not surprising that recent studies can turn to thoughts formulated in the 19th century and early 20th century that later fell into oblivion. For instance, in her book on the Parthenon frieze, Jenifer Neils uses ideas on the composition of the frieze formulated by Arthur Smith in his publication on the Parthenon from 1910. Stieber (2004) and Karakasi (2001, 2003) revisit ideas concerning the naturalism of the Acropolis korai that flourished at the beginning of the 20th century. Such practices could be viewed as a result of the incessant power of tradition. Old ideas can be picked up in an unproblematic fashion and incorporated in a contemporary analytical scheme, as long as the fundamental principles for sculpture research remains unquestioned. There are, however, studies that contest traditional analytical principles. In her historiographic study on early Greek sculpture, Alice Donohue (2005) points out the problems of a descriptive approach to ancient sculpture. The ostensibly neutral language used in such a descriptive method often circumscribes the analytical focus, in that it enforces repetitive studies on sculpture categorizations and stylistic problems arising from categorizations. Similarly, Peter Stewart (2003) criticizes modern categorizations of Roman sculpture as limiting the interpretative potentials of this material. Consequently, when a specific category has been assigned to a sculpture, this sculpture ceases to be an object of further analytical interest. Another fundamental critique raised by Mary Beard and John Henderson is the issue of dating. They exemplify this critique with famous sculptures such as the Laocoön and Sperlonga groups, where dating is an irresolvable matter (Beard and Henderson 2001, 72–82). This, in turn, has implications for how we use stylistic categorizations to create chronologies for ancient sculpture. Finally, the current debate on how to relate Roman copies to Greek (lost) original sculptures can be seen as the most thorough critique of methodologies associated with traditional Kopienkritik and Meisterforschung (cf. Hallett 2005 for a defense of Kopienkritik). This analytical perspective should also be viewed within the historicizing trend that has become normative for the field in the last thirty years. It is very much an outlook that governs several of the recently published doctoral dissertations on ancient sculpture.

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Part III

Museological Frictions

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Introduction

While Discursive Settings gave an account of sculpture research, the following part consists of elaborations on displays of sculptures in museums. Our focus is primarily on contemporary, permanent museum exhibitions of ancient sculptures. Like large public institutions in general, museums also tend to change slowly in small unnoticeable steps. Although exhibits to some degree mirror, and are embedded in, contemporary discourses and concerns, they are also constrained by conceptual assumptions and institutional practices. The slow pace of change facilitates an analysis of displays as vestiges of earlier, perhaps even obsolete, ideologies, discourses and conceptual schemes. Indeed, some museums are explicitly aimed at preserving a setting as it once was at a given point in time. The taxonomic order in some displays may appear unintelligible to us today. The sense of an exhibit as a chaotic heap of things without any apparent order can often be explained by positioning a discursive divide between us (today’s visitors) and the settings that once shaped the formation of the display. On the other hand, a sense of recognition and familiarity with an arrangement is an indication that we share the discursive assumptions that shaped the exhibition. The general policy of the museum, the ideas of individual curators and museum technicians, the nature of the collection, financial possibilities or limitations, and techniques of display are all factors that influence the final appearance of an exhibition. An important strategy of display is the creation of an underlying narrative that determines the choice and arrangement of exhibited objects. A universal and homogeneous conception of the world is often upheld in museums by a so-called master narrative, which is habitually defined as a characteristic trait of modernity. Eilean Hooper-Greenhill (2000, 4) gives a useful definition of how master narratives are projected in museums: “Master narratives are created by presenting a large-scale picture, by eliminating complicating and contradictory detail, by disguising difference, by hiding those elements that don’t quite fit, and by emphasising those that do.” In the case of ancient sculpture, current museums displays are often constrained by a narrative formulated at the birth of public art museums during the 18th and 19th centuries. Therefore, exhibitions often convey obsolete impressions and knowledge about ancient Greece and Rome.

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Three basic exhibition techniques define the narratives presented to the public: the choice of object, how it is displayed and what kind of texts accompany the exhibition. Techniques of display certainly shape the visual framework of the exhibition, but they also have a deeper influence on what kind of information is mediated to the museum visitor. Sculpture can either be presented as objects of art or as archaeological artifacts. The strategy of including certain objects and excluding other objects is a powerful tool in the shaping of narratives (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, 24–25). Since most museums have collections that, for practical reasons, cannot be exhibited in their entirety, an active choice is made as to what is put on display. When producing narratives associated with antiquity, the choice of sculpture appears to be crucial. Consequently, the display of emblematic pieces of ancient sculpture mediates a totally different narrative in comparison to the exhibition of more anonymous sculptures. In the first case, we often have the story of the masterpiece, where the sculpture represents an extraordinary piece of art. Exhibitions often emphasize such aspects as the master sculptor and authenticity in artistic expression. As a contrast, less-well-known sculptures are often presented as typological and stylistic representatives in a larger art historical development. These are not unique objects of art, aside from their role as real objects from antiquity. Instead, they can be seen as examples of ancient sculptures of different types, and from different epochs. The distinction between unique objects and objects that functions as examples is often made in museum exhibitions (Gurian 2004, 271–72). Another strategy employed in the construction of meaning and narratives is the arrangement and presentation of objects in the exhibition room. Various techniques can be used in museum installations to emphasize different characteristics of the exhibited sculptures. For instance, an individual sculpture can be purposely singled out through its placement in a separate glass case. Intense spotlights create an aesthetic effect similar to the way precious merchandise is presented in vitrines of department stores (the so-called “boutique lighting,” Greenblatt 1991, 49). This technique of display has, together with the close connection between commercial and cultural exchange, been traced to the 19th century (Newhouse 2005, 30–35). It enhances the notion that ancient sculptures should firstly be seen as specimens of fine art. The way in which the entire exhibition room is lit in relation to the lighting of individual sculptures also influences the perception of the installation. Another important aspect is the choice of colors used in the room. A room with light, neutral colors creates a different impression in comparison to a darkly painted room. Ancient sculptures appear either as isolated objects of art or as artifacts that belong to an archaeological context. In the masterpiece discourse, where the sculpture is perceived as a unique piece of art, it is often exhibited alone, either in a separate room or in a specific section of a larger room. It is not uncommon that some kind of barrier, most often a fence, creates a distance between the viewer and the displayed masterpiece. A sculpture that

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is perceived as an archaeological object usually appears together with other artifacts from the place it was found and, thereby, with which it functioned. These two contrasting ways of arranging the object form a dividing line between art historical and archaeological narratives. In the former, meaning is thought to be intrinsic to the object, since the beauty of the sculpture is enhanced. The sculpture is defined and understood as a timeless piece of art. In spite of the assumed intrinsic value, this meaning is constructed at the moment the sculpture is put on display. On the opposing side, when a sculpture is exhibited as an archaeological object, meaning can only be mediated in relation to a larger historical and archaeological context. Such exhibitions often allude to sculptures’ functions in the past, and sometimes to the archaeological contexts where they were found. However, the two perspectives are not distinctly limited and mutually exclusive in scope. The aesthetic qualities of sculptures are often emphasized in archaeological displays, while art exhibitions are usually contextualized within an art historical trajectory. A further important component of the created narrative is the text that accompanies exhibitions. The technique of including and excluding information conveyed by texts on labels and explanatory panels also shapes the narratives presented. An understanding of the narratives in the exhibition is brought to life in the interplay between the exhibited objects and texts. Although the labeling of individual sculptures, with information on motif, type and dating may seem to be an objective undertaking, it is not. As Ludmilla Jordanova puts it, “labels offer a plurality of taxonomies pertaining to authorship, authenticity, antiquity, value, originality and significance of the exhibited object.” The context of the museum exhibition accordingly becomes “limited, selective and manipulative, since it generally invites visitors to perceive in a particular way” (Jordanova 1989, 24). In addition, the increasing use of audiovisual guides in the museums aims at furthering the visitors’ apprehension of the intended narrative, while guidebooks help to solidify this narrative after the visit to the museum. Analyses of the most common art historical and archaeological narratives conveyed in the display of ancient sculpture in museums will be discussed in this part. The main purpose of this book is to bridge the divide between scholarship and museums and, thus, several references will be made to the academic discursive settings that were presented in part 1. The in-depth analyses of museum displays of ancient sculpture mainly focus on permanent installations, which often have different prerequisites to temporary exhibitions. Permanent displays, as opposed to temporary ones, seem more inclined to base the exhibitions on objects (Baxandall 1991, 33). Narratives are, thus, most often built around the displayed sculptures and the way these are installed in the museum rather than using the sculptures to illustrate different social and historical aspects of ancient Greece and Rome. Temporary exhibitions tend to be more adventurous in terms of scope, by presenting advances in techniques of display and introducing alternative

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narratives. In contrast to permanent exhibitions, they are not constrained by the need to cover general, or assumed fundamental, issues concerning ancient sculptures, since they are only on display for a limited time. Consequently, permanent exhibitions are more suitable analytical objects for tracing normative views about antiquity, since they often reveal overriding traditions in modern perceptions of ancient sculpture. Temporary installations, on the other hand, are more susceptible to topics discussed in contemporary research. How narratives are understood is, of course, dependent on the visual experience of museum visitors. Visitors’ varying backgrounds may play a part in how the narratives are grasped. Eilean Hooper-Greenhill (2000, 4–5) points out that the appreciation and understanding of presented narratives among visitors does not always correspond with curators’ intentions. In other words, there is no neutral or unproblematic method communication between exhibited objects and visitors. Thus, we may, in our capacity as trained classical archaeologists, easily recognize the intended purposes conveyed in the organization of exhibitions on ancient sculptures. To the untrained eye, however, mediated meanings may not be so obvious, and narratives may, therefore, appear incomprehensible or even non-existent, which in turn undermines the general understanding of the exhibition. In the following chapters, our interpretations of narratives in museums dictate the outcome of the analyses. The analyses are based on observations made during our visits to different European and American museums between 2006 and 2011. The scope of this book does not allow us to analyze every exhibition. Thus, a selection of museums of different sizes, different types and from different countries will be discussed. It should also be emphasized that this study is not an analysis on the various ways museum exhibitions are perceived by different groups of visitors (cf. Bourdieu and Darbel 1991) or how the museum’s curators ideally would like us to understand the exhibitions.

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Genealogies

INTRODUCTION The aim of this chapter is to identify vestiges of earlier discursive settings that still influence museum displays. Museum displays will be viewed as palimpsests that still have traces of earlier discourses. The chapter is not intended to be an exhaustive account of the development of museums. Rather, it is a selective and prismatic account that explores the genealogy of notions that have shaped, and still shape, displays of ancient sculptures. This chapter follows a chronological order and is divided into three sections. Each section corresponds to major phases, or different discursive settings, in the development of museums. In the first section, our attention will turn to the long European history of private collections of ancient sculptures. Collecting, as a topic, has received considerable attention during the previous decades, and this is not the time or place to explore the psychological, personal reasons for collecting, or to provide a comprehensive account of the many twists and turns of the history of private collections. Our exploration will be restricted to private collections of ancient sculptures from the Renaissance onwards. We will begin in early 16th-century Rome, a place where many masterpieces resurfaced. The second section elaborates on the slow process of the establishment of the museums. As an institution, museums did not become normative until the late 19th/early 20th century. The establishment of the Louvre a century earlier in the years following the French Revolution can be viewed as the origin and foundation for the public museum. Nevertheless, during the bulk of the 19th century, there was a continuous struggle concerning the accessibility to the museums; although publicly owned and administered, entrance to museums was often restricted by stringent rules regulating behavior, dress code, etc., and by inconvenient opening hours that prevented unwanted groups from entering. The restricted access indicates that museums were a public arena in which the ideology of the emerging bourgeoisie prevailed. Educational aspects were also fundamental for museums. In other words, ancient sculptures were displayed in order to teach the visitors certain values.

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Although museums, on a general level, are the fruits of modern science and the Enlightenment and comply with the discursive emphasis on empirical evidence and construction of taxonomies, displays of ancient sculptures were, in many cases, not ordered according to scientific criteria until the 20th century. From our perspective, the 19th century was characterized by a notional dichotomy between aesthetic and scientific exhibition schemes. The notion of displaying ancient sculptures according to scientific criteria was discussed during the bulk of the 19th century. In other words, ancient sculptures were often displayed as timeless aesthetic ideals that were ordered according to representational themes. The 20th century, dealt with in our third section, was the classic age of the public museum. Museums maintained an educational instructive agenda, but new issues, such as the notion of authenticity, resulted in changes. In the case of displays of ancient sculptures, this is indicated by the removal, and occasionally destruction, of plaster casts from the exhibitions. This practice stands in sharp contrast to the practices of the 19th century. Plaster casts were a prominent feature in museums and were occasionally even praised as better than the originals. It is also noticeable that ancient sculptures were portrayed as illustrious artworks to a lesser degree and as archaeological objects to a higher degree than previously. In parallel to the emergence and development of the museum as a public institution, there is a long tradition of critique against various aspects of the museum. This critical tradition is visible in the writings of Quatremère de Quincy from the 1790s, and continues throughout the modern period. In the wake of the ethical crisis of the museums that we have witnessed in the 1990s and 2000s, the critical trajectory has been revived. This is a pertinent discourse for this study. The fact that the issues raised by this critical discourse have not had any visible impact on the display of ancient sculptures will be discussed in the concluding chapter. PRIVATE COLLECTING Collecting seems to be a universal feature of humanity. Although the reasons and the taxonomic principles deployed vary, collecting as a practice has been testified to in one form or another in most cultures. Once objects are put aside as a collection, they lose their functionality. One effect of the intrinsic nonfunctionality of the collected objects is that they are adorned and aestheticized. Collected objects are removed from the ordinary economic circulation and kept protected and displayed in enclosed spaces that are often constructed, or at least adapted, for this purpose. Collected objects do not have any place in the realm of the ordinary since they are separated from the everyday flow (Pomian 1990, 7–40, spec. 8, 9, 30). On a personal level, the acquisition of a collection contributes, in various ways, to enhancing the prestige of the collector, in particular among his peers who share

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the same values (Benedict 2001, 10; see further, Alsop 1982; Beck et al. 1981; Boschung and von Hesberg 2000; Brown 1995; Calov 1969; Clark 1966–67; Elsner and Cardinal 1994; Impey and MacGregor 1985; Laurens and Pomian 1992; Pearce 1995; Rössler 1989). Leaving aside collections of sculptures already during antiquity (see Bounia 2004), a modern origin for collections incorporating ancient sculptures can be found in 16th-century Rome, when several renowned collections, most notably the Belvedere collection, were established (Barkan 1999; Bober and Rubenstein 1986; Brummer 1970; Haskell and Penny 1981; Pomian 1990; Rowland 1963). Although references to the classical legacy were made continuously throughout the Middle Ages, we witness a considerable increase in interest in antiquity during the 16th century. One articulation of this was the creation of collections that included antiquities. Cabinets of curiosities emerged as an intrinsic part of the identity of first the Italian and, later, European nobility (Pomian 1990, 35; see also Grinke 2006; Impey and MacGregor 1985; Mauries 2002; Vickers 1985). This development was certainly fueled by the retrieval of several paradigmatic masterpieces in 16thcentury Rome, such as the Laocoön group, which was discovered in January 1506, the Apollo Belvedere, and the Belvedere Torso. As early as the 16th century, ancient sculptures were an expensive category of collectibles. Consequently, sculptures were only found in the wealthiest collections (Pomian 1990, 79, 48; Barkan 1999, 126, 196). Furthermore, access to the collections was restricted. Cabinets of curiosities were not open to the public, but were accessible to persons acquainted with the owner. The discourses concerning collections were a matter for the nobility (Pomian 1990, 41; Duncan and Wallach 1980, 453). No rule is without its exception, however. The story from circa 1500 of the placement of an ancient fragmentary sculpture known as the Pasquino outside a house and how it entered the public consciousness, a wider social fabric, is one example where the appropriation of ancient sculptures was a wider concern (Barkan 1999, 210–31). Collecting involves a process of selection; some things are considered worth collecting, while others are not. The process of selection and the degree of eligibility of a collection for a visitor depends on notions, or even preconceptions, which are shaped by wider discursive settings. Collecting, within the realm of cabinets, was governed by the notion of curiosity. The collection was conceptualized as a microcosm and, as such, it reflected the real world. Ideally, a collection should encompass items from every conceptual category of the world. The cabinets of curiosities were filled with rare and unique objects. Sometimes, it is hard to make any sense of what was collected. Findlen (1994, 17–31) tells the story of Ulisse Aldrovandi who, in 1572, was entrusted with the remains of a slaughtered dragon outside Bologna. Aldrovandi gained a wide reputation because of this (Findlen 1994, 17–31; see also Daston 1991). Antiquities, and ancient sculptures, were a minor category within the larger picture. Objects that were perceived as rare and exotic constituted the core of the cabinets of curiosities. A fundamental

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notion that shaped the cabinets of curiosities was the conceptualization of the world as one with infinite variation and diversity. A reality that is not conceptualized as governed by repetitive laws cannot be represented by common objects, but only by rare and unusual items (Pomian 1990, 45–49; see also Daston and Park 1998). Ancient art was appreciated for what it represented. Art objects were conceptualized in symbolic and representational terms. The identity of the retrieved sculptures was a fundamental concern in Renaissance Italy. Representational aspects continued to be fundamental for the appreciation of ancient sculptures until the emergence of formal modernistic conceptualization of art in the early 20th century (see p. 26–37). Leonard Barkan explored the discursive setting of the appropriations of ancient sculptures in Renaissance Italy in his seminal Unearthing the Past (1999). Although the identification of the sculptures was complicated, Barkan distinguishes the notion of the fragment as fundamental for the appreciation of the sculptures. The fragmentary condition of the ancient sculptures facilitated several other features characteristic for the appropriations of ancient sculptures in Renaissance Italy. It fueled ideas evolving around the restoration of objects. The identification of the sculptures with persons in Greek mythology was an issue that often resulted in disputes. Actual restorations of unearthed original ancient sculptures were rare before the late 17th century. In Renaissance culture, ruins were considered beautiful and the fragment was celebrated. Fragmentary sculptures were, therefore, preserved as fragments. The Belvedere Torso, for instance, gained prestige because, not in spite, of its fragmentary condition (Barkan 1999, 119–36, 189, 205). The contemporary display of the Belvedere Torso is a testimony to the Renaissance appreciation of the fragment (fig. 5.1). Other discursive traditions to ancient sculptures were established in Renaissance Italy. First, a tradition that seems obsolete today, was the use of masterpiece sculptures in the education of artists. Artistic skills were refined by the reproduction of canonical masterpieces. Typically, in the academies, the early stages of artistic education consisted of countless hours of study in front of copies of masterpieces. While copying masterpieces was an educational technique, full-blown artists had the liberty to quote, reshape or be inspired by ancient masterpieces. A second discourse was the introduction of replicas. Copies of authentic ancient sculptures were, for many, their only encounter with ancient art. The circulation of copies made it possible for artists to practice on the canonical artworks. Replicas of ancient masterpieces were also common in collections. The discourse on copies was initialized through the construction of an official replica of the Laocoön group by the artist Bandinelli in 1525. The high regard for ancient art contributed to the emergence of proto-archaeological or antiquarian practices. In many cases, the same individuals who collected ancient art initiated, and were involved in, investigations of ancient remains (Barkan 1999, 273–304).

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Figure 5.1 The Belvedere Torso displayed in the Sala delle Muse in Museo Pio Clementino of the Vatican Museums (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Vaticani).

The chronological distance between our times and the Early Modern period may result in an image of these centuries as one coherent epoch, but attitudes and discourses toward collections, including ancient sculptures, changed during this period. For instance, the emerging science in the 17th century had an antithetical relation toward the cabinets of curiosities. The discursive foundations of curiosity were regarded as a naïve expression for an empirical totality lacking the necessary deductive theory and method (Pomian 1990, 58–64; also Benedict 2001, 25, 27). An epistemic shift concerning the relations to the ancient legacy occurred during the 17th century. The appropriation of the classical legacy during the Baroque and 17th-century classicism is in some ways the aesthetic opposite of Winckelmann’s later, and de facto Neoclassical, famous characteristic of classical art as expressing a “noble simplicity and calm grandeur” (see p. 41). Symbolic aspects of the classical art were emphasized in the Baroque appropriation of the classical legacy. The abundant references to the plethora of ancient myths and narratives during the Baroque period signal a conceptual continuation. There is, however, one profound difference between 17th-century conceptualization of ancient art and previous aesthetic schemes. In contrast to the aesthetic scheme of the Renaissance, and the aesthetics dictated by 19th-century positivism, fragmentary sculptures were not displayed in the 17th-century aesthetic schemes. They were either hidden away or restored. In effect, restoration meant making additions. The additions often

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Figure 5.2 The so-called Death of Seneca, aka the Louvre Fisherman, is today displayed in the Salle du Manège of the Louvre, Paris (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

differ aesthetically from the original parts in terms of style, execution, and symbolism. Seventeenth-century aesthetics have been preserved in some displays. The Death of Seneca, aka the Louvre Fisherman, is perhaps the most famous sculpture where the 17th-century restorations have been kept (fig. 5.2) (Lavin 1989; Montagu 1989a, 91; 1989b, 153–55). Prestige in the European nobility continued to be displayed through collections that included antiquities during the 18th century. The frenzy for collecting antiquities reached unprecedented proportions during the 18th

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century and the first decades of the 19th century. A partial explanation can to be found in the discovery of the paradigmatic sites Pompeii and Herculaneum, and with the introduction and systematization of proto-archaeological investigations. The rich finds from these sites affected the aesthetic tastes of Europe after the mid-18th century. The circulation of antiquities was further facilitated by the growing importance of the Grand Tour. One factor contributing to the increased amount of collections was the notion of the souvenir. Ancient remains were brought back home as a memory of travels and adventures (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 116). On a political level, the Ottoman Empire opened its borders to foreign travelers from the 1770s onward, which made the ancient remains in the Eastern Mediterranean accessible. Emblematic collections such as the Hamilton collection (Ramage 1990) and the Townley collection (Cook 1985) were acquired during the 18th century, or, like the Elgin collection, at the beginning of the 19th century (St. Clair 1998; King 2006; Rothenberg 1977). The coalescence of museums and the redefinition of collecting as a public, as opposed to a private, discourse did not result in a complete rupture, and thereby abandonment of the discourse of private collecting. Traces of this discourse are also detectable in contemporary museum exhibitions. The nucleus of many museum collections were, partly or wholly, private collections. Among the countless examples are the Louvre, the British Museum, Antikensammlung in the Museum Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel, and the Vatican Museums (Bjurström 1993; Duncan and Wallach 1980, 452–53, 464–67; Hamdorf 1992; Pomian 1990, 42; Prior 2002). Although the preceding private provenance is downplayed in some museums, there are also museums that underline it. The references to the discourse of private collecting are articulated in various ways. Taxonomic references are perhaps easiest to detect. The exhibit is arranged according to the earlier private provenance and a collection is displayed as one unit in one or several rooms, a wing, a floor, or even one entire building. In these cases, the museological experience is influenced by the discourse of private collecting. The Farnese collection in the National Archaeological Museum of Naples, the Townley collection in the British Museum, the Salle de Manège in the Louvre, the Palazzo Altemps and the Vatican Museums in Rome are some examples of exhibits where the taxonomic order of the museum space alludes to the discourse of private collecting. This does not necessarily mean that these exhibitions have been preserved over the years. The exhibition of the Townley collection in the British Museum is, for instance, a reconstruction inaugurated in 1984 (Ernst 1992, 165–66; Jenkins 1992, 106–10, 118–24). Another vestige of the discourse of private collecting is the placement of masterpiece sculptures, for example the Capitoline Venus in the Capitoline Museum in Rome, the Lansdowne Herakles in the Getty Villa in Los Angeles, in elaborately ornamented spaces reminiscent of milieus in which the sculptures were placed by their private owners (see fig. 6.5 for the example of the Capitoline Venus). A distinction between preserved or

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newly constructed milieus is redundant here, since both cases allude to the highbrow collecting activities of the European nobility. The ornamentation functions as a contextualization that emphasizes the classicizing tastes. The continuous presence of the discourse of private collecting in displays of ancient sculptures is a reminder of the aestheticizing and elitist foundation of the classical legacy. The legacy of appropriation of the classical tradition is, in itself, a theme in the exhibition; there are museums that present entire milieus of private collecting. The Pompejanum in Aschaffenburg, Germany, and the Getty Villa are perhaps the two most renowned examples. The architectural layout and ornamentation are explicitly influenced by the excavated buildings in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Greenberg 2005; Helmberger and Wünsche 2006). Displaying masterpiece sculptures in these kinds of settings does not only articulate allusions to ancient art as such but also to the legacy of the aesthetic veneration of antiquity. The presence of the discourse of private collecting in museums also has some deeply problematic consequences. International conventions and heritage management laws regulating the trade of cultural objects, as well as changing attitudes, have transformed the image of private collections from prestigious to suspicious. This development has accelerated in the last decade. Laws prohibiting the trade of antiquities had been passed by 1755, reenacted in 1766 and 1769, in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies (Ramage 1990, 472), but the 1970 UNESCO convention, and the subsequent ratifications and implementations by law enforcement agencies, meant that the trade of antiquities has been stigmatized (see Apostolodis 2006; Brodie 2006; Brodie and Tubb 2001; Renfrew 2000). Another facet of the ethical crisis of the museum is, of course, the controversy surrounding the repatriation of human remains in Western museums to indigenous people. Furthermore, the looting of archaeological sites and illicit trade are problems of huge proportions in parts of the third world, for example, Mesopotamia and Peru, in comparison with the Mediterranean world (Atwood 2004). Museums that still aim to enlarge their collections face profound problems. Acquisitions of new objects from antiquity have to be channeled through networks that connect tombaroli with museum curators. Major museums such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Getty Villa have received massive amounts of criticism recently for the acquisition and/or possession of ancient objects with a questionable provenance (Apostolodis 2006; Atwood 2004; Eakin 2006; Felch and Frammolino 2011; Filler 2006; Todeschini and Watson 2006; Watson and Todeschini 2006). In the wake of the Italian prosecution of a curator in the Getty Villa, museums have begun to return objects from Classical Antiquity acquired through illicit trade to Italy, Greece and Turkey. Other museum collections are contested for other more explicit political reasons, for instance the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum (Greenfield 1989; Hamilakis 2007; Yalouri 2001).

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THE COALESCENCE OF MUSEUMS Museums, as public institutions in which interesting objects are collected, preserved and displayed, emerged and coalesced on a wider scale during the long 19th century, that is, between the French Revolution and World War I. The foundation of the Louvre in 1793, during the turbulent years of the French Revolution, was paradigmatic for the development of museums. It may, therefore, be considered as the starting point for a process that ended with the modern museum in the early 20th century. Museums emerged as public institutions in tandem with the modern nation-state. The museum is one of several types of public institutions characteristic of the modern nation-state. Nationalism is an ideological framework that permeates museums. As public institutions, they contribute to redefine their collections as public. With nationalism, the nation, or the people, is redefined as the agent that owns the past and the collections. Simultaneously, the collections are perceived as reflections of the genius and history of the nation. One of our initial assumptions, when we began this study, was that there were distinct differences in the display of ancient sculptures that can be attributed to national discourses. With regard to displays of ancient sculptures, however, it seems that the opposite is the case. We have not been able to identify differences that we can attribute to national discourses. That is, we cannot point to a display and say that this is a Greek, Italian, German or British way of displaying ancient sculptures. The national context determines the structure and organization of the museum, but not the display of ancient sculptures (see Boswell and Evans 1999; Knell 2011). The emergence of the museums was largely, not to say exclusively, a European affair. Museums were shaped by ideological and discursive notions situated within a European trajectory. Outside Europe, the development of museums was characterized by antithetical relations to European conditions. On a scientific and discursive level, museums emulated European discourses. These museums displayed their objects according to taxonomic orders formed by contemporary European perspectives. On a political and ideological level, however, museums outside Europe can be viewed as reactions against prevailing European colonialism. Museums were occasionally established in order to resist colonial powers and to secure the local provenience of the objects. Caught in a matrix of European colonialism museums became institutions through which resistance against prevailing structures were acted out, for instance in the Imperial Museum in Istanbul during the Ottoman Empire (Shaw 2003). Colonialism also had a determining effect on museums in Europe. Colonial power relations were a prerequisite for the acquisition of objects and the establishment of many museums in 19thcentury Europe (Penny 2002). The political context influences the foundation of a museum. Krzystof Pomian has distinguished four patterns that relate the foundations of museums to the surrounding socio-political setting. According to the traditional

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pattern, collections were made accessible to the public gradually. Private collections, church collections and academic collections were redefined as public museums. Some notable examples are the Uffizi in Florence, the Vatican Museums, and the Hermitage in St Petersburg. The revolutionary pattern is the second scheme. These museums are formed by the authorities when they seize objects from a number of different collections. The Louvre is the paradigmatic example. Revolutionary museums were founded across Europe during the Napoleonic Era in provinces/states under Napoleonic control, for example the Prado in Madrid. During the 20th century, museums were created in accordance with the revolutionary pattern in the Soviet Union and China. The third pattern is the philanthropic. Collectors donate their collections for the benefit of the public to an institution. Some examples are the Archaeological Museum in Venice, the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in New York, and the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. The fourth scheme is the commercial. Commercial museums are museums whose initial collections were purchased. The paradigmatic example of a commercial origin for a museum is the founding of the British Museum by the purchase of Sir Hans Sloane’s collection in 1753, after a ruling in the British parliament. These categories overlap partly, and it is occasionally impossible to confine one museum exclusively to one of the mentioned categories (Pomian 1990, 261–67). Although some museums were founded earlier than the Louvre in 1793, no other museum had a comparable impact on the development of museums during the 19th century (McClellan 1994, 200). Symbolically, the foundation of the Louvre marks the emergence of the public museum. In the preceding Luxemburg Gallery, as well as initially in the Louvre, the display was shaped by prevailing 17th- and 18th-century views on art. Art was perceived comparatively. Although the form and sheer size of the objects influenced the arrangement, comparisons were primarily made between the represented motifs of the artworks. Artworks, from different periods and regional/national schools and traditions, representing the same or similar motif, were displayed next to each other in order to facilitate a comparative and contrasting view. A favored technique was to hang a large painting in the center of a wall and flank it on both sides with smaller ones (Duncan and Wallach 1980, 453–54; McClellan 1994, 30–31, 36). Furthermore, artworks were displayed without labels, but a printed catalogue was available to the visitors (McClellan 1994, 38–39). Following a public debate, a new scientific order, founded on the principles of chronology, cultural origin and national schools, was proposed in 1794 and realized gradually after 1802 with the installation of a new professional administration (McClellan 1994, 42, 115). The distinction between an aesthetic/ comparative scheme and a scientific/evolutionary scheme that was made in the Louvre during the 1790s proved to be of pivotal importance. A discussion about the benefits of the respective scheme was a recurrent theme in many museums during the 19th century. Museums change slowly, and the

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transition from aesthetic to scientific displays was not implemented overnight. Comparative arrangements continued to be used in parallel with the scientific scheme in the 19th-century Louvre (McClellan 1994, 107, 128, 140, 144, 145). The scientific scheme has been preferred more frequently during the 20th century. The scientific scheme has been associated with the conceptual reorganization of nature and the emerging discourse of natural history that occurred in the late 18th century. The scientific, rational classification of nature served as a blueprint for the art historical scheme based on the notions of national schools and chronology (Jenkins 1992, 70; McClellan 1994, 81; Pomian 1990, 48;). The conceptual shift also meant that foundational notions in previous discursive regimes, for example the unique, abnormal, and curious, were abandoned in favor of notions such as the common, the regular and the normal, since the latter categories were now regarded as more representative of the laws of nature (Bennett 1995, 41). Nevertheless, the scientific scheme also had some problematic consequences. The scientific taxonomy, which was adopted in Art History, meant that art was arranged in a teleological fashion; in this scheme contemporary art is presented as the inevitable end of the art historical development. It is fair to say that consequently the art of one’s own nation, and the nation as such, was glorified (Duncan and Wallach 1980, 457–63; McClellan 1994, 81). Ancient art is an integrated component in the teleology of the modern nation, since it has been cast as the aesthetic standard in several aesthetic schemes in the Western tradition. Periclean Athens, Augustan Rome and Renaissance Italy served as aesthetic models in 18th-century France, and were viewed as high cultures, which matched the qualities of 18th-century France (McClellan 1994, 189). Classical sculptures were an integrated part of this discourse. The Apollo Belvedere was the most prized sculpture according to Napoleon and was, together with the Laocoön and the Belvedere Torso, confiscated and sent to Paris when he invaded Italy (McClellan 1994, 116, 119). To put it slightly differently, the teleological schemes that are presented in museums tend to cast antiquity as the origin of a tradition in which the contemporary nation is the end. On another level, the emergence of the public museums during the long 19th century were integrated with a wider and more complex transformation of the European societies. With the emergence of the modern nation-state and the associated political and social strategies, an enhanced discursive focus was placed on man and the physical body (see Foucault 1970; 1972). The contribution of modern science to these processes was to establish a new conceptual landscape that singled out man as the central fixed point and meta-narrator of his own history. In relation to this, the museum as a public institution instructed the visitors, through the mediation of a world order and narratives, about man’s place in nature, history and the social fabric. In the museum, the visitors affirm and recapitulate the social order (see Bennett 1995).

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The instructive aim to educate the masses was problematic for museums, due to their elitist tendencies: the values and ideologies museums mediated were (and still are to some extent) views that are representative of the elite. This contradiction was acted out in different ways. On a practical level, we can note that the accessibility to museums was regulated during the bulk of the 19th century. Opening hours, instructions about dress code and behavior can be viewed as techniques that were used to keep unwanted social groups out of the museum (Bennett 1995, 89). The authoritative instructions concerning the behavior of the visitor are perhaps the origin for a sentiment of sacralization where the museum experience is compared with a religious experience (Duncan and Wallach 1980, 448–51). Carol Duncan has coined the term “civilizing rituals” in order to describe the sentiments of awe and contemplation in front of the exhibited objects. Although museums were intended for all, they did not include and exhibit the cultural reality of all. In other words, museums manifested the cultural authority of the ruling classes (Bennett 1995, 109, 118). The intrinsic elitism of the museums is also indicated through other channels. The sparse labeling of the objects, coupled with a negligence to explain the criteria/foundations of the taxonomic order contributes to enhance the elitism of the museums, since this presupposes a level and kind of knowledge which is “natural” in prevailing aesthetic and ideological discourses in a society. Exhibitions are founded on a preconceived (invisible) order which is legible for those who share the knowledge, and illegible for those who do not (Bennet 1995, 165). In the end, the contradiction between the intention to be for all people, and the reality of being of the elite, can be boiled down to a principle of universality. Museums, as institutions that address all of the people, should give nothing less than a balanced amount of attention to all segments of society. As long as we accept the principle of universality, we also agree that misrepresentations of different groups should be corrected (Bennett 1995, 91, 102–3). The inability of many museums to comply with the principle of universality is one of the major causes for the ethical crisis of museums that we are witnessing at the turn of the 21st century. Although there were discussions about arranging ancient sculptures according to the scientific scheme, the general appreciation and concern for ancient sculptures continued to be chiefly aesthetic during the 19th century. The classical legacy, which is represented primarily by the classical sculptures, was esteemed and regarded as a universal aesthetic ideal in which contemporary artist found inspiration. Straightforward copies, adaptations and emulations of parts of the classical legacy were commonplace and appreciated in the aesthetic schemes and discourses of 19th-century Europe. One indication of the aesthetic focus of the ancient legacy in museums is the utilization of specific display techniques. The lighting of the museum’s spaces influences the appreciation of the museum’s objects. The lighting arrangement in several museums was discussed during the 19th century. Two main options were discussed: an

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Figure 5.3 Display of Classical sculpture in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München).

aesthetic and a scientific scheme (Jenkins 1992, 44–48). The scientific scheme included top-lighted spaces, using large windows high up on walls or skylights, which provided evenly distributed lighting for the objects. Crucially, the even light did not cast any sharp shadows on the exhibited objects. This facilitated a close scrutiny of the entire object from all angles. The second aesthetic scheme, conceptualized as antithetical to the first, utilized side lighting. Large windows in one or several walls result in bright exhibition spaces but they also create sharp shadows on the objects. The distinct, sharp contrasts on the exhibited objects were perceived as aesthetic. This lighting arrangement was more suitable for artistic practices since it created a more dramatic environment for the ancient sculptures (Jenkins 1992, 41–42; Potts 1980a, 269–75). The large windows which face an inner courtyard in the Glyptothek in München are an indicative feature of aesthetic lighting arrangements that has remained intact (fig. 5.3). Considering the more explicit educational aims of plaster cast collections and museums, it should not come as a surprise that plaster cast museums, for instance the Akademisches

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Figure 5.4 Plaster casts in the Akademisches Kunstmuseum, Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn in October 2006 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Akademisches Kunstmuseum, Bonn).

Kunstmuseum: Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn founded 1819, also have aesthetic lighting arrangements (fig. 5.4) (Ehrhardt 1982). The coloring and ornamentation of the walls and the ceilings in the museum space are other aspects influencing our museum experience. A renewed interest in elaborate ornamentations on the ceilings, and wall colors that were in sharp contrast to the exhibited objects is detectable from the mid-19th century onward. A preferred color was deep red.1 The red color enhanced the contrast between the marble-white sculptures and the background. A partial explanation for the use of red was the archaeological finds in Pompeii, and the finds of fragments of red color on ancient sculptures. In other words, the aesthetic scheme was founded on a notion of “archaeological correctness” (Jenkins 1992, 44–45). The red color was justified by the archaeological finds of architectural interiors of the same color. Another argument used in favor of an aesthetic scheme in displays of ancient sculptures was that this setting veiled dust, dirt and stains on the marblewhite sculptures. The contrast between the object and the surrounding setting was desired, since it facilitated an aesthetic appreciation of the objects. This corresponded with the prevailing art historical tastes, since art was arranged in order to enhance the contrast between different representations of a motif. Color schemes and architectural ornamentation, like lighting arrangements, in museum spaces were conceptualized along the lines of a division between the aesthetic and the scientific. Examples of an aesthetic color

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scheme with red walls can be found in the Pompejanum in Aschaffenburg (Helmberger and Wünsche 2006). The National Archaeological Museum in Athens has preserved the aesthetic scheme, and in particular the intense red wall color, only in room 21 (housing the famous Jockey of Artemision) (see fig. 6.8). In the 19th century, however, the entire sculpture collection was displayed according to this aesthetic scheme (Giakoumis and Bonato 2005, 68–69, 81). The red color was common in museums during the second-half of the 19th century. Another example is the Belvedere, which was painted red inside. Red drapes were hung behind the Venus de Milo in the Louvre (Jenkins 1992, 53). The prevailing taxonomy of ancient sculptures during the 19th century continued to be representational. Ancient sculptures were ordered according to whom they represented. A preferred taxonomy was to group sculptures representing Olympic gods together, minor deities and heroes grouped in a second category, and sculptures portraying humans in a third category. This division was found in the Villa Albani, the Pio Clementino in the Vatican Museum, and the Louvre, for instance. This scheme was hierarchical, since portraits of gods were viewed as artworks that manifested the ideals of art in a superior way to the other categories. There was a perceived correlation between what the sculptures represented and the artist’s skills (Jenkins 1992, 58). In the Palazzo Nuovo, Capitoline Museums, they have explicitly preserved an 18th-century environment. The ornamental scheme differs from the 19th-century aesthetic mainly in the choice of architectural details, but there is a clear resemblance to the earlier taxonomic divisions, and can serve as an indicative example of the taxonomic aspects of the aesthetic schemes (fig. 5.5). PLASTER CASTS—AN AESTHETIC DETOUR The wide circulation of plaster casts of ancient sculptures indicates the aesthetic perspective that dominated the concerns with ancient sculptures during the 19th century. Bandinelli’s official replica of the Laocoön group from 1525 marked the moment when modern culture began to imitate the classical legacy (Barkan 1999, 277–78). The demand for reproductions of ancient sculptures by the private collectors resulted in the development of an industry of specialized, and occasionally officially sanctioned, workshops that produced copies across Europe (Haskell and Penny 1981). Copies of ancient sculptures were initially made in marble and other materials. It was only in the 19th century that plaster became the favored material for copies of ancient sculptures. Leading museums such as the Louvre and the Metropolitan Museum of Art had their own molding departments (Wallach 1998, 49). The widespread circulation of plaster casts can partially be explained by the fact that plaster casts were the only available medium that provided an accurate representation of the original sculpture. Many encountered

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Figure 5.5 Interior from the Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome).

the canonical masterpiece only through the plaster casts in the museums. In other words, the wide circulation of plaster casts was decisive for the dissemination of the classical legacy. Although plaster casts were an inseparable part of the discourse of collecting antiquities, cultural developments during the 18th and 19th centuries further increased their circulation. Artistic education consisted of practicing the artistic skills in front of canonical sculptures. The gradual formalization of artistic education, which was completed with the establishment of academies during the 18th century, fueled the demand for plaster casts. This discourse had two profound effects on museums during the 19th century. First, museum displays made it possible for artists and art students to practice their skills on new objects. It was common to encounter art students in the hallways of museums during the 19th century. Some museums, such as the British Museum, regulated the admittance of art students to their collections (Jenkins 1992, 30–31). Secondly, the displays of ancient objects incorporated a considerable amount of plaster casts. Plaster casts were necessary for the museums in order to meet instructive expectations. A display about antiquity without the inclusion of plaster casts of masterpiece sculptures did not have the same lure. To some degree, the role of the museums overlapped with the role of the academies. The wide dispersal of plaster casts in 19th-century museums confirms that the ancient legacy was primarily appreciated for its aesthetic qualities. Authentic objects were not preferable to copies, and museums did not restrict their displays only to authentic

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ancient objects. Indeed, the puzzling opinion that plaster casts are preferable to authentic ancient objects was expressed in serious debates about the role of the museums (Jenkins 1992, 33–34; Wallach 1998, 38). This opinion can be associated with the instructive and educational preconceptions of the aims of the museums. The value and function of the museum was largely defined by its ability to familiarize artists and visitors with the masterpieces of the classical legacy. Cast collections in museums varied. Some museums aimed to have an extensive collection of plaster casts and ended up with impressive displays. Some renowned cast collections are the Akademisches Kunstmuseum in Bonn (Connor 1989, 190–2), Berlin (Connor 1989, 192–97; Marchand 2000, 182–83), University of Göttingen and University of Tübingen (Connor 1989, 203–7), Cambridge (Connor 1989, 216–18), München, the Fogg Museum at Harvard University (Preziosi 1989, 73–74), the 19th-century cast museum in Athens (Gazi 1998), the Slater Memorial Museum in Connecticut, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (Connor 1989, 227–29; Wallach 1998, 38–46).2 There were also organizational differences in the museums that we can attribute to national developments. Cast collections in Germany (except for the Berlin collection) were assembled by universities, and can be associated with the important cultural role of Altertumswissenschaft in 19th-century German society (Marchand 1996). In the UK, however, it was art education and instruction of public taste that propelled the discourse of casts (Connor 1989, 211). The plaster cast collections in many museums, however, were small. In these restricted cast collections, a restricted number of canonical masterpiece sculptures were displayed repeatedly. Some prominent examples of this include: the Apollo Belvedere, the Laocoön, the Belvedere Torso, the Farnese Herakles, the Diskobolos, the Borghese Warrior, the Venus de Medici and, later, the Venus de Milo, the Nike from Samothrace and the Hermes with the Infant Dionysus of Praxiteles.3 The cast collecting frenzy during the 19th century also meant that plaster casts were made very soon after the discovery of the original. A plaster cast of the Venus de Milo was displayed in the Louvre in 1821, and in Berlin in 1822 (Connor 1989, 193). The discursive preference for complete artworks contributed to the wide circulation of plaster casts. Fragmentary art was not appreciated to the same extent before the aesthetic turn toward a formalistic understanding of art in the early 20th century. For instance, in the Louvre in the 1860s, the Venus de Milo was one of very few objects displayed in fragmentary condition (Newhouse 2005, 52). It is also noteworthy that the canonical sculptures, most often in the form of plaster casts, were displayed in prominent positions in the museums (Connor 1989, 190–1). When the national museum in Berlin moved in to a new building in 1859, the entire first floor was filled with plaster casts (Marchand 2000, 182). The visitor should first be familiarized with the ancient masterpieces before he or she continued to see later art. In a way, the taxonomic order as such conveyed the important role of

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Figure 5.6a The 19th-century display of the pedimental sculpture from the Aphaia temple in the Glyptothek München (from Verneisel & Leinz 1980, 200, fig. 3. Permission to reproduce the image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München)

ancient art as the standard to which later art should be compared (see Siapkas and Sjögren 2007, 153–54). During the 19th century, the aesthetic appreciations of the ancient sculptures were primarily responsible for shaping museum displays. Plaster casts were also incorporated in archaeological displays, which, in most cases, meant architecturally correct displays, during the 19th century. In other words, displays of an architectural setting, which aimed to render an accurate reproduction of an archaeological context, included restored parts and plaster casts that complemented the authentic parts. The desire for completeness was stronger than the notion of authenticity. In the Glyptothek in München, the display in 1830 of the pedimental sculptures of the Aphaia temple was restored by the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen (fig. 5.6a) (Diebold 1995, 60). In the display of the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum, ca 40 percent of the display consisted of plaster casts until the 1920s (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 115; Jenkins 1992, 226). The utilization of plaster casts was not restricted to the museums during the 19th century. Casts were displayed in various public contexts, such as world exhibitions, art schools, academies and universities. Plaster casts

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were also made of other types of artworks (Jenkins 1992, 127–28; Wallach 1998, 39). On a private level, the increased circulation of plaster casts can be explained by the development of the Grand Tour. Plaster casts functioned as souvenirs for the returning Grand Tourists (Fitzpartick Nichols 2006, 116). At the other end of the social spectrum, we find “The Paris 1867 Convention for Promoting Universally Reproductions of Works of Art for the Benefit of Museums of All Countries,” which mandated the unrestricted circulation of cast molds across Europe, and was signed by fifteen heads of states (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 117). Plaster casts were serious business in the 19th century. In archaeology, the possibility of making plaster casts of finds was important. The treaty regulating the German excavations in Olympia, which began in 1875, included a clause granting the Germans the right to make plaster casts of every find within five years (Connor 1989, 189–90). The discourse of cast collecting, that is practices of manufacturing, acquiring and displaying, reached its peak in many nations between 1870 and World War I (Connor 1989, 187, 211; Wallach 1998, 46; Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 117). Ironically, it was during this period that some of the causes for the decline of plaster casts emerged and spread. One of the reasons for the disregard of plaster casts was the widespread use of photography as a reproductive technique. Photographs were early on viewed as snapshots of reality, and their widespread usage made plaster casts obsolete. Slideshow lectures and slideshow archives were incorporated as fundamental techniques in art historical discourses, which undermined the role of plaster casts (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 118; Nelson 2000; Preziosi 1989, 72–73). Aesthetic changes that occurred around World War I were another crucial factor. With the advent of a new art discourse characterized by formalistic avant-garde modernism, the classical legacy was no longer viewed as the undisputed artistic ideal. Art students did not spend countless hours copying ancient sculpture and artists did not seek inspiration in the ancient sculptures. The plaster casts lost their attraction and were subsequently removed from the exhibition spaces (Jenkins 1992, 40). Displays of plaster casts have reemerged lately as part of a post-modern, self-reflective discourse in which the tradition of museum exhibitions is included in the display (see Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 120–27). The emergence and spread of the notion of authenticity also contributed to the demise of casts. Gradually, during the late 19th century, the authenticity of the displayed objects became an important feature of the museum. This can be associated with the gradual rise in importance and influence of Classical Archaeology during the late 19th century. As a result, antiquity was temporalized; the aesthetic qualities of ancient sculptures were no longer regarded as timeless, but confined to a chronological past. The distinction between authentic and copy emerged as a fundamental concern (Beard 2000, 161). Copies and plaster casts, however skillful, were no longer of

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interest as museum objects. Nevertheless, ancient sculptures continued to be studied as artworks by the scholarly community. Scholarly elaborations concerning ancient sculptures evolved around stylistic issues and other traditional art historical concerns. The identification of masterpieces, attributions of sculptures to individual sculptors or schools, and the discourse of Kopienkritik dominated scholarly elaborations on ancient sculptures during the 20th century (see p. 45–51). The actual removal of the plaster casts from the display was occasionally controversial. When the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, moved to a new building in 1909, their cast collection was not displayed. The Boston museum was the leading museum in the USA at the time and this decision signaled the beginning of a process. It was, however, also preceded by a long controversy, between one side defending the display of casts and an opposing side, which eventually prevailed, arguing for the removal of the copies (Whitehill 1970, 172–217; Wallach 1998, 49–53). Similarly, the display of plaster casts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, was also controversial. The museum’s director from 1879 to 1904, Luigi Palma di Cesnola, wanted to remove the casts from the display, but the committee organized to investigate the issue had an opposing view (Wallach 1998, 54, 56). In fact, the Metropolitan purchased most of its plaster cast between 1883 and 1895, and a separate cast display was organized in 1889, when Cesnola was director (Connor 1989, 227). The rather slow development in the Metropolitan testifies to the intrinsic inertia that inhabits large institutions; it takes time to implement changes. Similarly, we can observe that a cast display was organized in the British Museum only in 1909. This display was dispersed in 1930 (Jenkins 1992, 214–15). The animosity toward plaster casts was also channeled through other more brutal ways. In the 1920s and the 1930s, students in art schools in the US smashed casts ceremonially (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 119; Lowenthal 1985, 380). Plaster casts are an anomaly in the 20th-century aesthetic regime. A new attitude toward plaster casts manifested in the early 20th century. Old discourses, however, tend to linger. Some museums did not remove their casts from the displays until the second-half of the 20th century; there are even examples of cast displays that were inaugurated during the 20th century, in sharp contrast to the prevailing discourse (Wallensten 2009). During the last decade of the 20th century, there was a renewed interest in plaster casts. This was manifested in the reopening and reconstruction of plaster cast displays. Scholars have also shown an increasing interest in the history of plaster casts and their exhibition in 19th-century museums. The distinct change in taste, which meant an appraisal of the notion of the authentic in the early 20th century, does not preclude an appreciation of the original prior to this turn. Haskell and Penny, in their seminal elaboration on the appropriation of the classical legacy in Early Modern and Modern Europe, claim that the travellers to Italy from the 16th century actually preferred the original ancient art works to the copies (Haskell and

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Penny 1981, xiii). In 17th-century German art academies, plaster casts were collected because of the shortage of originals (Marchand 2000, 182). Wallach mentions that 19th-century artists often praised the original, and point out the inferior quality of the copies (Wallach 1998, 53–54). Although a distinction between the original and the copy was made, however, there was not a unanimous preference for the original. Copies and plaster casts had a prominent place in the museum space before the turn toward a new formalistic modern art discourse. AESTHETIC DISPLAYS OF ANCIENT SCULPTURES AND THE ACADEMIC SETTING 19th-century museum displays of ancient sculptures emphasized aesthetic aspects. According to prevailing views, ancient sculptures embodied universally valid aesthetic ideals; artists were supposed to emulate them, and other types of art were compared to classical art. The interiors of museum spaces were designed to create settings that facilitated an aesthetic appreciation of the ancient sculptures. Art displays were conceived to create contrasts and to facilitate comparisons between the different objects. The represented motif was considered more important than formal qualities, which also meant that the principle of cultural origins did not dictate the taxonomy of the displays. Displays of ancient sculptures were ordered according to representational themes. An opposing discourse, which gradually grew more important but did not mature until around World War I, was the scientific. The scientific scheme, which ordered the objects according to their chronological and cultural origin, was realized during the 19th century, albeit to a limited extent. World War I marked an important turn for the arrangements of museum displays. An important difference between before and after this rupture was the amount of objects put on display. 19th-century museum spaces were overcrowded with objects, in sharp contrast to the 20th-century modernistic scheme characterized by the careful selection of few objects, displayed in discreet bright settings (see also Penny 2002, 205). The aesthetic focus on the classical legacy was also nurtured by the academic research of the time. Compared with today’s standards, field archaeological techniques were underdeveloped. Classical Archaeology focused on the retrieval and publication of architectural remains and single objects, primarily on esteemed ancient sculptures and decorated ceramics. The analytical focus of the scholarly community was restricted to the description and identification of the retrieved objects. In a sense, the naïve empiristic foundation for Classical Archaeology was conditioned by the veneration of the classical legacy, since the pre-existing Neoclassical grand narrative precluded any attempts to reinterpret the ancient past in any substantial way, while, simultaneously, the aestheticization of the classical legacy was further enforced with every new find that classical archaeologists unearthed.

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Another association between scholarship and museums resides in the politics of acquisition. The vast majority of ancient sculptures in museums were acquired during the 19th century. It is hard to pinpoint exact chronological boundaries, but until around the mid-19th century, acquisitions were often made through field practices that did not utilize stratigraphy and other modern archaeological field techniques. Single objects were removed from their original setting and displayed in the emerging museums. These practices can also be associated with the political discourse of colonialism. The political power structures of the time, with a clear and defined world center in Western Europe, facilitated the collection and transportation of antiquities to the museums (Penny 2002; Marchand 1996). Furthermore, our conceptualization of antiquity was also formulated by the appropriation of antiquity in the European tradition. The gradual introduction of systematic field practices during the latter half of the 19th century regulated dissemination of antiquities to a higher degree. In some cases, museums were founded on the sites, in other cases treaties regulated which parts of the archaeological finds would be given to the excavating countries. A colonial power relationship, in which Western Europe had a hegemonic position and the Mediterranean nations were in a subordinate position, set the discursive landscape in which the museums of the 19th century emphasized the classical legacy. The display of ancient sculptures, as well as the wider discourse of ancient studies, is preconditioned by a world order with a defined colonial center aspiring to be the descendants of the classical legacy. CONSTRAINED MODERNISM A profound change in the aesthetics of museum displays occurred on a wide scale around World War I. This conceptual shift affected different kinds of museums, for example ethnographic, archaeological, historical and art museums, and had repercussions for museums in many nations. This conceptual turn is manifested in changes in a range of display techniques. Colorful walls and elaborate architectural features in the exhibition spaces of museums were replaced with different shades of white and the suppression of eye-catching architectural details. The lighting arrangements were changed from artistic shadow-generating, to intense lighting that did not generate any shadows on the objects.4 The museum space, as such, became intensely bright. The space between the exhibited objects was furthermore increased in the 20th-century displays. The cramped museum space that governed the 19th-century displays reached its antithesis in the minimalistic modernism of the 20th century. The modernistic scheme seems to be governed by the notions that nothing shall disturb the visual field of the visitor, and that the display arrangements shall facilitate scrutiny of the objects from all angles (Bazin 1967, 264–65; McClellan 1994, 31; Sheehan 2000, 178–84). The removal of the plaster casts was also part of the conceptual turn. The notion

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of authenticity emerged as a primary concern with the modernistic display scheme. Restorations and modern additions to the ancient objects were also removed during the 20th century. A primary concern was to display only authentic objects. This stands in contrast to the prevailing practices, between mid-17th-century Baroque and early 19th-century Neoclassicism, of restoring the objects put on display. Notable exceptions to this rule are the Parthenon Marbles and Venus de Milo, which were never restored. The ancient sculptures were temporalized in the modernistic scheme; only objects that were identified as ancient were put on display. The aura of timelessness was lost, and the ancient sculptures were presented according to their chronological and cultural origin. The conceptual turn in the early 20th century resulted in profound changes in the museum space. On a taxonomic level, however, the 20th-century modernistic scheme resembles, and is de facto a continuation of, the 19th-century scientific scheme. The conceptual shift in the museums is part of a wider discursive transformation that took place during the 19th century. This discourse provides us with a conceptual legitimization for the scientific and later modernistic exhibition schemes. “Zadig’s method,” as this discourse has been denoted, is a formalization of an inquiring technique based on solving problems through “back-telling” inference founded on minute scrutiny of evidence. Typically, the emphasis is placed on observations of small, seemingly insignificant, details. These are interpreted as signs or effects of a past reality, which can be reconstructed with Zadig’s method. This discourse attributes empirical evidence with an unprecedented importance. Various professions emerged or increased their cultural status owing to the spread of Zadig’s method during the late 19th century. Paradigmatic figures such as the detective, the medical doctor, the art historian and the archaeologist are all children of Zadig. The cultural role of archaeology and the coalescence of it as a formal academic profession would be inconceivable without this discourse. Museums, which stored and displayed objects, were an intrinsic part of Zadig’s method since they made empirical observations possible. Furthermore, the taxonomic ordering of the displays mediated the objects as clues for another reality, which testified to the accuracy of this discourse (Bennett 1995, 177–79; see also Penny 2002, 24–25; see p. 23–26). The aesthetic scheme was founded on the universal value of ancient sculptures. The scientific scheme, in which the museum objects were displayed according to their chronological and cultural origins, mediates the notion that the ancient sculptures are clues to an ancient, past reality. The adoption of scientific taxonomic schemes that emphasized the original contexts of the ancient sculptures can be viewed as an indirect result of the impact of Zadig’s method, since it denotes a discourse emphasizing inductive empirical observations. This emphasis was intrinsic to the modern science that emerged with the Enlightenment, but did not coalesce until the late 19th century. This mirrors the organization of displays of ancient sculptures. In displays of ancient sculptures, the scientific scheme was not adopted on a

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wide scale until the early 20th century, although it was discussed from 1793 when the Louvre was founded. The museological development of ancient sculpture display can be viewed as a prolonged cultural struggle between the aesthetic and scientific discourses (Marchand 2000). The rearrangement of aesthetic displays into scientific displays, in effect chronologically based taxonomies, was in many cases a slow process (Jenkins 1994, 242–43; also Penny 2002, 80). Scientific displays during the 19th century can be viewed as the forerunners to the 20th-century modernistic scheme. Architectural sculptures, in particular, were displayed in “archaeologically correct” ways from the early 19th century. The reorganization of the display of the ancient sculptures in the Glyptothek in München in the 1960s is one telling example of the implementation of the new aesthetic regime (fig. 5.6b).5 The most renowned pieces in the Glyptothek, the pedimental sculptures from the Temple of Aphaia, Aegina, were restored by the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen between 1816 and 1818 according to the aesthetic tastes of the time. When the Glyptothek opened to the public in 1830, these restored sculptures were an integrated part of the Gesamtkunstverk (total work of art) formed by the elaborate interior space of the Glyptothek (Diebold 1995, 60). The aesthetic regime of Neoclassicism did not exclude chronological considerations altogether, although these kind of arrangements were rare. The general order of the ancient sculptures in the 1830 display was founded on the stylistic taxonomy of Winckelmann (Potts 1980a, 262–67). Furthermore, the architectural sculpture from the temple of Aphaia was also presented in a way whereby the original architectural context was considered, which is still the case. The changing aesthetic regimes have not affected the architectural contextualization of these sculptures, but rather the attitude toward the restorations and the degree of ornamentation in the museum spaces. The criticism of the 1830 arrangement that Furtwängler, the Glyptothek’s director, expressed in 1901 concerned the incorrectness of Thorvaldsen’s restoration, in the light of the new archaeological finds. The realization of a minimalistic modern display of the Aphaia sculptures, where the acute concern for authenticity precluded the incorporation of restorations and plaster casts, was delayed until the 1960s when Thorvaldsen’s restoration were removed for the reopening of the Glyptothek in 1972 (fig. 6.12) (Diebold 1995, 60; Knell and Kruft 1972; Maass 1984). Another important example of how the museum displays were reorganized is the display of the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum. As one of the more well-known and popular displays in the British Museum, it is not surprising that the display of the Parthenon marbles was rearranged several times during the 19th century. These arrangements evolved around the central issue of whether the sculptures should be presented as art or as archaeological parts of an architectural whole. Display of the sculptures as

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Figure 5.6b The interior of the Glyptothek in München after the reopening in 1972. This photograph is taken from the same location as fig. 5.6a. (from Verneisel & Leinz 1980, 393, fig. 5. Permission to reproduce the image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München).

artworks meant that the arrangement did not regard the relative architectural relationship between each piece as primary. In contrast, by displaying the sculptures as architectural elements, the relative position of each object was dictated by the original architectural placement. Interestingly, the arguments in favor of displaying the Parthenon marbles according to architectural contextualization also favored the exhibition of plaster casts of the missing parts.6 Both these positions, however, were embedded within a wider Neoclassical aesthetic regime, which meant that the exhibition space was crowded with objects. The rearrangement of the display of the Parthenon marbles, in accordance with the demands of the modernistic scheme, was decided in 1934, although it was not realized until 1962 (fig. 5.7) (Jenkins 1992, 75–101, 221–30). The modernistic scheme also had consequences for the displays of freestanding ancient sculptures. Displays based on representational and thematic orders were rearranged into chronological taxonomies. The contrasting backgrounds were replaced by a neutral white background, with nothing to disturb the visual field of the visitor. The objects were displayed in a linear sequence that underlined the evolution of artistry. Typical narratives in these

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Figure 5.7 The Parthenon gallery in the British Museum, London (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum).

exhibitions evolved around the artists, artistic and regional schools, and the transfer of motifs. The possibility of reconstructing the lost Greek originals through the preserved Roman copies, which dominated academic studies about ancient sculptures, received special attention in these exhibitions. The impact of the modernistic scheme has been profound. Greek museums that display ancient sculptures often employ the modernist scheme. This does not mean that all features of the modernist discourse are to be found in each museum; practical limitations shape the physical arrangement of the ancient sculptures. Generally, ancient sculptures are presented as a separate category in chronological order, in neutral settings. The exhibition of ancient sculptures in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, which reopened in connection with the 2004 Olympic Games, is an exhibition that bears the hallmarks of the modernistic aesthetic scheme. The sculptures are separated from other finds and presented in an evolutionary scheme in a neutral and bright environment.7 Regional, local and site museums in Greece, like the museums in Kavalla, Argos, Kos, Delos, Paros, Olympia, Delphi, Eretria and Chalkis also display sculptures according to the modernistic discourse (for the example from the archaeological museum on Delos, see fig. 8.7). Architectural sculptures, most notably in important site museums such as Olympia and Delphi, are contextualized architecturally. These sculptures are partially contextualized, since they are related to the

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Figure 5.8 Ancient sculpture displayed in the museum of the Palatine, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma).

architectural history of the site. The socio-archaeological aspects such as the functions of the sculptures are not addressed in these exhibitions. In most displays of sculpture, even the architectural contextualization is missing. Displays of sculpture are organized according to chronology. Stylistic periods are the taxonomic backbone for the display in the museums in Argos and Kavalla, for instance. These arrangements articulate the modernistic discourse on account of the neutral museum interior and the teleological narrative scheme (see Gazi 2008; Kokkou 1977; Mouliou 2008). The modernistic discourse is also relevant for the Italian museums. Regional and site museums like the museums in Paestum, Reggio di Calabria, Arezzo, Verona and Naples display sculptures according to the modernistic scheme (for the example of the archaeological museum of Naples, see fig. 8.4).8 The taxonomy of these museums is often based on spatial and chronological criteria. These displays do not mediate the internal stylistic development of ancient sculptures; instead they emphasize more general cultural developments. In another category of museums, for instance the Palazzo Massimo and Palatine in Rome as well as the museum in Ostia, ancient sculptures are presented as a separate entity (see for example the museum of the Palatine, fig. 5.8). These taxonomic schemes emphasize the internal stylistic evolution of ancient sculptures. This kind of display is rare in Italian museums, where ancient sculptures are more often displayed according to the aesthetic scheme or as archaeological evidence. Furthermore, many

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Italian museums are located in old preserved buildings, which limit the possibilities for creating museum spaces according to the aesthetic of the modernistic schemes. Features of the modernistic exhibition discourse are also common in other museums. The primary common denominator in these exhibitions is the separation of the ancient sculptures. Other characteristics employed in varying degrees are the art-historical narratives and the neutral, unobtrusive settings. A few prominent examples are; the sculpture hall in the Metropolitan Museum of Arts in New York, the Skulpturhalle in the Antikensammlung in Basel, and the Liebieghaus in Frankfurt am Main (see fig. 6.11 and 7.1). All three opened during the second-half of the 20th century: the Basel exhibition in 1962, the Metropolitan in 1999, and the Liebieghaus in 1955. Modernistic exhibitions incorporate evolutionary notions (Bennett 1995, 213; see also p. 90–91). Displaying ancient sculptures as a separate analytical entity emphasizes the stylistic development of ancient sculptures and art. Displaying ancient sculptures together with other objects from antiquity enforces evolutionary schemes on another level. Evolutionary notions are also emphasized when objects from Classical Antiquity are placed in the beginning of the path through the exhibition. Classical Antiquity is mediated as the starting point for a teleological development that reaches its climax in contemporary culture. In the modernistic scheme, history gradually evolves into something better; each period refines the achievements of the previous. In other words, the modernistic taxonomy continues to convey notions that were commonplace from the late 19th to early 20th century. This was the period when the modernistic scheme was conceived. The evolutionary perspective was widely accepted during this period and had profound effects on Classical Archaeology, Archaeology and Anthropology. The evolutionary perspective contributed to legitimize the political order of the time. Evolutionary ideas were fundamental for the colonial and racist political order of the time (Penny 2002). Evolutionism is yet another discursive background that contributed to the spread of the modernistic scheme in museum displays of ancient sculptures. A conceptual division often applied in museum studies is the distinction between cultural and aesthetic displays. The first category denotes displays that aim to mediate a reality of another culture, whereas the second discourse is governed by the mediation of the aesthetic beauty of the displayed objects. One difference is that whereas cultural displays aim to mediate and give some sense of a whole culture, aesthetic displays focus on the aesthetic qualities of single objects. As usual, the distinction is not absolute, but rather are extremes on a continuum (Siapkas and Sjögren 2007). This division is particularly acute in relation to a category of displays that is found in museums such as the Altes Museum in Berlin, the Schloss Wilhelsmhöhe Antikensammlung in Kassel, and the Archaeological Museum in Thessaloniki. In these displays, the sculptures are not separated from other categories of finds, and antiquity is presented from an archaeological perspective.

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The exhibitions mediate information about antiquity as a historical period. The emphasis is on the qualities of ancient sculptures as archaeological evidence. In these displays, the sculptures are integrated in archaeological and cultural contexts, together with ceramics and other finds. The common analytical separation of ancient sculptures, and the emphasis on their stylistic development, is not evident in these displays. These types of displays highlight the variation of sculpture. First, ordinary sculptures (i.e., those less famous) are often displayed in a way different from the masterpiece sculptures, and are culturally contextualized to a higher degree than are masterpieces. Overall, Classical Antiquity is mediated through archaeological concerns in these displays. The difference between the display of masterpieces and ordinary sculptures indicates how difficult it is to draw clear-cut lines between art and archaeology in Classical Archaeology. Whereas ordinary sculptures are presented as archaeological evidence, canonical masterpieces are displayed as artworks, for instance at the Kassel Apollo in Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, Kassel, or the Praying Boy in the Altes Museum in Berlin (see fig. 6.9). Secondly, in these displays socio-functional dimensions of the masterpieces are conveyed. Ancient sculptures are not contextualized stylistically in these displays. The aesthetic appreciation of ancient sculptures is reduced and the original cultural settings and meanings are emphasized instead, as for instance in the Archaeological Museum in Thessaloniki. The socio-functional emphasis contributes to a de-aestheticization of the sculptures. The advance toward a scientific conceptualization of ancient sculptures does, in fact, reach its peak here, since paradigmatic high-brow artworks are also mediated as archaeological evidence. This museological turn mirrors a relatively recent research interest in the socio-functional aspects of ancient sculptures in antiquity (e.g., Hölscher 2004; Zanker 1998). The scientific/modernistic display scheme is also anchored in the scholarly discourse of Classical Archaeology. The issues of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik have dominated academic concerns of ancient sculptures (see p. 45–51). In other words, academic research has focused on artists and the appearance of the now-lost Greek original sculptures. Roman copies of Greek sculptures are interesting, as they provide information on the original sculptures. In accordance with these concerns, ancient sculptures are displayed in the chronological order of the Greek originals. Roman copies are not regarded as active emulations, with consequences for the appearance of the sculpture, and exhibitions are, therefore, not arranged according to “Roman” criteria. The taxonomic schemes are of particular relevance here. The correspondence between academic discourses and museum displays of ancient sculptures is expressed in the order and the context that the different taxonomies emphasize. The display of sculptures as a separate entity, for instance, mirrors the academic compartmentalization and art historical discourse in Classical Archaeology. Scholars in this tradition have paid particular attention to art historical issues, such as the stylistic developments, master artists,

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art schools and regional styles emphasized in this museological taxonomy. On the other hand, the taxonomies that contextualize the sculptures culturally, that is portray them as archaeological evidence, mirrors the academic concerns of socio-functional archaeologists. Here, sculptures are integrated with other categories of finds. SUMMARY It is time to summarize the genealogic development of displays of ancient sculptures. We have identified three major discourses which influence the display of ancient sculptures. Although there is a chronological side to the development, we should also stress that these discourses continue to be visible in different museum settings. Vestiges and traces of earlier discourses continue to linger on. In some cases, museums are even actively preserving settings from a given period. The slow pace of change that large institutions generally have facilitates an interpretation of museum displays as traces of previous discourses. First, we have a private aesthetic display with origins in the private collections of ancient sculpture of the European nobility from 15th-century Renaissance Italy onward. Ancient sculptures epitomized universal aesthetic ideals during these times. This meant that they were admired and collected on a one-to-one basis. Sculptures were displayed in niches, galleries and settings with elaborate architectural ornamentations. The aesthetic qualities of the sculptures corresponded with the aesthetic qualities of the background/surrounding milieu. This discourse is detectable in present-day display of single sculptures, like the Cabinet of the Capitoline Venus, or in entire museum settings, like the Palazzo Nuovo in the Capitoline Museums in Rome. The second discourse originated in the 19th-century aesthetic veneration of the Classical legacy. The Neoclassical frenzy for all things classical profoundly influenced our views of the ancient sculptures. Ancient sculptures were admired in unprecedented ways. Private collections of antiquities became a widespread phenomenon and the public museum emerged as an institution. Every major museum strived to have a collection of ancient sculptures. The demand was often higher than the supply, which meant that plaster casts of canonical masterpiece sculptures were displayed. Ancient sculptures were appreciated primarily for their aesthetic qualities. Sculptures were arranged thematically and placed in settings that enhanced the aesthetic aspects. Lighting, wall color and the architectural ornamentations in the interior spaces were arranged for this purpose. This discourse informs the exhibitions in the Aschaffenburg, the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen and in room 21 of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. This discourse shaped the 19th-century displays in the Louvre, the Glyptothek in München and the British Museum.

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In the third scheme, which had wider influence after World War I, but has a clear precedence during the 19th century, ancient sculptures are conceptualized according to scientific concerns. In this discourse, ancient sculptures are displayed as historical evidence. This does not exclude a certain amount of aestheticization of the sculptures, but, in sharp contrast to the aesthetic scheme of the 19th century, the emphasis is not on the exemplary aesthetic qualities of the single objects, rather on the general stylistic evolution. In the modernistic scheme, the ancient sculptures are arranged chronologically. In some displays, ancient sculptures are separated and presented as a closed entity, while contextualizations with other parts of ancient society are made in other arrangements. This discourse is visible in Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig in Basel, the Liebieghaus in Frankfurt am Main, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the present exhibition in the Glyptothek in München inaugurated in 1972. The notion of authenticity is crucial in this discourse; a display loses its historical credibility if it includes copies. The notion of authenticity also marks a conceptual turn that occurred around World War I. It was only then that the scientific discourse gained such weight that plaster casts, integral to the aesthetic discourse, were removed from the displays. The removal of plaster casts contributed to a change in the aesthetics of museum displays. Whereas 19th-century museum spaces were crowded with objects, 20th-century displays are characterized by the limited number of displayed objects. We can tentatively identify three important factors that contributed to the early 20th-century conceptual turn. First, although it would be presumptuous to point to the influence of scholarship as the sole factor, we can nevertheless point to it as a major contributing factor. Classical Archaeology was professionalized and academic concerns began to dictate museum display. Secondly, the notion of authenticity emerged as a primary concern, not the least due to wider appreciation of empirical evidence in late 19th century culture. Thirdly, a new formalistic understanding of art resulted in the dethronement of classical art since its aesthetics was not viewed as universally valid.

6

Masterpieces

INTRODUCTION Exhibitions of objects from antiquity tend to follow a scheme. There are recognizable similarities and repetitions in exhibitions of ancient objects in a wide variety of museums. Similarities in exhibition techniques are of particular interest here, such as mentioning the artist to whom an object has been attributed, or the tendency to focus on a limited set of narrative historical themes (i.e., women, religion and funerary customs) in the displays. This chapter revolves around one trope that we have identified in museum exhibitions of ancient sculptures. Many exhibitions are arranged to culminate at one specific place. At this place, the sense of wonder, or bedazzlement, is the strongest (Greenblatt 1991; also Ames 1986, 39–42; Clifford 1988; Duncan 1995, 4–5, 16–17). A single object—a masterpiece—is often singled out through exhibition techniques that emphasize the unique aesthetic qualities of the masterpiece. Our elaboration will be restricted to classical sculptures. There are, of course, also other types of masterpieces in museums. The following chapter will be divided into two parts. The first part, distinguishing masterpieces, consists of a survey of exhibitions of masterpieces. Exhibition techniques that serve to enhance the uniqueness of the masterpiece will receive particular attention in this part. Distinguishing masterpieces is an attempt to identify techniques that sustain the discourse of masterpieces in a museum setting. The second part, consuming masterpieces, elucidates on articulations of the masterpiece discourse in other, nonmuseum, realms. Casts and images of masterpiece sculptures are reproduced and appropriated in a variety of contexts in popular culture. The survey of popular appropriations of Venus de Milo and Nike of Samothrace serves to illustrate the mutual influences between museums and popular culture more generally. Certain techniques of mediation tend to embody the essential traits of a discourse to a higher degree than other techniques. Coffee-table books are such a technique that mediate the masterpiece discourse. Consuming masterpieces ends with a conclusion that serves to associate the masterpiece discourse with scholarly and disciplinary discourses and thereby provide a discursive and theoretical framework encircling the masterpiece discourse.

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DISTINGUISHING MASTERPIECES In a museum context, a masterpiece is an object that is singled out in the exhibition. This is achieved through the use of a variety of exhibition techniques, such as the arrangement of the lighting, and the information material used to present an exhibition. The spatial arrangement of the sculptures in the exhibition is also of pivotal importance (see Newhouse 2005). Masterpieces are often placed in the middle of a room in a way that ensures a surrounding larger void in comparison to the other objects in the exhibition. Other kinds of placements, indicative of the discourse of masterpieces, are the display of an isolated sculpture at the top of a staircase, or the display of an object in a niche or a cabinet. Niches were used in the Papal Belvedere garden in the early 16th century to exhibit sculptures (Haskell and Penny 1981, 10). Both these placements secure a large, void space around the masterpieces. These arrangements do not only signal to the visitor that they should pay more attention to these sculptures, but they also facilitate an examination of even the smallest details of the objects. The detachment of the masterpieces from the bulk of the displayed objects enforces a discourse that emphasizes the exemplary aesthetic qualities of the masterpieces. The Charioteer, excavated during the spring of 1896, is a bronze statue exhibited in the museum at Delphi (Chamoux 1955; Colonia 2006, 17–25; Vatin 1991/1992). In this largely archaeological museum, features of the discourse of masterpieces are detectable with regard to the display of this sculpture. At present, the Charioteer is surrounded by a fence and displayed alone in a bright (intensely illuminated) room. This room, with screenedoff windows in the walls behind the sculpture and a skylight in the ceiling, appears to be specially designed for the exhibition of the Charioteer. It is displayed alone in a cabinet-like room, in accordance with a determinative feature of the discourse of masterpieces. The museum of Delphi has also utilized a second technique from the masterpiece discourse. In the museum, the Charioteer is first visible from a distance. The sculpture is placed in an elevated position and the visitor ascends to it by a staircase (fig. 6.1). The first impression of the Charioteer is framed by a museological trope in which a masterpiece is displayed at the top of a staircase (see also p. 133). If the visitor follows the designated route through the museum, the room with the Charioteer is the last room to be reached. The Charioteer, dated to 474 B.C.E. but displayed after the Roman finds, is the only object in the museum that is not exhibited in accordance with the overarching chronological taxonomy of the museum. This anomaly in the museum serves to enforce the uniqueness of this sculpture, and is illustrative of the tendency to decontextualize masterpieces. The detachment of the Charioteer confines the focus to the aesthetic and exemplary qualities of this masterpiece. The archaeological museum in Olympia parallels the Delphi museum in many ways. Both sites are among the handful of archaeological sites in Greece that attract many visitors from abroad. The primary focus of both

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Figure 6.1 The exhibition of the Charioteer from Delphi in the Archaeological Museum of Delphi (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the 10th Ephorate of Prehistoric & Classical Antiquities, Hellenic Republic Ministry of Education, Religious affairs, Culture and Sports).

museums is on finds from Classical Antiquity. They aim to illuminate the ancient history of the respective sites. The chronological order is supplemented by an architectural taxonomic principle; finds from one architectural complex are displayed together in most rooms (figs. 6.2). In the archaeological museum in Olympia, the discourse of masterpieces surfaces in association with two sculptures; the Nike by Paionios, and the Hermes with the Infant Dionysos by Praxiteles. Paionios’s Nike is on display, elevated on a large pedestal in the middle of a small room, resembling a deep niche, and surrounded by a low bar (Gulaki 1981, 41–49; Kunze and Schleif 1939, 182–94; Ramonat 1984). This arrangement makes it possible to walk around the sculpture and facilitates an examination of it from all sides. Apart from the shadows generated by the spotlights, there is nothing in the room to disturb the visual field of the visitor. Even the discreet color of the walls contributes to the sense of detachment and isolation surrounding the sculpture. Paionios’s Nike was dedicated by the Messenians and the Naupaktians in the 420s B.C.E. during the Peloponnesian War in order to commemorate a military victory over the Spartans (Figueira 1999; Hölscher 1974; Kunze 1956, 377–78, nr. 259). In this case, there is specific historical information on the sculpture. This is, however, not used in the display. Yet another feature in the museum points to the exemplary qualities of Paionios’s Nike. The museum building

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Figure 6.2 Pediment from the temple of Apollo in Delphi displayed in the Archaeological Museum of Delphi (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the 10th Ephorate of Prehistoric & Classical Antiquities, Hellenic Republic Ministry of Education, Religious affairs, Culture and Sports).

itself has an axial plan, and this sculpture is visible from the entrance of the museum, when one looks straight in to the building. This arrangement, which ensures a variety of different views of the Nike, indicates an eagerness to repeatedly display the masterpiece. This eagerness is also found in non-museum contexts. The impression that Paionios’s Nike is a masterpiece is ultimately grounded in the display of the sculpture, in a deep niche, which signals its uniqueness. Hermes with the Infant Dionysos by Praxiteles is displayed in a cabinet-like room as a masterpiece in the Olympia museum (Antonsson 1937; Corso 2004; Kunze and Schleif 1939, 194–206). In the display of this Praxitelean masterpiece, the exhibition techniques are further emphasized, in comparison with the display of Paionios’s Nike. The room in which Hermes stands is larger, the surrounding fence is doubled with a ditch, and there is a skylight in the ceiling above. Furthermore, the empty anteroom which the visitor has to pass through in order to enter the cabinet of Hermes enforces the physical isolation of this unique sculpture. The tendency to conceptualize masterpieces as isolated, and often decontextualized from a historical setting, is seldom articulated as bluntly as in this case. As a feature, the cabinet is not confined to one national tradition. The Frankfurt Athena (aka Myron’s Athena) in the Liebieghaus in Frankfurt am Main is also displayed alone in a cabinet (fig. 6.3) (see Junker 2002). The

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Figure 6.3 The Frankfurt Athena in the Liebieghaus in Frankfurt. This photo shows the exhibition in September 2006. The exhibition underwent a complete reinstallation in 2008, which also comprised the introduction of a rich color scheme for the walls (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt).

Liebieghaus houses primarily sculptures from the Western art tradition. The exhibition of the ancient sculptures in the Liebieghaus is, in general, very bright. Few objects are displayed against a whitish background. This exhibition bears the hallmarks of the modernist minimalist exhibition scheme that modern art museums have adopted during the 20th century. The utilization of this scheme in the Liebieghaus indicates that art historical and aesthetic

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concerns dictate the display. In this context, the masterpiece status of the Frankfurt Athena is primarily indicated by the placement of this sculpture in a cabinet.1 In the National Museum in Reggio di Calabria in Italy, the masterpieces of the museum are displayed in a special, very large room. This museum owes its fame to the Riace Bronzes: two larger than life-size bronzes sculptures found in the Ionian Sea just off the coast of Riace in 1972 (see Borelli and Pelagatti 1985; de Grazia Vanderpool 2000; McCann 2000; Vaccaro 2000). The sculptures have been restored extensively, and after temporary exhibitions in Florence and Rome, are now displayed in Reggio. The sculptures are displayed in a large earthquake-proof room. The vast surrounding void, together with the elevated placement and the extensive information that conveys stylistic information, are clear indicators of the discourse of masterpieces. The display of objects in cabinets is also a technique adopted by the Getty Villa in Los Angeles, reopened in January 2006, in order to display the Lansdowne Herakles (see Howard 1966; Stewart 1977, 98–99; Stewart 1990, 184). There are many potential masterpieces in the Getty Villa, and overall the exhibition is governed by art historical concerns. The placement of the Lansdowne Herakles in a cabinet distinguishes it from the other objects, and underlines the impression that we are dealing with a unique piece of art.2 The display of the Lansdowne Herakles brings to the fore features of the masterpieces discourse that we have not touched upon yet. Many masterpieces were found prior to the professionalization of Classical Archaeology and the establishment of public museums. These masterpieces were often acquired by private collectors of the European nobility, and are often invested with a long post-antique social life. Sculptures are invested with masterpiece status. The status of sculptures change with time. It is not unusual that a sculpture passed through the hands of different collectors, or that it was regarded as a masterpiece only for a period of time. The Lansdowne Herakles is an example of such a sculpture. It was found during the 18th century in Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli outside Rome. By one way or another, it found its way to the collection of the Marquis of Lansdowne in England; it was during this time that the sculpture acquired its name. J. Paul Getty later acquired the Lansdowne Heracles, and it became his favorite piece in the collection (Howard 1966, 15–27). From one perspective, J. Paul Getty can be viewed as a late representative of the discourse of private collections of antiquities. This impression is further enforced by the aesthetic schemes and ornamentation used in the Getty Villa. Associations to the Neoclassical legacy and highbrow private collecting are made frequently, for instance in room 106 (aka the Basilica). The contemporary emphasis of the Lansdowne Herakles in the exhibition, through its display in the cabinet, pays homage to Getty’s personal taste, while it simultaneously reminds us of the associations between the discourse of private collecting and ancient masterpiece sculptures.

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An aspect that influences our perception of a sculpture is its post-antique destiny. There is a correlation between how long a sculpture has been known in post-antiquity, and its reputation as a masterpiece. Older sculptures found earlier, particularly in Renaissance Italy, which have not fallen into oblivion, tend to be more famous than sculptures found recently. Regimes of taste change. Masterpieces, for instance the Medici Venus, occasionally lose their reputation as masterpieces. In 1840, John Ruskin considered the Medici Venus to be “one of the purest and most elevated incarnations of woman conceivable,” which stands in sharp contrast to the 1975 comment by Martin Robertson that the Medici Venus is “among the most charmless remnants of antiquity” (Haskell and Penny 1981, 328). Nowadays, the Venus de Milo is the paradigmatic sculpture of Venus (see Beard and Henderson 2001, 116–20; Brilliant 2000, 4; Hale 1976; Haskell and Penny 1981, 325–28). The Laocoön group was found in Rome in 1506, and was one of the first ancient sculptures to be rediscovered (see e.g., Barkan 1999; Bieber 1967; Brilliant 2000; Daltrop 1982; Décultot, Rider and Queyrel 2003; Haskell and Penny 1981; Newhouse 2005; Nisbet 1979; Rees 2002; Richter 1992; Simon 1984; and Winner 1974). It was immediately compared to Pliny’s description (Plin. HN 36.37), and the Laocoön reached its reputation as a masterpiece within a couple of months. This has resulted in a long tradition of reproductions and references to this icon of ancient art. The Laocoön, like no other ancient masterpiece sculpture, has been the object of aesthetic treatises and contemplations by Winckelmann, Lessing and Goethe, for instance (Schrader 2005). The unquestionable presence of Laocoön in the collective consciousness of European history shapes the expectations of the visitor to the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican Museums where the Laocoön is displayed in a niche (fig. 6.4). The placement of a sculpture in the Belvedere Courtyard as such, confirms its reputation as a masterpiece; but this is not uncomplicated (Brummer 1970; Winner, Andreae and Pietrangeli 1998). There is an abundance of masterpieces in the Vatican Museums and there is an obvious risk of a deflation of the masterpiece reputations of the single objects, not least due to the museum fatigue of the visitors. It is indicative that a noticeably large amount of the visitors to the Vatican Museums rush through the Belvedere Courtyard.3 A second, ancient masterpiece sculpture on display in the Belvedere Courtyard is the Apollo Belvedere. Like the Laocoön, this sculpture also have had a long post-antique history and been invested with many meanings. Although it is uncertain when the Apollo Belvedere was found, it has been recorded as standing in the Belvedere court by 1511 (Haskell and Penny 1981, 148–51; see also p. 83). Despite the paradigmatic display of the Apollo Belvedere, its reputation seems to have faded in comparison with the Laocoön. The sculpture is isolated from other objects as it is displayed in a niche, in accordance with the discourse of masterpieces. Nevertheless, in this context it is the placement of it in the Belvedere Courtyard, together with its post-antique history, that contributes to the impression of a masterpiece.

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Figure 6.4 The Laocoön in the Belvedere Courtyard of the Vatican Museums (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Vaticani).

A sculpture that has not retained its reputation is the Capitoline Venus, on display in the Palazzo Nuovo in the Capitoline Museums in Rome (Haskell and Penny 1981, 318–20; Havelock 1995). The exact date of the finding of this sculpture is a matter of dispute, and given the sources at hand, it seems to be an unsolvable problem. Suffice to say that it was found at the latest in the late 17th century. The Capitoline Venus has been in the Capitoline Museum since the mid-18th century, save for the short Napoleonic adventure when many famous sculptures in Italy, and particularly from Rome, were taken to Paris and displayed there for a couple of years, before they were returned to Italy. The Capitoline Venus is the only sculpture in the Capitoline Museum displayed alone in a cabinet. The cabinet is bright and the sculpture is placed on an elevated pedestal (fig. 6.5). The display ensures an undisturbed view of the sculpture, and its isolation is a clear indication of its reputation as a masterpiece. The architectural ornamentation in the cabinet merits a comment. The decoration is Neoclassical, with floral motifs on the walls, marble floor and lavish decorative marble details in the walls. It is very similar to the cabinet that houses the Landsowne Herakles at the Getty Villa. The lavish architecture in the cabinet of the Capitoline Venus reminds us of the history of the collection of ancient objects as such. The objects are displayed as collectable highbrow artworks from the Renaissance onward. The ancient historical context is absent. The emphasis on the history of collecting reminds us that the reputation of the Capitoline Venus peaked a couple of centuries

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Figure 6.5 The cabinet with the Capitoline Venus in Palazzo Nuovo, Capitoline Museum in Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome).

ago. The cabinet was designed in the early 19th century (Albertoni et al. 2006, 47; see also p. 95). Another issue pertaining to sculptures of Venus in general is the question about their art historical or stylistic development during Antiquity. Venus sculptures are often analyzed together, and in these analytical schemes the Aphrodite of Knidos by Praxiteles is viewed as the first nude female sculpture, while other sculptures of Venus are regarded as later developments. The Capitoline Venus is no exception, and it is often associated with the Medici Venus.

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Parenthetically, we can also note that there are museums that aim to preserve an authentic environment from times that precede the establishment of public museums. The settings of the Palazzo Nuovo in the Capitoline Museum and the Palazzo Altemps in Rome, which also houses many classical sculptural masterpieces such as the Suicidal Gaul, the Ludovisi Throne and the Athena Parthenos, point toward the legacy of private collecting of classical objects. This is an articulation of the intricate connections between Classical Archaeology, ancient sculptures, museums and the legacy of antiquarian collecting. The placement of sculptures in cabinets is by no means the only exhibition technique used to indicate masterpiece reputation. On the contrary, the majority of masterpieces are exhibited in rooms together with other objects. The physical isolation and aesthetic emphasis of these masterpieces is not always as clear-cut in comparison to the sculptures displayed in a cabinet. In the absence of the cabinet, and/or the niche, the discourse of masterpieces is articulated through other means. The exhibition of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens is a suitable example and starting point. This exhibition is divided according to categories of objects (of which sculptures constitute one). These entities are, in turn, arranged chronologically. None of the sculptures is distinguished through isolated placement in a cabinet. The overall exhibition technique in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens is minimalist. The hallmarks of the exhibition, such as the bright color on the walls, the flooding of light into the rooms and the careful selection of few objects on display, emphasizes the physical entity, isolation and unique aesthetic qualities of the objects. The Aristodikos, one of the first masterpieces a visitor encounters during his/hers journey through the sculpture collection, is placed in front of a large bright screen, which ensures an undisturbed view of it (fig. 6.6) (Kaltsas 2003; Karouzos 1961). Nevertheless, the best indicator of masterpiece status in the museum in Athens is the presence of a small surrounding fence, like for instance around the Poseidon of Artemision (Kleine 1976), the Horse and Jockey from Artemision (Hemingway 2004), the Marathon Youth (Papaioannou 1984), the Antikythera Youth (Bol 1972, 18–24), and the Aphrodite, Pan, and Eros Group (Havelock 1995, 55–58; Marquardt 1995, 227–36). The display of sculptures in the middle of the room is another feature of the discourse of masterpieces. The uniqueness of the particular object is indicated by the prominent position of the masterpiece in the visitor’s visual field, for example the Poseidon of Artemision and the Equestrian Augustus (fig. 6.7) (Kaltsas 2003, 318; Moreno 1994, 761–63). The generally minimalist display seen in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens is a common scheme in exhibitions with an aesthetic focus. The discreet, neutral background and the intense illumination reflect a scholarly empiricist discourse in which the analytical objects should be approached as neutrally as possible. The exhibition in Athens. however, departs from the modernistic tendency in one room that is reminiscent of a Roman atrium. This room is

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Figure 6.6 The Aristodikos in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund).

approximately halfway through the sculpture exhibition and houses a handful of sculptures such as the Horse and Jockey from Artemision, the Diadoumenos (Bol 1990a; Lorenz 1972, 24–26; Ridgway 1995, 187–89) and the enigmatic Syracuse Aphrodite.4 Architecturally, the room stands in contrast to the other rooms in the museum because of the red walls and the columns that break up one of the walls (fig. 6.8). The unique masterpiece status of the Horse and Jockey from Artemision is indicated by the placement of this sculpture group in the middle of the room, and the surrounding fence, while other masterpieces are placed along the walls. The discourse of masterpieces is closely associated with the tradition of private collections, and the display in this room contains several features, such as the display of copies of famous originals, the mentioning of the donator’s name and the record of the social life of the sculpture, that point to this. In this room, the exhibition context contributes to the discourse of masterpieces as much as the reputation of the single sculptures. The Antikensammlung in the Staatliche Museum in Kassel is displayed in one large room, which comprises one floor of the Wilhelmshöhe castle.5 The display is taxonomized chronologically and culture-historically; the itinerary begins in ancient Egypt with objects from the fourth millennium B.C.E, passes through Cyprus, Greece and Italy, and ends with finds from the late Roman period. The culture-historical order does not exclude thematic units.

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Figure 6.7 Equestrian bronze statue of emperor Augustus in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund).

In the exhibition, the presentation of Samos during the Archaic period is found beside presentations of armor and weapons in Greece, Turkey and Italy during the Geometric and Archaic periods. Explanatory texts, emphasizing the historical development, are abundant in the exhibition. The exhibition in the Antikensammlung mediates archaeological and historical concerns. Nevertheless, two masterpiece sculptures, the Kassel Apollo (Gercke 1991; Schmidt 1966; Vierneisel and Gercke 1992) and the Athena Lemnia (Gercke 1991; Hartswick 1983; Meyer 2004; Steinhart 2000) are also exhibited in this museum. They are displayed in a similar way as the other exhibited objects (fig. 6.9). Their masterpiece reputation is indicated through the heightened attention they receive. In the museum, this is articulated through the presence of colored plaster casts of them, which indicates the prominent position of the Kassel Apollo and the Athena Lemnia in modern times as masterpieces. Many museums display their masterpieces in large rooms together with other objects. A taxonomic principle used by some museums is the display of old private collections as one entity in one room, a series of rooms, wing or even floor of the museum. In the National Archaeological Museum of Naples, a considerable part of their sculpture collection was part of the Farnese collection (Ajello 1988; Gasparri 2003; Riebesell 1989). This collection is extensive, and parts of it are spread throughout the museum.

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Figure 6.8 The Horse and Jockey from Artemision in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (photo: Authors. National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports /Archaeological Receipts Fund).

Nevertheless, the sculptures found in the Baths of Caracalla in Rome are displayed in one large room for instance the Farnese Bull (Kunze 1988), the Farnese Hercules (Cain 2002), and the Aphrodite Callipygos (fig. 6.10) (Havelock 1995, 98–101; Säflund 1963). The Farnese Bull is displayed at one end of the room, while the Farnese Hercules is displayed at the opposite end. The other sculptures are displayed along the two walls in between. Beyond placement, no other exhibition technique is used to distinguish between the displayed sculptures. Curtains, discreet lighting, white walls and a marble floor ensure a smooth, even and bright environment that facilitates an examination of even the most-minute details. The neutral background, dwarfing architecture and the scarce information about the objects contribute to the impression of an art historical aestheticization of the objects on display. The information texts emphasize the aesthetic aspects. They are limited to convey information about the post-antique destiny of some of the exhibited objects, most notably with regard to the Farnese Bull and the Farnese Heracles. The de-contextualization of the objects from their ancient setting and the emphasis on the history of collecting and restoration of the masterpiece is an illustration of the art historical aesthetic foundations of the discourse of masterpieces. The ancient sculptures in the Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig in Basel are displayed in one large exhibition room, the so-called Skulpturhalle.

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Figure 6.9 The Athena Lemnia and the Kassel Apollo in the Staatliche Museum in Kassel, Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, photographed in October 2006 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Antikensammlung, Museumslandschaft Hessen Kassel).

This exhibition from the 1960s is characterized by a minimalist aesthetic scheme, with features such as the display of a few carefully selected objects, intense even light, and discreet monochrome walls and backgrounds (fig. 6.11). From a museological technical point of view, it is impossible to see that any of the exhibited objects have been singled out as masterpieces. There are, however, sculptures in the exhibition, for instance a torso of a Diadoumenos by Polykleitos, that are often displayed as masterpieces (Berger 1990). Explanatory texts in museums are crucial, since they frame the visitor’s perception and direct their attention toward certain issues and concerns. It is indicative that elaborate texts on a wall in the Skulpturhalle focus on the stylistic art historical development of ancient sculptures. The discourse of masterpieces is often framed by an art historical discourse in which the stylistic development of art is separated from a general historical context. An emphasis on ancient art does perhaps not contribute to the masterpiece reputation, or distinction, of the single sculptures, but the esteem and admiration of ancient art in general is a foundation for the masterpiece discourse. There are parallels to the sculpture exhibitions in Basel, like the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Arts in New York and the Palazzo Massimo alle Terme in Rome, that emphasize ancient art as an entity and not single masterpieces, to the sculpture exhibitions in Basel.

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Figure 6.10 The Farnese collection in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei).

The general aestheticizing focus in the minimalist displays makes it hard to separate the masterpieces in these settings. Minimalist exhibitions tend to emphasize the same features that are intrinsic to the discourse of masterpieces. In these exhibitions, ancient objects, as a whole, are displayed as aesthetic masterpieces, with inherent timeless aesthetic qualities. Another example of minimalist exhibition is found in the Glyptothek in München (Vierneisel and Leinz 1980). The architecture gives an unobtrusive, airy and light impression that is further reinforced by the display of few carefully selected objects. The hall with the Roman busts differs in that a veritable forest of busts is displayed, as in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. In this chronologically arranged exhibition, there is very little that disturbs the visual field of the visitor, which mediates a notion that the entire collection consists of masterpieces. Nevertheless, some objects are distinguished and have a more prominent position. First, the architectural sculptures from the Aphaia Temple on Aegina are exhibited in two rooms, halfway along the journey through the collection (fig. 6.12) (Ohly 1976; 2001). The distinction of these sculptures is indicated by the abundance of information (which no other objects in the exhibitions are provided with) presented. Special attention is given to their dramatic post-antique social life and their iconic status during Neoclassicism, thanks to their admirable restoration of them by the Danish sculptor

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Figure 6.11 The sculpture hall in the Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig, Basel (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig).

Bertel Thorvaldsen. The emphasis on the post-antique life of ancient sculptures is an intrinsic part of the masterpiece discourse (see also, Diebold 1995). The Barberini Faun is singled out by its placement it in the middle of a rotunda (fig. 6.13) (Haskell and Penny 1981, 202–5). This position makes it visible from the entrance gallery, at the end of a corridor. Furthermore, the unique masterpiece reputation of this sculpture is also indicated by a placement that does not comply with the general chronological order in the Glyptothek. The display of Kephisodotos’s sculpture, Eirene and Ploutos, is an example that illustrates the futility of considering the distinction between the discourse of masterpieces and the minimalist discourse as absolute and clear-cut (fig. 5.3) (Ridgway 1997, 259–60). Considering external aspects, for example scholarly attention and casts in other museums, it can well be regarded as a masterpiece. In the exhibition space, however, nothing distinguishes Eirene and Ploutos from the other objects. The Antikensammlung in the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin is exhibited in the Altes Museum and the Pergamonmuseum.6 The exhibition of classical antiquities in the Altes Museum is exhibited in a chronological order and is further sub-divided into thematic units. The exhibition has a distinct archaeological focus. Each theme presents one aspect of the ancient world. Each thematic unit consists of the exhibited objects and elaborate explanatory texts. Nevertheless, the archaeological concern does not entirely exclude the

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Figure 6.12 The pediment sculpture from the Aphaia Temple on Aegina in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München).

presence of the discourse of masterpieces. This discourse is detectable particularly in association with two features. First, in the display of the Praying Boy, which is attributed to Lysippos or a Rhodian foundry, several characteristic features of the masterpiece discourse are utilized (Kabus-Priesshofen 1988). Although other thematic units in the exhibition, such as “the art of Polykleitos,” also emphasize art historical concerns, the Praying Boy is the only exhibited object awarded with its own thematic unit. In the information provided about the Praying Boy, its post-antique social life is given a

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Figure 6.13 The Barberini Faun in the Glyptothek in München (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, München).

prominent place, which conforms to an intrinsic part of the masterpiece discourse. Furthermore, it stands out in the exhibition because the surrounding void is larger in comparison to the other objects in the exhibition. Another indication of its masterpiece reputation is that it is displayed halfway in the middle of the itinerary through the Classical collection, which also makes it visible from the museum’s entrance. The axial middle of the museum building is occasionally used, particularly in Neoclassical museum buildings, to display masterpieces.7 Secondly, sculpture galleries were often used to display sculpture in the private collections that preceded the establishment of public museums. The large rotunda in the center of the Altes Museum is the second space in which the discourse of masterpieces is articulated. Along the wall of the rotunda, there are niches in which ancient sculptures, such as a Capitoline Venus and a Diana, are displayed (Heilmeyer, Heres and Massmann 2004b; Heres 2004). The rotunda, with its elaborate ornamentation, is fundamental to the Neoclassical design of the museum by Carl Friedrich Schinkel (Moyano 1990). The preservation of the architectural ornamentation and the sculpture gallery in the rotunda fuels associations with a tradition of private collecting, aesthetic contemplation and the high esteem of exemplary ancient masterpieces. The Pergamonmuseum is the second museum on Berlin’s Museumsinsel that houses ancient sculptures. In comparison to the Altes Museum, a different kind of antiquity is presented here. The exhibition in the Pergamonmuseum

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is more object centered; fewer efforts are made to elaborate on social and cultural aspects of antiquity in this exhibition. The emphasis is placed more specifically on the displayed objects. The reconstructions of monumental architectural complexes, most notably the Pergamon altar, the Market Gate of Miletus and the Ishtar Gate of Babylon, are the museum displays that convey the strongest impression. The monumentality of these architectural complexes is mirrored in an architectural layout of the museum that consequently facilitates an aesthetic appreciation of them, but also dwarfs the visitor. The provided information focuses on art historical issues, such as the motifs on the friezes and the stylistic development. Art historical concerns also dictate the exhibition in the rest of the museum. Despite the abundance of sculptures in the exhibition, however, it is difficult to pinpoint specific masterpieces. None of the sculptures are singled out in the display and nothing directs the visitor’s attention to specific sculptures. A copy of the Athena Parthenos, a masterpiece by many accounts, is displayed in the middle of a room surrounded by monumental temple architecture (Leipen 1971; Marchand 1996, 288–94; Nick 2002). Paradoxically, this display dwarfs the sculpture and obscures the masterpiece status.8 In the Pergamonmuseum, it is hard to distinguish certain sculptures as masterpieces. Rather, it is the monumental architectural complexes, including the decorative sculptures, which are distinguished as masterpieces in this exhibition. In this respect, the British Museum is similar, since monumental architectural complexes are emphasized here, as well. The sculptures are displayed in association with the other reconstructed, occasionally monumental, architectural components, as for instance in the room with the Nereid monument from Xanthos, the room with the Mausoleum from Halikarnassos, the Bassae room, and the Parthenon room (figs. 6.14 and 5.7) (Jenkins 2006; see also p. 159–60, 174). Sculpture is architecturally contextualized, and the exhibition highlights the aesthetic qualities of the entire display in the rooms. The emphasis is on art historical, architectural stylistic concerns, which contributes to an impression that the whole architectural complex consists of the actual masterpieces, and not the individual sculptures. Another universal survey museum, the Louvre (see Duncan and Wallach 1980; Maleuvre 1999; McClellan 1994; Newhouse 2005; Siegel 2000; see also p. 89–91), differs considerably from the British Museum when it comes to the masterpiece discourse. The department of Classical Antiquities in the Louvre does not only include single masterpiece sculptures, occasionally entire rooms also mediate a masterpiece discourse. In the Salle des Caryatides, for instance, in addition to the exhibited sculptures such as the Artemis with a Doe (aka Diana of Versailles), the Azara Herm, the Torment of Marsyas, and the Three Graces, the architectural ornamentation and setting itself can be viewed as contributing to the masterpiece discourse (fig. 6.15) (Pasquier and Martinez 2007a). Royalty once utilized this hall for ceremonial purposes, and the references to the nobility and their history of collecting are intrinsic to the masterpiece discourse. Allusions to the post-antique social

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Figure 6.14 The Nereid monument from Xanthos in the British Museum, London (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum).

history of the sculptures are not only made in the Salle des Caryatides, but also in the Salle du Manège. This issue is prioritized here, since the taxonomy is based on the private collections to which the sculptures belonged before acquired by the Louvre. Furthermore, Renaissance and Baroque restorations and additions to the ancient original pieces are kept (for instance on the Dying Seneca or the Louvre Fisherman (Laubscher 1982), the Alexander the Great, and the Captivated Barbarian), which is yet another allusion to the post-antique history of the sculptures (fig. 5.2).9 Regimes of taste evolve and the elaborate post-antique restorations made during the Early Modern

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Figure 6.15 Artemis with a Doe (aka Diana of Versailles) in Salle de Caryatides in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

period are no longer appreciated as integral parts of antique sculptures. The post-antique aesthetic esteem of the classical artworks is emphasized through the display techniques in the Salle du Manège. Nevertheless, there are also settings in the Louvre where single sculptures are distinguished as masterpieces. In the pre-classical section, the Lady of Auxerre, the Cheramyes Kore and the Torso of Miletus are placed along the central axis of the room (fig. 6.16) (Pasquier and Martinez 2007a). The display distinguishes these sculptures from the other objects in the room, since it ensures the simultaneous view of these sculptures, which form a row. The visual experience the visitor gets walking through the room reflects the view that the development of classical art is embodied in certain masterpieces, which are used to illustrate a stylistic development. Other sculptures are placed in sculptures galleries; for instance the Borghese Gladiator in the Galerie Daru, and the Discophoros, and the Athena Parthenos in the Galerie de la Venus de Milo (fig. 6.17) (Pasquier and Martinez 2007a). These sculptures illuminate art historical concerns, but not a more general social historical context. The placement of sculptures along the architectural axial line, making them visible from a distance, is an exhibition technique that has been mastered in the Louvre. Sculptures, for instance the Athena Mattei and the portrait busts of Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius, are placed in elevated positions at the end of long corridors and are visible from far away (Waywell 1971; Pasquier and Martinez 2007a).

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Figure 6.16 The so-called Lady of Auxerre displayed in a glass case on the first floor of the Sully wing in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

The abundance of artworks in the Louvre does not preclude differentiations between the exhibited objects. The Venus de Milo and Nike of Samothrace, together with the Mona Lisa, are emphasized in the Louvre, and stand out as masterpieces of a higher order in comparison to the other objects. The distinction of these three works of art is signaled in a variety of ways. The degree of reproduction and circulation of images of artworks is correlated with the reputation of the original as a masterpiece. These three masterpieces are reproduced in countless instances, both officially issued by the Louvre, as well as unofficially in various artistic and commercial adaptations of these icons. In the museum, the itineraries leading to these icons are marked with particular care, which emphasizes their reputation as masterpieces and contributes to the impression that these are unique “must-see” objects. The emphasis on the Venus de Milo and the Nike of Samothrace is also visible on the Louvre’s webpage. These two sculptures in particular are said to “encapsulate the ‘Greek spirit’ ” (http://www.louvre.fr/en/routes/ greek-sculpture). The exhibition and placement of the Nike of Samothrace is paradigmatic for the masterpiece discourse (fig. 6.18) (Hamiaux 1998; Hamiaux 2001; Knell 1995; Newhouse 2005; Siegel 2000; Pasquier and Martinez 2007a, 186–89; see also p. 113). The placement of the Nike of Samothrace at the top of the Daru Stairway permits a dramatic approach; as the visitor walks toward the stairway through the Galerie Daru, Nike emerges slowly. At the bottom of the stairway, the full force of the intrinsic

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Figure 6.17 The Athena Parthenos exhibited in the Galerie de la Venus de Milo in the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

descending movement of the sculpture is realized. As is the case with so many masterpieces, the display is arranged in order to emphasize the unique, aesthetic qualities of the objects. The physical isolation of the Nike of Samothrace, which is achieved by the placement of her at the top of the Daru Stairway, mirrors, in effect, the ideological (discursive) esteem and unique masterpiece reputation with which she is invested (Newhouse 2005). The Venus de Milo is the second ancient sculpture in the Louvre with a masterpiece reputation that radiates far beyond the walls of the museum (Arscott and Scott 2000; Curtis 2003; Pasquier 1985; Pasquier and Martinez 2007a, 162–65). Museums are large institutions, and to some degree they continuously reorganize their collections and exhibitions. We witnessed this continuous process when we had the opportunity to visit the Louvre; the Venus de Milo was not displayed in her ordinary place, but had been moved to a temporary display (fig. 6.19).10 Nevertheless, the exceptional masterpiece reputation of the Venus de Milo was also indicated in the temporary display; her pedestal was unusually high, the distance between her and the surrounding fence was exceptionally large, the walls behind her had been emptied, and the crowd admiring her could only be matched by the crowd in front of the Mona Lisa. Interestingly, the display was flanked by large information texts that emphasized the 19th-century discovery and acquisition of the sculpture. The constructed physical void ensured that the visitor obtained an undisturbed view of her, while the textual information

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Figure 6.18 The Nike of Samothrace in the Daru Stairway of the Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

emphasized the post-antique social life of the sculpture in accordance with the discursive rules of the masterpiece discourse. In other words, the unique and universal masterpiece reputation was also articulated in a temporary exhibition. The Venus de Milo is, therefore, a suitable example with which to end this exploration of articulations of the discourse of masterpiece in museum settings since it illustrates that the masterpiece reputation is not solely determined by the museum contexts but other features outside the museum also contribute. CONSUMING MASTERPIECES Masterpiece sculptures are not an isolated phenomenon in museums; the masterpiece discourse is also articulated outside the museums. In this section, we will explore some of these articulations. The aesthetic reverence of the masterpieces hinges on preconceived notions in which objects of art are considered to be masterpieces. The discourse of masterpieces is fueled by non-museum popular appropriations and reproductions of masterpieces. In the following sections, we will explore popular appropriations of two iconic masterpiece sculptures, the Venus de Milo and Nike of Samothrace. Next, we will turn to oversized illustrated publications, “coffee-table books” for want of a better term, which are often used to convey masterpieces. This discursive technique embodies the masterpiece discourse, and is one of the

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Figure 6.19 The temporary exhibition of the Venus de Milo in June 2007, Louvre, Paris, in June 2007 (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Louvre).

rare instances where form and function merge. In the concluding part of this section, the masterpiece discourse will be associated with disciplinary discourses. In particular, the aim is to identify theoretical foundations and similarities between scholarly perspectives and the masterpiece discourse. This will serve to frame the masterpieces in a wider discursive setting. APPROPRIATIONS OF MASTERPIECES Our conceptualizations of ancient sculptures are influenced by encounters with reproductions and replicas in the public sphere (i.e., non-academic and non-museological). The reproductions range from those that are more mimetic, to works of art or products inspired by a masterpiece (see also p. 95–101). Many of the above-mentioned masterpieces are reproduced in a multitude of contexts. This does not mean, however, that there is a straightforward correlation between the level of public circulation and the masterpiece reputation of a sculpture. Museums and academia are discursive places with their own rules. As hard as it is to pinpoint the correlation, it is fair to say that reproductions of masterpieces reaffirm the masterpiece reputation, since the increased amount of encounters contributes to sustain their fame. Wide circulation contributes to a familiarity with the masterpiece, which in turn is mirrored in the museums, since visitors tend to pay

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particular attention to the masterpieces. The following paragraphs explore public appropriations of the Venus de Milo and Nike of Samothrace. This account is not intended to be exhaustive. The qualitative approach serves to illustrate the different types of appropriations to which these iconic masterpieces are subject. The aim is to shed some light on the complexities of the masterpiece discourse. The Venus de Milo was found in 1820 (Curtis 2003), and her reputation has now surpassed the reputation of the Medici Venus as the prime manifestation of ancient Greek sensuality and eternal female beauty. One way or another, more or less explicitly, public references to Venus de Milo tend to allude to her reputation as an embodiment of eternal beauty. The American fashion and lifestyle webpage “Dress Me Now!” has named a female body type which is “wide on the bottom” as Venus de Milo. Interestingly, Venus de Milo is attributed to Michelangelo as his “Armless Beauty” (www.dress menow.com/b1.htm). Venus de Milo is also a Danish brand of women’s fashion clothes (www.venusmilo.com). Casbah Venus is a department store in Stockholm that uses Venus de Milo as their symbol (www.thecasbah. com). Greek restaurants often use the classical legacy as a symbolic repertoire. Greek restaurants, however, do not use Venus de Milo. Restaurants such as the 26 Beach Restaurant in Marina del Rey, Los Angeles; the Venus de Milo Wine Bar in Savannah, Georgia; or the Venus de Milo Restaurant in Swansea, Massachusetts (www.venusdemilo.com), which house casts of Venus de Milo, do not emphasize Greek cuisine. It seems that the universal qualities of the Venus de Milo in the art discourse are also reflected in the appropriations of the Venus de Milo by restaurants. Venus de Milo has also lent her name to a number of songs, such as that composed by Miles Davis on the record “Birth of the Cool,” by Prince on the record “Parade,” by Gerry Mulligan on the record “Mulliga Songbook” and by Michael Nyman on the soundtrack to Peter Greenaway’s film “A Zed and Two Noughts.” In this realm, the wedding band called “Milo de Venus” (sic!) stands out as perhaps the oddest reference to the Venus de Milo (www.milodevenus. com). Venus de Milo is also used as a name in the world of film. An actress calls herself Venus DeMilo, and a Canadian independent film from 2002 is called Venus de Milo. This reference to the ancient sculpture remains obscure, however, since it tells the story of the rise and fall of a rock band (www.imdb.com). The fact that the first female heroine in the cartoon TV series “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” is called Venus de Milo makes more sense in comparison (www.ninjaturtles.com). Venus de Milo has also been used in various ad campaigns. The sculpture plays a central role in a 2006 commercial campaign for Budweiser Light. In this commercial, set in an undistinguishable classical milieu, the Venus de Milo loses her arms because two students are eager to get the beers she holds in her hands. In their attempt to get the beers, they break off her arms, and Venus de Milo becomes armless (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v = MIohyqdqZQE). Other companies that have used the Venus de Milo in ad campaigns are Mercedes-Benz

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and the French retailer Darty (Curtis 2003, 195; see also Salmon 2000). The Venus de Milo is also a motif frequently used during the 20th century in cartoons, which often allude to her beauty, her buttocks or her missing arms. The motifs and meanings of the cartoons range from humoristic to commercial to political (Gottschall 1999; Kunze 1998). The Venus de Milo has been used as an emblem of Europe and the Western world, old-fashioned aesthetics, and also as a symbol of Greece, not least during the present economic and political crisis. Turning to more highbrow art, we can see that the Venus de Milo has inspired both Vincent van Gogh, who made a sketch of the sculpture, exhibited in the van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, and Salvador Dali, whose sculpture “Venus de Milo with Drawers,” at the Art Institute in Chicago, is reminiscent of the ancient sculpture. The Swedish artist Cecilia Edefalk plays with the effects of sunshine on the Venus de Milo in a timelapse video “24-hour Venus” (fig. 6.20). The trademark of the American pop-art artist Jim Dine is his obsession with the Venus de Milo. Many of his sculptures and paintings, such as “Cincinnati Venus” (1988), “Twin Blue Venuses” (2002), “The Foam” (1990), “Nine Views of Winter #9” (1985) and “Dream Venus” (2002), reproduce a decapitated Venus de Milo. Artist Aggy Boshoff has made a series of paintings, the Venus series, in which she refers to the Venus de Milo (see www.aggyboshoff.com). Other artists who have been inspired by Venus de Milo include Cézanne, Magritte and, more recently, Clive Barker (Curtis 2003, 195). The Venus de Milo has also inspired the Greek photographer Lizi Kalliga, who had an exhibition entitled “Rencontre avec la Venus de Milo” in 1991. These photographs depict persons looking at the sculpture in the Louvre. Included in the catalogue is Auguste Rodin’s 1907 praise of Venus de Milo, “A La Venus de Milo” (Kalliga 2001). Strangely enough, the Venus de Milo does not seem to have inspired authors to the same extent. Howard Sutherland has authored a poem entitled Venus de Milo in 1901. The Swedish poet Ann Jäderlund has authored a poem entitled Venus de Milo, with a meta-poetical content in which the futility of attempting to completely understand art is examined (Jäderlund 1988; see also Prettejohn 2006, 235–44). A second illustrative example of how ancient sculptures are appropriated and dispersed in popular culture is the Nike of Samothrace, often popularly referred to as the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Together with the Venus de Milo, the Nike of Samothrace is perhaps the most widely circulated ancient masterpiece nowadays. The Nike of Samothrace was found in 1863 by the French archaeologist Charles Champoiseau, and sent to Paris during the same year (Knell 1995, 4). Appropriations of ancient masterpieces are in some sense constrained by the meaning the sculpture had in its original setting. One type of modern appropriations of the Nike of Samothrace alludes to Nike as a deification of Victory, in a loose sense. Claims have been made that the design of the previous FIFA World Cup Trophy, also known as the

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Figure 6.20 From the video ”24-hour Venus” by Cecilia Edefalk (photo: Carl Henrik Tillberg. Permission to reproduce image granted by the artist and photographer).

Jules Rimet Cup which was made in 1930, was are inspired by or based on the Nike of Samothrace (see wikipedia/winged victory of samothrace). It is, however, hard to see any resemblance between the Nike of Samothrace and the figure on the trophy. These confused claims illustrate that the Nike of Samothrace, at least popularly, is perceived as the prime, if not only, manifestation of the ancient deity, Nike. Oddly, this feeds the masterpiece reputation of the sculpture in the popular imagination. Another common way to appropriate ancient sculptures is to purchase casts of the sculpture. These reproductions tend to be either natural size or miniaturized. A replica of the Nike of Samothrace is placed in a fountain in front of the main entrance to Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. Another replica, designed by the architect Ricardo Bonfill, is placed on the Esplanade d’ Europe in the post-modern quarter of Antigone in Montpellier (fig 6.21). In Sweden, the home retailer called “The One: Total Home Experience” has appropriated the Nike of Samothrace in several different ways. In their boutique in central Stockholm, they have displayed several life-size plaster casts of the ancient sculpture in their windows. The display was rather striking and the drapery of the ancient sculpture was enhanced by the fact that the sculpture was lit from the floor. In the boutique, the casts were one of many decorative objects for the home that were on sale. Interestingly, the sales personnel in the boutique referred to it as the “Angel” and suggested that it was a Renaissance sculpture (fig. 6.22). The circulation of famous ancient sculptures is not restricted to commercial venues. Miniaturized casts are often bought, and there are many of us who have purchased one or another souvenir in the form of an ancient sculpture. Larger casts of the Nike from Samothrace are on display in the

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Figure 6.21 A replica of Nike of Samothrace in Montepellier (photo: Wikimedia).

campus of the Winthrop University, South Carolina, and the campus of the Connecticut College, Connecticut. One needs only to remind the reader of the many shops in Plaka, Athens, which sell casts of ancient sculptures and reproductions of ancient ceramic vessels. The oddest feature of a plaster cast of Nike of Samothrace that we have come across is in the 2006 TVdocumentary The Art of Football – From A to Z. In an interview with Franz Beckenbauer, a miniaturized cast of Nike is visible beside the sofa on which he sits. In the film, the missing head of Nike is replaced with a football. Hotels have also appropriated the Nike of Samothrace. The Victoria Palace Hotel, a self-acclaimed fashion and design hotel on the Italian Riviera just south of Rimini, used the Nike of Samothrace as a decorative element (http://www.victoriapalace-hotel.com/gallery.asp). The Nike Beach Hotel on Samothrace has also made the famous sculpture its symbol. In this hotel, we encountered yet another remarkable appropriation of the ancient icon. The sculpture is used in the bathrooms on the signs that ask you not to throw any paper down the toilet! Continuing with the island of Samothrace, we can note that a cast of Nike is on display in the archaeological museum on the site. This contradicts the discourse of authenticity, since it is a plaster cast. In the world of cartoons, the Nike of Samothrace is appropriated as a representation of victory. There are also more high-brow appropriations of the Nike of Samothrace; there are many modern artists who have been inspired by the famous sculpture. The Michigan artist Brandi Read features an image of a watercolor painting on her webpage (http://www.brandi-read.com/Brandi_Read/

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Figure 6.22 A replica of Nike of Samothrace in a home decorating boutique in Stockholm (photo: Authors).

Victory_of_Samothrace.html). The sculptor Christian Lattier, from the Ivory Coast, was also inspired by the Nike of Samothrace when he made his sculpture “The Chicken Thief or the Victory of Samothrake” in 1962 in the Musée des Civilisations de Côte d’Ivoire in Abidjan. The resemblance to the Louvre original is minimal, but the appropriation of the name can, perhaps, be viewed as a post-colonial remark on humiliation and social outcasts. In Europe, the group of artist Hans-Rucker-Co from Austria made an installation in 1977 where a 7.5m-high copy was mounted on top of a building façade in Linz. They also had plans to make a similar installation in front of the architecture museum in Frankfurt am Main in 1981 (Knell 1995, 106–9). The torso of the Nike of Samothrace was also appropriated by the Swedish artist Cecilia Edefalk at an exhibition in 2008. The Nike of Samothrace has also served as an inspiration, or point of reference, in the world of literature. The Swedish poet Gunnar Ekelöf published the poem Samothrake, referring to the sculpture, in his 1945 collection Non Serviam (Ekelöf 1945). In a letter from 1902 to Paul Cezanne, Rainer Maria Rilke makes a distinction between the Venus de Milo and the Nike of Samothrace; Rilke prefers the latter (Knell 1995, 102). Lastly, perhaps the most famous reference to the Nike of Samothrace is in the Futurist manifesto from 1909, authored by the Italian artist Filippo Tomasso Marinetti. In this manifesto, he made the famous statement that “a roaring motor car which

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seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace,” thus using the Victory as an icon that encapsulates the aesthetic qualities of ancient (traditional) art, against which the Futurists turned (see www.cscs.umich.edu/~crshalizi/T4PM/futurist-manifesto.html). During the 20th and 21st centuries, classical art seems to have lost its appeal for many. Contemporary artists do not allude to classical art as often as during the preceding centuries. This can be attributed to the emergence of a new modern and formalistic discourse of art. An intellectual turn in the early 20th century resulted in the dethronement of ancient art as the unquestioned universal aesthetic model. Nevertheless, as we have seen, discursive ruptures are seldom definite, and contemporary artists continue to allude to ancient masterpieces. The masterpieces are also appropriated in a wide variety of contexts in popular everyday culture, for instance in the retail business, in restaurants, in music, and in the movies. Masterpiece sculptures belong to a limited part of the classical legacy that is continuously appropriated. Images of masterpieces are reproduced on a variety of mediums such as cups, t-shirts, postcards, posters and plaster casts. The consumption of the classical legacy has political dimensions, in addition to the commercial dimensions. The consumption of the classical masterpieces serves various functions. At one end of the scale, Classical Antiquity is used to promote different kinds of official/public identities, not least national identities in a Western context. At the other end of the scale, classical masterpieces are used to promote resistance to official ideologues, which promote competing identities and practices that undermine the streamlined official meanings (see Plantzos 2012). There are two facets to the contemporary consumption of masterpieces. Preconceived notions about the masterpieces condition the utilization of the masterpieces in popular culture. The investment of meaning is dependent on previous experiences. This does not necessarily mean that the agents who appropriate the ancient masterpieces are aware of what the image represents. Both the Venus de Milo and the Nike from Samothrace, for instance, are sometimes mistaken as Renaissance art. On the other hand, the appropriations of the masterpieces enforce the discourse and symbolic value of the represented masterpieces. No matter how fragmentary and out of place we may find the appropriations, they nevertheless contribute to sustain the familiarity and presence of the classical legacy (see Pearce 1995). The appropriations of the masterpieces are an essential and integrated part of the discourse of masterpieces. Two processes have a major impact on the appropriations of masterpieces in contemporary popular culture: fragmentation and commercialization (see Benjamin 1999; Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1998; Settis 2006). The digital techniques facilitate a contemporary popular culture characterized by an increasing amount of information presented in smaller and smaller fragments. The number of images of the masterpieces available to us is larger today than it was a century ago. The increasing stream of information

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also results in a fragmentation of our perception of the classical legacy. We encounter bits and pieces, isolated images of the classical legacy. The fragmentation results in shallowness and an emptiness of meaning, thus the classical legacy is not recognized as classical. The allusions to the classical legacy are made on the grounds of a vague sense of something that is beautiful and fine. This process is enforced by the increasing commercialization of the ancient legacy. The wider circulation of images of ancient masterpieces is due to the increasing usage of such works of art as commercial symbols. The fragmented classical legacy is used for commercial purposes in order to attract consumers. This is often based on notions of the aesthetic qualities of the masterpieces. Despite the obvious differences to the high-art discourse, the popular and commercial appropriations are also propelled by the aesthetic qualities of the masterpieces. COFFEE-TABLE BOOKS The discourse of masterpieces is also detectable in realms other than museum exhibitions. A fundamental realm for the dispersal of the masterpiece discourse, and museum collections in general, is the wide range of publications, from catalogues and guides, to outright scholarly treatises, available not least in the ever-increasing number of museum shops. Although not all publications can be viewed as articulations of the masterpiece discourse, there is nevertheless one type that particularly resembles coffee-table books and is a blatant articulation of the masterpiece discourse. This type of monograph is oversized, heavy and dominated by large photographs. Their heavy weight and expensive price is not necessarily a disadvantage, since they are intended to be decorative elements in interior decoration. The actual textual content is of subordinate significance and ranges from short introductions to descriptions of single masterpieces (see for instance, Colonia 2006; Coscia Jr and Milleker 2003; Pasquier and Martinez 2007a;).11 Typically, the laconic texts focus on straightforward descriptions of individual masterpieces. A second recurrent theme in these texts is the post-antique social life of the sculptures. Nevertheless, the emphasis in these publications is on the photographs of the masterpieces. The photographs are often set in an environment with a monochrome, often dark, background. The lighting shifts from sets with even lighting, facilitating close scrutiny of details, to sets with dramatic (arty) lighting that produces sharp contrasts between shadows and bright areas. The photographs are typically confined to individual sculptures, ranging from whole-figure images to close-ups of details of the sculptures. The coffee table books articulate several characteristics of the masterpiece discourse. The emphasis on the aesthetic, the photographic and descriptive focus on the artworks accentuates the universal qualities of the single masterpieces. Each masterpiece is furthermore presented as a self-contained

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object that also underlines the autonomy of art. The absence of the original cultural and social setting of the masterpieces also contributes to the emphasis of the unique aesthetic qualities, which is the primary aspect of the masterpiece discourse. Photographs, whether printed in publications or slides, confined to depict one or many parts of an object or artwork, are not only intrinsic to the discourse of masterpieces. This type of image imbues formalist Art History, which has been normative during the bulk of the 20th century. These images accentuate and facilitate a scrutiny of artworks as de-contextualized objects in which the minute details are primary. The images accentuate the discourse of masterpieces, but they also illustrate the discursive threads that the museums share with Art History. It has been pointed out that Art History, in its traditional 20th century shape, is permeated by the spread and use of photographs (Nelson 2000; Preziosi 1989, 72; Preziosi 2003, 26, 37). Indeed, the introduction of photography was not confined to Art History and museums; it had a wide impact on science and scholarship in general, and has altered the epistemological landscape profoundly. Until fairly recently, the impact of photographic techniques on scholarship has remained untheorized, and the prevailing attitude has been to regard photographs as straightforward objective testimonies (Daston and Galison 1992). SUMMARY In conclusion, the essential feature of the discourse of masterpieces is the emphasis of the unique aesthetic qualities of these objects. Although each masterpiece is viewed as unique, another, partly conflicting, tenet is that their aesthetic qualities transcend all cultural boundaries and have a universal validity. In museums, the masterpiece discourse emerges in displays arranged to facilitate aesthetic contemplation or reverence of the masterpieces. The intrinsic aesthetic qualities of the masterpieces are promoted by arrangements that aestheticize these objects at the expense of information about their original cultural/historical settings (Ames 1986, 39–42; Clifford 1988, 222–25; Duncan 1995, 4–5, 16–17; Greenblatt 1991, 42–45; Siapkas and Sjögren 2007). Aesthetic reverence of masterpieces seems to be conditioned by the possibility of undisturbed contemplation of the objects, which also facilitates an examination of minute details. In these displays of masterpieces, information about the wider (archaeological, historical or cultural) contexts of the masterpieces is rarely included. Displays of masterpieces convey information confined to issues regarding the artist, artistic school, style, date, etc. The art historical focus is also evident in the second common theme accounted for in masterpiece displays, which is the history of the object from its modern rediscovery onwards. In reality, this means accounts of the masterpieces’ itineraries through the private collections of the European nobility, and ending with the acquisition by the museum. The

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masterpiece discourse severs the ties of the masterpiece with its original context and facilitates comparisons, primarily with other masterpieces that embody artistic manifestations of other times and places. The masterpiece discourse augments art historical concerns. The discourse of masterpieces is also embedded in, and framed by, other discourses. The display of ancient sculptures as masterpieces articulates features that are essential to traditional formalist Art History. The narrow focus on the objects of art, which is dominated by artistic and stylistic issues, and conceptualizations of art as an autonomous realm where influences from other contemporaneous discourse remains unexplored, are hallmarks of formalist Art History. It was the realization of the shortcomings of traditional Art History that propelled the introduction of New Art History in the mid-1980s, which aimed to redeem Art History by shifting the analytical focus to social, semiotic, psychological and other concerns that had been neglected earlier. A conceptual emphasis on the integrity of the objects and on formal details of retrieved artifacts also characterizes traditional, culturehistorical Classical Archaeology. One issue that has been raised in Classical Archaeology is the tendency to focus on exemplary object categories. From an archaeological point of view, the narrow analytical focus that the masterpiece discourse indicates is highly problematic. Both disciplines are imbued with empiristic and positivistic agendas that place particular emphasis on the mastery of the discursive analytical objects. There is no sharp dividing line between Classical Archaeology and Art History, and scholars in both disciplines study masterpiece sculptures from antiquity. It is, therefore, futile to try to isolate one of the academic disciplines as the principal cause for the shape of the masterpiece discourse. Lastly, turning to an even higher and more abstract level, we can also situate the masterpiece discourse within modernity. The aesthetic focus on the masterpiece is part of a scholarly empiristic agenda, which in turn actually hinges on the wider frame of modernity itself. It is at this level that we find the discursive clues for the emphasis on the formal aesthetic qualities that we attribute to these objects or art. In the end, it is only within modernity that the display and scholarly emphasis on the formal qualities of the masterpiece sculptures are intelligible.

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Art Historical Narratives

The previous chapter showed that the masterpiece discourse is one of the most powerful narratives conveyed by museums. In content and projected ideals, it overlaps with art historical narratives that are described in this chapter. Narratives such as the supremacy of Greek art (especially that of the Classical period), the importance of Roman copies as representatives of the classical style and Greek sculptural development, and the artistic genius of the sculptor can all be linked to the masterpiece discourse. Art historical narratives emphasize the inherent artistic qualities of the ancient sculptures. THE MUSEUM SETTING The nature and history of the museum, a space that collects, preserves and displays selected objects for public viewing, enhances art historical narratives (Jeffers 2003, 108–10). In museum displays, the object is inevitably detached from the original cultural context. The museum often turns it into an object of art, and the way it is installed in relation to its surroundings establishes its relative importance (Newhouse 2005, 58). This can be defined as an aestheticizing mode of display, since there is a focus on the statues’ most aesthetically pleasing aspects. Thus, an essential characteristic of art historical narratives is that ancient sculptures are displayed as objects of art. It is only through the separation of artworks from the original social and functional contexts that they find their place in the museum where they can be appreciated in their own right (Negrin 1993, 101–4). Furthermore, the architecture of the museum and the arrangement of an exhibition certainly influence how an exhibited object is perceived. Several museums with significant exhibits of ancient sculptures are monumental 19th-century buildings with classicizing connotations. The most imposing examples include the National Museum in Athens (Bastéa 2000, 168–72), the British Museum (Wilson 2002, 94–98), the Metropolitan in New York (Heckscher 1995), the Art Institute of Chicago, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston (Steffensen-Bruce 1998, 24–47), the Glyptothek in München (Plagemann 1967, 43–64) and the Altes Museum in Berlin (Cullen and von Stockhausen

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1998, 20–46; Heilmeyer, Heres and Massmann 2004). Not only has the monumentality of these buildings influenced the setup of current exhibitions, but the fact that each of these museums was founded in the 19th century as large-scale public art museums is also a factor in the museum displays. As building types, they all represent the traditional museum where a universal architectural language, aimed at conveying the museum as a public shrine for knowledge, is present (Saumarez Smith 1995, 243–45). The monumental façade followed a consistent architectural order that reflected the organization of knowledge and universal system of classification of the objects on display inside the museum. The fact that this architecture used the language of Classical Antiquity refers to classical heritage, and portrays the museum as an institution of ancient Greek origin (Shaya 2005, 423–25). In the interior design, large neutral public halls further detach the exhibited objects from the original cultural contexts. Ancient sculptures are often an integrated, decorative element of the architecture. As discussed in chapter 5 (Genealogies), the art historical narrative is intimately connected with the modern museum project of the 19th century, and can also be traced back to the sculpture galleries that developed throughout Europe in the course of the 18th and 19th centuries. Isolating ancient sculptures in separate galleries is still a commonly practiced displaytechnique. The sculpture galleries at the Vatican and Capitoline museums in Rome, for example, serve as prototypical examples where original exhibition techniques have been preserved until today. In relation to the Vatican, only slight changes have been made to the Galleria della Statue, Sala delle Muse and Cortile Octagone in the Museo Pio Clementino (Pietrangeli 1993, 49–172). The sculpture galleries, including the Braccio Nuovo in the Museo Chiaramonti (De Angelis 1994; Pietrangeli 1993, 133–72), have not altered the general impression of ancient sculptures displayed as objects of art, detached from their original historical, archaeological and cultural contexts. In the recently refurbished Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums (fig. 5.5), the exhibitions in the sculpture galleries attempt to preserve the 18th-century character of the original museum that was opened to the public in 1733 (Clark 1966–67, 141; Albertoni et al. 2006, 23–24). In both museums, it is the sculpture gallery that forms the new cultural context for the ancient sculptures. A very explicit example, where the intention of the curators has been to preserve and display the original sculpture gallery, can be found in the Royal Castle of Stockholm. In the so-called Gustav III’s Museum of Antiquities, which was inaugurated in 1794, the present-day reconstructions aim to allow “the visitor to appreciate the breadth and scope of the panorama of ideas that imbued the late 18th century as well as to experience the pieces themselves in their original Museum context” (Leander Touati 1998, 78). The museum was partially restored in 1958, when the display of ancient sculpture was reconstructed using 18th-century paintings of the museum, among others. In 1992, a more thorough reconstruction of the

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two sculpture galleries was made, with the aim of restoring the museum to its original 18th-century layout (Leander Touati 1998, 65–78). The ancient sculptures are, to a great extent, displayed as decorative elements of the interior design (in comparison to the interior from Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums, fig. 5.5, for example). This way of incorporating ancient sculptures into a particular decorative scheme, or program, follows a tradition created in Baroque installations (Marvin 2008, 97–98). Many other museums created during 18th and 19th centuries that have evolved into large-scale museums preserve the essence of the sculpture gallery, even though there is no direct reconstruction of the original exhibitionspace. For instance, sections of the Greek and Roman departments of the Louvre recall the arrangement of earlier sculpture galleries. Predominantly, it is museums such as the Louvre that project art historical narratives. Early public exhibitions also conformed to how the discipline of Art History was formulated at that time (Tanner 2006b, 1–19), with a system of classification that emphasized national schools and the genius of the individual artist as a significant incentive for artistic development. The 19th-century tradition of Meisterforschung, which focused on the sculptor, should be seen as a result of a strong veneration of the artist that flourished at this time (see discussion in chapter 3). Connected to this discourse is the display of the individual art object as an isolated masterpiece (McClellan 2003, 17–29, 31–32). Information that has been considered to be fundamental in the study of ancient sculpture for a long time, such as style, dating and attribution to the master sculptor or his school, is often conveyed in panels of text in the exhibition. Ancient sculptures are often arranged according to a well-known organizational canon, which concurs with the importance ascribed to the term “canon” in art historical research (Crowther 2003, 122; Preziosi 1998a 577; Steiner 1996). We should not, however, confuse this canon with something rooted in antiquity, such as Polykleitos’s Kanon, but rather connect it with a dominating discursive framework, or taxonomy, that dictates the arrangement of ancient sculptures in contemporary museums. Visualizing the stylistic canon can be an end in itself like, for instance, at the sculpture museum Liebieghaus in Frankfurt (Bol 1983; Bol 1997), where the visitor makes a chronological journey through rooms housing Egyptian, Greek and Roman sculpture, respectively. There is a distinct spatial division between these art historical epochs. The only textual information given in the labels connected with individual sculptures concerns the date of the sculpture and its relationship to different art historical periods like Archaic, Classical, Late Antique. Besides the chronological organization, the arrangement of the sculptures underscores a comparison between different stylistic traits. Thus, in the Greek room, one finds draped female sculptures grouped separately and several male torsos strategically placed in the middle of the room (fig. 7.1). The visitor can thereby compare stylistic variations within different sculpture types. The practice of organizing exhibitions in period-rooms should be seen as a straightforward recognition of the prevailing canon.

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Figure 7.1 The Greek room in the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt. This photo shows the exhibition in September 2006. The exhibition underwent a complete reinstallation in 2008, which also comprised the introduction of a rich color scheme for the walls (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Liebieghaus, Frankfurt).

Period-rooms are frequently found in big museums often defined as “universal survey museums” (Duncan and Wallach 1980), which have a sufficiently large collection to provide a comprehensive presentation of art historical epochs, like the National Museum of Archaeology in Athens, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Pergamonmuseum in Berlin, the Palazzo Massimo of the National Museum in Rome, the Glyptothek in München, the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. In all of these museums, sculpture is the dominating material-category in the display of chronological developments of ancient art. Surprisingly, in spite of extensive collections there are rarely any attempts to present other narratives beyond the art historical narrative. In other exhibitions, the stylistic canon appears as an organizational undercurrent, even when the exhibition aims to present a variation of different narratives related to a more archaeological/historical approach toward the past. Even in museums whose purpose it is to exhibit the finds from a particular archaeological site, there is an underlying acknowledgement of this canon. In the archaeological museums at key sites such as Delphi and Olympia (viewed in December 2006), for instance, sculpture is by far the most frequently displayed find-category. As such, it forces the museums, albeit their newly refurbished exhibitions, to conform to the canon by presenting consecutive art historical epochs. The site museum at Ostia (visited on March 11, 2007), the harbor town of ancient Rome, is an even

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more explicit example of how ancient sculpture overtakes an archaeological museum. No other material category from the site has been put on display, which emphasizes the art historical framework of the museum. The art historical perspective prevails although Ostia often appears in archaeological literature on ancient Rome as an ideal case for in-depth investigations of archaeological and socio-historical issues, such as everyday life (DeLaine 2004; Konen 2001) and different economic concerns (DeLaine 2005; Rickman 2002). Sculpture has even been used to study the social conditions and rank of the lower social order within Ostia (D’Ambra 2006). None of these interests have, however, influenced the museum in Ostia. Instead, by excluding archaeological artifacts besides sculpture, and by organizing the exhibition rooms according to sculpture types—religious sculpture, Roman ideal sculpture (Idealplastik) linked to the discourse of Kopienkritik and Roman imperial portrait sculpture—the museum distances itself from archaeological concerns. A similar situation can be found in the archaeological museum of Kos (viewed on August 12, 2006). In this regional museum, which illustrates the archaeological history of the island of Kos, sculpture from the Hellenistic and Roman periods are, except for a large mosaic in the atrium, the sole material category on display (Dierichs 2003). One could, therefore, question the epithet “archaeological” that is applied to this museum, since the dominance of sculpture implies an art exhibition. Antiquity, and the visual expression of antiquity, is mainly defined through sculpture. Consequently, the museums at Delphi, Olympia, Ostia and Kos present the visitors with a distorted view of the past, or at least a heavily biased view, since the diversity of objects found at these sites is not displayed. Although sculpture is a well-represented find-category from ancient Greece and Rome, this does not mean that sculptures permeated every level of ancient societies. The portrayal of ancient sculpture in museums as the most important category of art from antiquity, however, often sustains such an impression. Thus, the dominating setting for ancient sculptures in museums consolidates an art historical narrative. CLASSICAL NARRATIVES Classical narratives are fed by a fascination for the classical style in both ancient Greek and Roman sculpture. In the following analysis of classical narratives, we concentrate mainly on permanent exhibitions of ancient Greece and Rome, though there are several recent temporary exhibitions with a focus on the Classical period.1 These exhibitions reinforce the impression that classical sculpture has been granted a special place in museums. In text panels accompanying exhibitions, the classical style of sculpture is often described by idealizing phrases such as “harmony and symmetry of the forms, ethos and pathos of the effect, precision and accomplishment

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of the design as well as idealism and abstraction” (Antikensammlung, Kassel),2 “a new naturalism based on careful observation of the human body”(Boston Museum of Fine Arts)3 and “figures possess not only timeless, idealized serenity and beauty created through carefully calculated proportions, but also an impression of transience conveyed by the flickering treatment of wind-blown hair and drapery” (Metropolitan, New York).4 This poetic vocabulary underlines the universal values evoked by classical art and recalls not only the language expressed by Winckelmann, but also the approaches and descriptions of classical sculpture in 20th-century scholarship. The following quote from the epilogue of Jerome Pollitt’s book Art and Experience in Classical Greece, where he sets out to describe the diversity of styles and themes in classical sculpture, is a good representative for this kind of language: Dramatic tension, moralistic austerity, mannerism, visionary aloofness, a passion for elegance, academicism, sensuousness, and pathos can all be found at one stage or another; and in purely formal terms the Aspasia, the Nike of Paionios, and the Aphrodite of Knidos perhaps seem to have at best only a distant familial relationship. (Pollitt 1972, 195) Consequently, here is a particular reverence of Greek sculpture of the fourth and fifth century B.C.E., but later sculpture which emulated stylistic traits of the Classical period also enjoys a prominent placement in exhibitions. It is not surprising that most masterpieces contained in museums are either a very few originals or, more commonly, copies of famous sculptures from these two centuries. The classical narrative is closely related to how the classical style in art, and the mutual impact on ancient Greek society, has been treated in academic research. There is still a strong focus on the art of the fourth and fifth centuries B.C.E., which from a stylistic point of view is often seen as exemplary in comparison to other periods. The classical narrative also reflects the methods of Kopienkritik that characterized much of the scholarship of the 19th and 20th centuries. Scholars try to distinguish various elements in a copy that are the most accurate representation of the original statue. In other words, Kopienkritik aims to gain knowledge about the original classical sculpture. Consequently, when an original statue, often made of bronze, surfaces, it often becomes a showpiece in a museum. The quest for authenticity further consolidates the art historical perspective of ancient sculpture. To be able to display an original statue from the Classical period also gives a certain prestige to the museum. But it is a prestige that often rests on feeble premises. For instance, a male head attributed to Skopas acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum in the late 1970s shows that original Greek sculpture of the Classical period holds a special attraction for museums. Andrew Stewart, a leading authority on Skopas, wrote a monograph (1982) about a head presumed to originate from the pediment of a temple in Tegea. It was thereby confirmed as an authentic work, made

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by Skopas (contested by Palagia 1984) and considered to be a piece of quality art well worth purchasing and displaying. Unfortunately, in the 1980s, it was discovered that the head was a 20th-century fake and it was removed from public display.5 It is a telling story of how the prospect of acquiring an original sculpture of the fourth century B.C.E. by a leading sculptor of that time can dazzle a museum into making a fatal mistake. General arrangements of Greek and Roman antiquities in a museum exhibition reflect the focus on the Classical period. This particular period in antiquity is distinguished, in relation to other periods, by the display of classical objects in separate rooms. For instance, on the second floor of Boston Museum of Fine Arts (MFA), Greek Art is introduced by a separate room that mainly displays objects from the Classical period. It should be noted that this exhibition was viewed in April 2006, before the commencement of a long-term project of reinstallation of the galleries of ancient art in the museum (Shapiro 2012, 369). Artifacts from earlier periods are exhibited on the first floor, but it is not until the visitor reaches this room that the general concept of Greek art is presented. As a contrast to the exhibition room on the first floor, which is a dimly lit space with black walls, the white-walled classical room is flooded in natural daylight from large windows. Thus, while the darkness of the first floor creates a sense of mystery, a visual impression of airiness and lightness is conveyed to the visitor when entering the classical room on the second floor. The exhibition on the first floor mainly includes black-andred-figure vases in showcases where details on the vases are accentuated by spotlights. The classical room has a more varied display of objects, where marble sculpture forms an important component. White, or lightly colored, neutral walls are not uncommon in the display of ancient marble sculpture, and can be found in museum exhibitions created at different periods during the 20th century. This is in stark contrast to the more colorfully decorated exhibition rooms of the 19th century (see chapter 5). The neutral, white-walled exhibitions can be found in the sculpture hall in the Antikensammlung in Basel (see fig. 6.11) from 1966, in the newly refurbished exhibition in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (see fig. 6.6), the Glyptothek of München from the late 1960s (see figs. 5.4 and 5.8) and in the sculpture hall of the pre-Hellenistic exhibition in the Metropolitan museum in New York, which was inaugurated in 1999. Such an aesthetic enhances the notion of purity associated with classical art, especially sculpture, which has come to symbolize the superior position of this epoch in the history of art. In the classical room in Boston, an explanatory text introduces the viewer to Greek art of the Classical period. It reads as follows: The final defeat of the invading Persian forces in 478 B.C. marked the beginning of the Classical period, a time of Greek self-confidence and accomplishment in every field. Not only did architecture, sculpture,

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and vase painting flourish during this time, but philosophy and drama achieved great heights as well. One of the most conspicuous products of the renewed Greek potency is the ambitious building project on the Acropolis of Athens, fostered by Pericles, a dominant figure in Athenian democratic politics. With the master sculptor Phidias as the artistic director of the grandiose undertaking, the Propylaia, the Erectheion, and the Parthenon were erected and embellished with a magnificent sculptural program. Phidias and other fifth-century sculptors infused statues in stone and bronze with a new naturalism, based on careful observation of the human body. In bodies at rest, weight-bearing, tensioned limbs contrast with relaxed ones, a scheme most clearly seen in the mid-fifthcentury work of the sculptor Polycleitus. Other statues suggest dynamic movement. Most great Classical statues were executed in bronze; later many of them were reproduced by the Romans in marble. These marble versions survive, while most of the bronzes were melted down in later centuries. A new painterly technique in vase painting allowed for overlapping of figures in complex arrangements and interaction of figures with landscape. Delicate white-ground vases, used only for funeral rites, reveal a sensitive use of color and brushwork that was impossible to achieve in the more traditional red-figure technique. Athenian vases were prized in antiquity and often exported as far as Italy and the Black Sea coast. The essence of this period is conveyed in a similar manner to that in the British Museum and the Art Institute of Chicago, for instance; the “Parthenocentric” discourse, the importance of master sculptors, and the cultural contrast to the East.6 From the first sentence, Greece, or more particularly Athens of the fifth century B.C.E., emerges as a highly cultured, refined, civilization because of its victory over the Persians. The art and architecture of the Athenian Acropolis represent the most tangible examples of the magnificence of the Classical period. The achievements of individual geniuses, like Phidias and Polykleitos, play an important part in this framework. All of this is reflected in the choice and arrangements of the displayed objects in the classical room. The projected narrative can, to a great extent, be associated with universal claims on antiquity. In such a context, classical Athens has received a universal, or metonymic, function of representing the idealized conceptualization of antiquity. Some sculptures are singled out as particularly representative of classical art. For instance, a head of Aphrodite, the so-called Bartlett head (Comstock and Vermeule 1976, no. 55), is separately displayed in a freestanding, transparent glass case and is also presented as a highlight in the guided audio tour of the museum. Together with a fragmentary mounted warrior (Comstock and Vermeule 1976, no. 42) and a statue of a youth (Comstock and Vermeule 1976, no. 59), these statues possess certain qualities pertaining to

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classical narratives. First, the statues are supposed Greek originals from the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E. Secondly, although attributions to artists cannot be made with certainty, it is pointed out in the labels that the head of Aphrodite and the youth are made in the style of the sculptor Praxiteles. Implicitly, they become sculptures of high artistic quality. A similar treatment, singular placement in a vitrine, is given to a three-sided relief dated to the mid-fifth century B.C.E. (Comstock and Vermeule 1976, no. 30). In the information text, comparisons are made to the so-called Ludovisi throne in Palazzo Altemps in Rome (Hartswick 2004, 119–30)—one of the few masterpieces of the Early Classical period that is not a Roman copy. This association makes the relief in Boston a unique piece of art, and it is displayed as such. The classical room in Boston is otherwise characterized by a focus on classical Athens and, in particular, on the art and architecture of the Acropolis. Accordingly, a model of the Acropolis, itself an antique built in 1895, is displayed in the middle of the room. The status of the Acropolis at that time, when it had been stripped of its post-antique architectural remains, is clear, and visual attention is drawn to the monumental buildings of the fifth century B.C.E. A Roman copy stands near the model (Vermeule 1984, 197). The copy represents a smaller version of Phidias’s colossal statue of Athena Parthenos that once stood inside the Parthenon. It is perhaps the statue that most vividly represents classical Athens, although it only survives as small marble copies from the Roman period (Lapatin 1996; Nick 2002, 177–205). The central placement of the Athena Parthenos in this room enhances the importance of Athens within the classical narrative. In this case, classical art and its association with classical Athens become a catalyst for the mentality of the entire period. Athens’s importance in the general cultural framework of ancient Greece and Rome is accentuated in the majority of museum exhibitions. The most extreme case where Athens alone epitomizes multiple aspects of ancient Greece can perhaps be found in the pre-Hellenistic rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (Picon et al. 2007). With the exception of pre-sixth century B.C.E. Greece (prehistoric and early Greece) the outline of history, politics and art history of ancient Greece is presented through an Athenian lens. Thus, information texts mainly describe Athenian phenomena from the sixth to fourth centuries B.C.E.7 This bias could be explained by the abundance of source materials from Athens. Such a view can, however, also be seen as an excuse to legitimize the museum’s policy of collecting ancient objects, which emphasize the Athens of these centuries as the essence of the classical narrative. Like so many other exhibitions on ancient Greece and Rome, a clear dichotomy between East and West is mediated through the classical narrative in the Metropolitan Museum. This is most clearly expressed in a text that describes Greek art of the fifth century: “At the end of the Persian Wars in 480 B.C., a new sense of discipline emerged, which gave a sober, dignified aspect to the art of the Early Classical period

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(ca. 480–450 B.C.). Figures were imbued with a noble awareness and restrained emotion that expressed the virtues of moderation and self-control to which the Greeks attributed their victory over the Persians, whom they saw as arrogant and aggressive.”8 Similar visual and textual impressions of the classical narrative can be found in several museum exhibitions across Europe. A reverence of the classical style permeates the display of ancient sculpture in the Louvre (see figs. 6.15 and 6.17). In this museum, ancient sculpture holds a central position in the collection of antiquities from ancient Greece and Rome. There is often a special focus on classical sculptures in the different sculpture galleries. This focus is further enhanced in a recent publication of the museum’s collection of Greek sculpture entitled 100 chefs d’oeuvre de la sculpture grecque au Louvre (Pasquier and Martinez 2007a). Sculptures, especially of the Classical period, are perceived as masterpieces, which emphasizes the timeless quality of this category of art. Of the one hundred masterpieces presented in this publication, forty-six sculptures are from the Classical period. The classical narrative is also characterized by a separate Parthenon-room (Room 6: Salle du Diane) located at the beginning of ground floor in the Sully Wing. These sculptures are presented as the beginning of a sculptural development from the Classical to the Hellenistic period. When passing this room, the visitor continues into a long hall with consecutive rooms where Roman copies of well-known sculptures of the Classical and Hellenistic periods are exhibited (Rooms 9–13: Galerie de la Vénus de Milo) (see fig. 6.17). In the course of admiring the pinnacle of ancient art, visitors are imbued with classical examples of famous ancient sculptures, such as the Athena Parthenos and the Diadoumenos, and are finally presented with exemplary statues from the Hellenistic period. The well-known masterpiece, the Venus de Milo from the late second century B.C.E., usually constitutes the visual focus—she is ordinarily displayed at the end of this room, which also carries her name. Although dated to the Hellenistic period, she is often perceived as an example of how the classical stylistic tradition is implemented in later periods (Pasquier and Martinez 2007a, 162). At our visit on June 4, 2007, she was temporarily replaced by the so-called Athena Mattei, supposedly a Roman marble copy of a Greek bronze statue dating to the fourth century B.C.E.9 Thus, in the Louvre, we encounter the art historical ingredients that usually define the classical narrative—the elevation of the Parthenon sculptures, the classical tradition in Greek sculpture as it is appropriated in later times and the Roman practice of copying famous classical sculptures. An apparent visual statement that emphasizes the preeminence of classical sculpture can be found in the National Archaeological Museum of Naples. During our visit in March 2007, a long, narrow exhibition room on the ground floor displayed Roman copies of Greek sculptures mainly from the fifth century B.C.E. (fig. 7.2). Sparingly placed along the walls were copies of statues often deemed formative for the classical style: the Diadoumenos, Doryphoros and Athena Farnese. The only sculpture not

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Figure 7.2 The Classical room in the Archaeological Museum at Naples (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei).

placed along the walls is a copy of the famous Tyrannicides group. Placed in front of the entrance, it immediately catches the eye of a visitor entering the room. Although the original sculpture group represents the severe style that precedes the classical, it is one of the most famous sculptural works from the fifth century B.C.E. in that it became iconic for Athenian democracy (Brunnsåker 1971, 120–25). Thus, the mediated message of this room concerns the primacy of the classical style in sculpture and the central role of fifth-century Athens in antiquity. So, despite the lack of any substantial textual information, besides brief labels by the statues, the classical narrative is still an obvious choice in the display of sculpture. A more textually based example of the classical narrative can be found in the exhibition of ancient antiquities in Antikensammlung, Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel. The present exhibition covers one large hall and is chronologically arranged from Aegean prehistory and Egypt to the Late Roman period (chapter 6 and Gercke 2004, 82–85). In this hall, which is flooded with daylight from large windows, the dominating material categories are marble statues and painted Attic vases displayed in transparent exhibition cases. The visual focus is on the so-called “Kassel Apollo” which is attributed to Phidias (see fig. 6.9). This statue is centrally placed amongst the other sculpture. A classical narrative we have come to know in other exhibitions is evidenced in the explanatory text accompanying the display of classical sculptures. The text concerns the rise of Athenian power in the

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fifth century B.C.E. and the exemplary nature of classical culture. A few of the best-known personalities in the sculptural arts, painting, architecture, poetry, science and philosophy are mentioned.10 The text also, however, provides the visitor with information on how the Classical period was viewed in later times. In that sense, there is an awareness of its constructional aspects. It is a standpoint lacking in most museums where classical narratives permeate the display and arrangement of ancient sculpture. PRIMACY OF THE PARTHENON SCULPTURE The ongoing “Parthenocentric” discourse in the study of ancient Greek art is perhaps the most explicit expression of the obsession with the Classical period (chapter 4). The sculptures of the Parthenon have come to represent the finest examples of the classical style in research (see chapter 4) and in museums. Let us first turn to the museum that most recently has come to represent the temple of the Parthenon, the new Acropolis museum in Athens, which opened in June 2009. The museum (as seen on May 28, 2011) was built to house the objects from the Acropolis and to better accommodate the large number of visitors that used to overcrowd the old museum. Since the opening of the new museum, it has been both praised and criticized. It has been criticized for being decontextualized in the archaeological sense (Cohen 2010) and for projecting an ahistorical, timeless narrative (Plantzos 2011). The museum has also been criticized for its neglect of pre- and post-Classical periods (Hamilakis 2011, 626), and especially for its silence on the post-antique life of the Acropolis. Others have, however, praised the museum for contextualizing its exhibition by visually connecting to the Acropolis (Caskey 2011), and for preserving and showing the archaeological site beneath the building (Snodgrass 2011). While the old Acropolis museum was situated on the hill itself, in many galleries of the new museum the visitors are visually reminded of the adjacent Acropolis hill through large windows opening up toward the north. This connection is most vividly experienced on the top floor, the Parthenon Gallery, where visitors can view the south side of the temple while enjoying its sculptures. The purpose of the general design of the museum is to evoke the ancient experience of the Acropolis (Pandermalis 2009, 29–42). This evocation begins with the large ramp from the ground floor to the first floor, which refers to the ascent of the Acropolis (Cohen 2010, 746). Fittingly, finds from the slopes of the Acropolis are displayed on the walls flanking the ramp. The first floor of the museum can be likened to the hill itself. This floor exhibits material from all architectural entities on the hill, except for the Parthenon. There is a great focus on sculpture from the Archaic period, and the arrangement of the votive sculptures can be interpreted as an attempt to evoke the disposition of votives in an ancient sanctuary (Cohen 2010, 748). The design of this Archaic gallery, however, could also

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be interpreted from the perspective of the sculpture gallery, where sculptures are arranged according to type and chronology. The gallery is, thus, mainly set out to inform visitors about the art historical development of sculptural art, which implies that historical and social aspects are toned down (Plantzos 2011, 619). Furthermore, the fact that the sculptures are interspersed between giant gray concrete pillars enforces a general impression of a colorless antiquity. The remaining part of this floor is arranged after the other important buildings on the hill: the Propylaia, the temple of Athena Nike and the Erechtheion. There is a particular focus on architectural details and architectural sculpture. The famous female caryatids from the Erechtheion have received their own exhibition space, on a balcony overlooking the ramp to the first floor. The separate gallery on the north side of this floor seems to be located somewhat out-of-the-way of the general route of most visitors. The fact that this gallery exhibits material, mainly sculpture, spanning a thousand years (from the fifth century B.C.E. to the fifth century C.E.) further accentuates a secondary importance of this gallery in comparison to the rest of the floor. The first floor, where sculpture is the predominant object on display, can to a great extent be characterized as an exhibition of exquisite art and architecture, and it subscribes to an idealized universality of ancient Greek art (Plantzos 2011, 618). Although archaic art is the subject of focus, the exhibition can be interpreted as an anticipatory forerunner to the famous classical sculpture displayed on the top floor. The undisputable climax of the museum, the Parthenon Gallery, is reached by stairs or escalators. It is a suggestive ascent, where visitors have to pass through the low-ceilinged second floor, with its restaurant and museum shop, before entering the top floor. The floor consists of an atrium in the middle with a seating area where a film about the Parthenon is shown. The gallery displaying the Parthenon sculptures encircles the atrium. The gallery is designed to show all the sculptures, both originals in the museum’s possession and copies that the museum does not have, in a manner that emulates their original location on the temple. In other words, in contrast to the British Museum (see below), the exhibition tries to be as architecturally correct as possible. The frieze is mounted on the gray concrete core in the middle of the gallery, and this matches the dimensions of the temple cella. In front of this, rows of stainless steel shafts symbolize the columns of the temple. The metopes are placed between these shafts. Fragments from the two pediments are located at the short sides of the gallery. The principle that the sculptures should be viewed from the best possible distance and angle distorts the visual impression that the temple may have provided in ancient times. The fact that the pediment sculpture is placed below the other sculptures, and not above as it was in antiquity, and that these fragments can be viewed up close from all angles, is more confusing than illuminating in regard to the pediments’ function on the ancient temple. This display technique follows aesthetic conventions of exhibiting architectural sculpture in museums (see chapter 8).

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The Parthenon is literally embodied in the design of the museum; since the whole top floor is rotated off-axis from the lower two floors and follows, instead, the orientation of the temple (Cohen 2010, 745). This embodiment is further emphasized in the Parthenon gallery where the installation of the sculptures largely follows the scale and plan of the temple (James 2009, 1044). It is, thus, not surprising to find that the architect of the museum, Bernard Tschumi, stated that one of the challenges with the project was to tackle the question “how does one design a building located only 300 meters away from the most influential building in Western civilization?” (Tschumi 2009, 82). In other words, a “Parthenoncentric” discourse was a driving force even in the planning stages of the museum. On the whole, the design of the museum exhibition is built around an art historical narrative with universal undertones, where the Classical period is conceptualized as the peak in the history of the Acropolis. Besides the Acropolis museum in Athens, the most obvious example of a “Parthenocentric” exhibition can be found in the British Museum (visited on February 5, 2007). The history of “the Parthenon marbles,” the debate on repatriation and their present-day display speak for themselves.11 In the austere Duveen gallery, the Parthenon sculptures are consecrated as objects of art in a totally new architectural and cultural context, decontextualized from their original setting (see chapter 5, fig. 5.7). Here, the sculptures blend into the marble walls of the room, that is the sculptures and the room create one harmonious entity. In contrast to the new Acropolis museum, at the Duveen the frieze, pediments and metopes are presented from a skewed perspective, that is “inside-out.” This is far from how they were once perceived on the fifth-century temple. Like the new Acropolis museum, however, the exhibition in the Duveen gallery adheres to an exhibition technique that is suitable for close-up studies of sculptural details. From a comfortable eyelevel position, the visitor can admire the craftsmanship in the sculptural execution of, for instance, anatomy and drapery. It encourages us to view the sculptures as exquisite objects of art and it detaches them from their original function on the Athenian Acropolis. To compensate for the lack of archaeological context, the two adjacent side-rooms were refurbished in 1998 to provide further information about the sculpture of the Parthenon. In one room, a video display uses computer graphics to show the positions of the sculptures on the temple. Information panels discuss the architecture of the temple, the categorization of sculptures, the later history of the Parthenon, Lord Elgin and the controversy of the cleaning of the sculptures in the 1930s. In the second side-room, different themes elaborate on the religious function of the Parthenon. Copies of selected parts of the frieze are displayed together with sketches showing the motifs from a three-dimensional perspective in an attempt to clarify the procession depicted in the frieze. The Duveen gallery is placed about halfway through the Greek and Roman exhibition on the ground floor of the British Museum. This

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placement enhances the feeling that one has reached a crucial moment in the history of ancient art. Once the visitors enter this large open space, they are confronted with a clinical impression of antiquity. It can be interpreted as a kind of aesthetic consecration of the Parthenon, detaching it from the original setting and meaning. In its appearance and arrangement of sculptures, the room forms a contrast to the rest of the exhibition on the ground floor. None of the other rooms have this kind of desolate aesthetic, since showcases containing vases and small finds, as well as statues, fill up the open spaces. On the ground floor of the British Museum, after passing the chronological development from prehistory to the Archaic period, the Classical period is perceived from the perspective of an East-West dichotomy. For instance, in rooms 15 and 17 on the exhibition itinerary just before the Parthenon gallery, fifth-century Athens is contrasted with sculpture from Xanthos in Lycia (present-day southwest Turkey). In room 15, thematic exhibition cases in the middle of the room concern assumed fundamental Greek issues from a classical Athenian perspective: democracy, the human body, the Persian wars, the Empire and the people of Athens. Lycian relief sculptures are placed on the walls, thus implying that they were not quite part of the Greek cultural sphere in the Classical period. The East-West dichotomy, which favors the uniqueness of classical Athenian culture, is further mediated in an information text about the relationship between Athens and Lycia in 520–430 B.C.E.: The Athenians and the Lycians lived on opposite sides of the Aegean Sea. Athens was a rich powerful democratic city-state, while Lycia was ruled by warrior kings, answerable to the Great King of Persia. When the Persian King Xerxes invaded mainland Greece in 480 BC, Lycians joined in his invasion fleet. The invasion failed, and Athens took the lead in ensuring the future freedom of Greece. In time her Greek allies become subjects in an Athenian maritime empire. Others, including the reluctant Lycians, were forced into paying tribute. An interpretation of these texts suggests that while Athens, because of its democracy, stood for fundamental European values such as freedom, Lycia, under despotic eastern rule, represented the opposing, suppressed world. The sculpture from Xanthos owes a lot of its stylistic development to Greek sculpture, and this is aptly pointed out in room 17 in connection with the famous Nereid Monument, even if unique non-Greek elements of these sculptures are also accentuated (see chapter 6, fig. 6.14).12 The sculpture is Greek, but not Greek all together. Bearing this in mind when entering the Duveen gallery, the display of the Parthenon sculptures not only indicates their centrality in the development of ancient art, but also their metonymic role in European culture. The suppression of the original cultural and archaeological context in the way the exhibition is laid out

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Figure 7.3 Room 22 in the British Museum with displays of artefacts from the Hellenistic period (photo: British Museum, © The Trustees of the British Museum).

enforces this quality. The exhibition in the British Museum thus shows that the “Parthenocentric” display within the classical narrative is, more than anything, about the cultural heritage of the European world. In contrast to this, in room 22 located after the Duveen gallery in the chronological itinerary, the display of later Hellenistic sculpture is integrated into an exhibition that highlights different aspects of this period like philosophy, literature, learning and the development of crafts. While the acme of classical art, the Parthenon sculptures, enjoys an elevated and decontextualized position, Hellenistic sculpture is exhibited as one material category among pottery, jewelry, lamps and metalwork (fig. 7.3). The fact that the Parthenon sculptures are projected as showpieces in the new Acropolis museum and the British Museum comes as no surprise. The status of these sculptures is, however, similar in museums with few, or no, remains from the temple. In the Louvre, the Parthenon sculptures have received their own room (Salle du Parthénon). Arranging the three sculptural fragments from the Parthenon into one room signals the importance bestowed on these pieces.13 In other museums, we find examples where the significance of the Parthenon sculptures is indicated by how individual pieces are presented. References to the Parthenon sculptures are often made in connection with stylistic concerns. In the Art Institute of Chicago, a statue of a seated woman, dated to the second century C.E., is displayed

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by itself within the room that illustrates the development of Greek art. This Roman copy of a Greek original is made in the style of the Parthenon sculptures, something duly emphasized in the text next to the sculpture. Since an association with the Parthenon can be made, it is deemed to be important information that should be conveyed to the visitor. The function of this sculpture in the Roman cultural sphere of the second century C.E. is not mentioned, however. Moving past the sculpture, the visitor can observe a continuing focus on the Parthenon sculptures. A fragment of a relief depicting a fallen warrior (Vermeule 1981, 44) is mounted on its own on the wall. The fragment is a representation of the shield from the colossal Athena Parthenos statue inside the Parthenon. Although its is a copy from the second century C.E., it is exhibited as a piece made by the fifth-century master sculptor Phidias. Exemplifying the elevated classical style associated with the Parthenon, the display of these two copies from the Roman period conforms to several exhibitions of ancient sculptures where individual sculptures are displayed as pieces that illustrate a larger art historical setting. As we will discuss further on in this chapter, Roman copies are commonly displayed as Greek sculpture and, most often, as examples supporting the classical narrative. The reverence of fifth- and fourth-century Athens can be seen as the guiding component in classical narratives that are presently being conveyed in many museums’ displays of ancient sculpture. The disproportionate focus on the sculptures from the Parthenon is symptomatic of this reverence. Even if a museum does not have any sculptures from the Parthenon itself, the essence of this emblematic temple is echoed in exhibitions. The art of classical Athens has, thus, come to represent a universal ideal of antiquity. THE GREEK SCULPTOR AS ARTISTIC GENIUS In many museums, classical sculpture is associated with the mastery of a few artists. The underlying message is that only through the artistic genius of individual sculptors, and the cultural and political climate of fifth-century Athens, could such a style emerge in the sculptural arts. The idea that the classical style in sculpture was the result of the creative Hellenic genius (Carpenter 1960, 17) and that the cultural and political spirit of fifth-century Athens enabled this style to develop (Hallett 1986, 71–75) have also flourished in research (see chapter 3). Although many sculptors are mentioned and admired in the ancient sources (Pollitt 1990, 19–123; Stewart 1990, 237–310), for instance, in the texts of the Elder Pliny (Isager 1991, 147–57) and Pausanias, the concept of the Greek sculptor as a genius should in the first place be seen as a modern projection onto antiquity (Tanner 2006b, 1–3). The autonomy and heroic status of the artist as a creator became a fundamental concept in the

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Romantic movement during the early 19th century, although this discourse stemmed from the 16th-century theorist Vasari (Salomon 1998, 344–46; Marvin 2008, 17–25). From an academic point of view, the idea was further formalized in art historical research of the 19th century. To acknowledge the role of individual sculptors was, for example, a central ingredient in the tradition of Meisterforschung under influential scholars such as Heinrich Brunn and Adolf Furtwängler (see chapter 3). It is also a tradition that conforms to the incessant focus in art museums on the artistic production of individual artists that arose with the growing collections accrued from the 19th century onward. According to Carole Duncan (1991, 95), “the form that this new kind of wealth takes in the museum is the work of art as the product of genius, an object whose true significance lies in its capacity to testify to the creative vitality of its maker.” Art is, thus, displayed as the result of national and individual geniuses. In the 19th-century public museum, it came to epitomize the spiritual heritage of the nation (Tanner 2006b, 10–11). In the case of ancient sculpture, however, the artistic genius of the sculptor takes on a more universal meaning, since a particular national claim cannot be made. In other words, ancient sculpture epitomized the classical heritage in that it formed the cultural base for the conception of European art. Furthermore, like in the tradition of Meisterforschung, the accentuation of the artistic genius of the sculptor in a museum exhibition is closely connected with the discourse of the masterpiece. For a sculpture to gain status as a masterpiece, it almost always must be attributed to a sculptor who is known from ancient texts. Again, the quest for authorship, or the identification of the artist, follows art historical research of the 19th century. The ideal situation arises when a particular statue, one cherished by ancient writers as a famous piece of art, can be identified. The post-antique fate of the Laocoön group is a good example of how fame in antiquity helps a statue become a modern museum masterpiece (see chapter 6). Most masterpieces are not so easily attributed to a specific sculptor who is known from ancient texts. One example, the Apollo Belvedere, is now in a secure masterpiece location in one of the niches in the Belvedere Court in the Vatican (see chapter 6). Since its discovery in the early 16th century, it has been revered as a masterpiece (Brummer 1970, 44–71; Haskell and Penny 1981, 148–51; Roettgen 1998) and from the late 19th century has been associated with the fourth-century sculptor Leochares, on the basis of a passage in Pliny (HN 34.79) (Beard and Henderson 2001, 110–11). In the positivistic sphere of sculpture research in the late 19th century, one could not let such an obvious masterpiece such as the Apollo Belvedere remain unattributed. Even though the information in Pliny’s text is imprecise, since it only mentions that Leochares made an Apollo with a diadem, it has been considered sufficient evidence for an attribution (Pollitt 1990, 90; Stewart 1990, 191). The categorization of the style as Late Classical suits the notion that Leochares was active in the fourth century.

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Although it was classified as a masterpiece before the 19th century, the case of the Apollo Belvedere shows how art historical methods of that century emphasized a focus on the artist, and how museums implemented this focus in their exhibitions. To attribute a statue to a particular sculptor, or the style of a sculptor, is common ground in current displays of ancient sculpture. Consequently, Greek sculptors are one of the few social groups presented in museum exhibitions in a similar manner to famous personalities from the political élite. In other words, they are portrayed as individuals who have influenced ancient culture and society: consider the text that introduces the visitor to the Classical period in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts mentioned earlier (see p. 152 for text quotation). Here, Phidias is placed on par with Pericles as a person who shaped the values of fifthcentury Athens. In the archaeological museum at Olympia, a special exhibition is organized around Phidias’s workshop (Mallwitz 1972, 255–66), with displays of tools and terracotta molds. Even though this is, to a great extent, an exhibition about techniques and production modes of monumental sculpture, it also mediates the professional life of one of the master sculptors of the Classical period. If we were not able to associate the workshop in Olympia with Phidias through ancient sources, mainly Pausanias (5.15.1) and a cup inscribed with the name (Pheidio eimi—“I belong to Phidias”), a specific room illustrating the production of sculpture in the Classical period would probably not have been installed. There is also a particular focus on one of the most famous monumental statues from antiquity, the chryselephantine cult statue of Zeus, although the connection between these molds and the statue has been contested (Schiering 1991). The room is the only part of the museum where the exhibition of post-Bronze Age material is displayed from a more archaeological perspective. A plausible interpretation is that the name of Phidias vouches for the building’s importance, and thus legitimizes the existence of this exhibition. Another example where a master sculptor receives special attention is the local archaeological museum at Sikyon in the northern Peloponnese. From the ancient sources we know that the fourth-century sculptor Lysippus was born in Sikyon (Plin. HN 34.61). This is duly emphasized in an information text in the museum although there are no actual sculptures by Lysippus, or copies, on display. The text on The Sculptor’s Art in Sikyon (observed on December 5, 2006) makes a special mention of Lysippus: The greatest figure produced by Sikyon in the sphere of sculpture was Lysippos, the last great representative of the Classical period. With his innovations in the proportions of the human body in movement, and in its arrangement in space, he prepared the way for the art of the Hellenistic period in the last quarter of the 4th c. BC Lysippos was the only artist allowed by Alexander the Great to sculpt his portrait. Sculptures by him were erected in many parts of the ancient Greek world. One of

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his finest pupils was Eutychides, who was active from the late 4th early 3rd c. BC and created the colossal statue of Tyche at Antioch, as well as the Victory of Samothrace. By paying special homage to a historically well-known personality, the small archaeological museum provides the local history of this town (polis) with an important role in the general art historical development of ancient Greece. The narrative of the master sculptor has resulted in the exposure of a few sculptors who are mentioned in the ancient sources. Museums tend to give prominence to the sculptors who are deemed the most brilliant sculptors of the Classical period: Phidias, Polykleitos, Praxiteles, Skopas and Lysippos. Owning a sculpture that has been attributed to one of these sculptors seems to endorse the museum with a certain amount of prestige. In the Art Institute of Chicago, a headless version of the so-called Meleager, attributed to Skopas (Stewart 1977, 104–7), is placed in such a position that it can be seen from almost any location in the ancient Greek and Roman rooms. This position clearly signals its importance to the visitor. It is not one of the most emblematic ancient sculptures, and thus the fame of Meleager mainly rests on its attribution to Skopas. Since full-length copies of Meleager today are rare, the masterpiece status of this particular statue enhances the museum’s collection of Greek and Roman antiquities. In several permanent exhibitions, when an attribution to one of the master sculptors cannot be made, a sculpture can be presented as belonging to the school, or a stylistic tradition, of a certain sculptor. Thus, the narrative of the master sculptor also extends to the general sphere of influence of these artists in antiquity. To attribute objects of art to master artists, or in most cases “schools” influenced by the mastery of such artists is, according to Donald Preziosi (1989, 31–32), a fundamental aspect in the art historical canon. Attribution is a means of rectifying the anonymity of artworks, situating the object in time and space. Otherwise, the narrative of the master sculptor is most explicitly exposed in temporary exhibitions that show the works of an individual artist. Lysippos (Moreno 1995), Polykleitos (Beck, Bol and Bückling 1990) and, most recently, Praxiteles (Pasquier and Martinez 2007b) have all been the subject of separate exhibitions that sought to highlight their career through the display of their development as sculptors. The 2007 exhibition on Praxiteles in the Louvre focused on his oeuvre from the perspective of Kopienkritik (visited on June 4, 2007). In this exhibition, the display of Roman copies had a focus on the lost original masterpieces. By showing different versions of the most famous sculptures, like the Aphrodite of Cnidus, the Apollo Sauroktonos and the Leaning Satyr, the exhibition conveyed the quintessential stylistic characteristics of Praxiteles. It is an exhibition about the career of Praxiteles. Since most information about him is not from his own time, it is also to a great extent an exhibition on the later ancient perception of

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Praxiteles as a master sculptor. Following a narrative of the master sculptor, this exhibition does not contextualize Praxiteles in a larger framework of Greek art, or even Greek sculpture, even though it shows “Praxitelizing” influences in later sculpture. There is, for instance, no information on the sculptural development before Praxiteles. Thus, from the perspective of true connoisseurship, the exhibition isolates Praxiteles as an artistic genius. SCULPTURAL ARTS OF THE ROMANS Two narratives with art historical undertones can be identified in exhibitions of Roman sculpture: the development of the Greek classical style through the Roman copy, and stylistic developments of Roman sculpture that are mainly illustrated through the display of portraiture. It is worth noting that even though the exhibition of Roman portraits often exemplifies the historical development of Rome, the artistic qualities of the portraits are highlighted. The discursive setting for both narratives should be seen in light of “the modern copy myth” that was formalized during the 19th century, both in research on sculpture and in museums. In the words of Miranda Marvin (2008, 164), this myth entails “that most of the time Roman patrons wanted copies of Greek works, that Roman ideal sculptors habitually made them, and that consequently Roman works that look Greek are copies of Greek ones” (see also chapter 3). These assumptions are easily recognized in several contemporary exhibitions of Roman sculpture. The copying of famous statues from the Classical period was a practice that took place as early as the Hellenistic period. Rachel Kousser (2008, 17–44) discusses one example, the Aphrodite of Capua (Capua Venus), which had several Hellenistic copies and variations. The art historical narrative concerning the stylistic development of ancient Greek sculpture is, thus, mainly illustrated through the Roman copy. These sculptures are often defined by the German term Idealplastik (ideal sculpture), which further emphasizes the idealized properties of this category of ancient sculpture, and also the notion that they should be regarded as individual pieces of fine art from antiquity (Kousser 2008, 8). The fact that an exhibited “Greek” sculpture is often cursorily mentioned as a copy of Roman date suggests it is supplementary information that, for the sake of scholarly credibility, cannot be left out. This information is not, however, in the first place, there to illustrate ancient Roman society: the function of the sculpture in the exhibition is to exemplify Greek art and especially sculpture from the Classical period. An early example where the Roman copy was regarded as a decadent form of Greek sculpture can be found in the exhibition of the Townley collection in the British Museum in the 1850s/1860s (Jenkins 1992, 134–36). Even at the time of the collection’s creation in the 18th century, the inferior quality of Roman sculpture and copies in comparison to Greek sculpture was a well-established issue (Coltman 2006, 318). There was, thus,

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awareness that these sculptures belonged to the Roman period, and thus they could not be arranged according to their Greek chronology. Nonetheless, they were not arranged by their Roman dating, but were instead arranged by subject, that is the Greek motifs dictated the arrangement. This way of displaying the Roman copy consequently enforces an art historical narrative. In another exhibition of numerous contemporary examples, the labeling of the Kassel Apollo in the Antikensammlung of Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel first explains the cultural and archaeological context of Phidias’s original bronze statue and not its Roman context. Even though it is mentioned as a Roman marble copy in the label, the statue is primarily presented as an important representative of Greek art.14 A major theme in several exhibitions is the issue of Kopienkritik, or how we can use copies to reconstruct the original Greek masterpiece. For instance, the large sculpture hall with predominantly Roman sculptures in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art mainly concerns the classical style in sculpture. The lack of original works from the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E. in the museum’s collection implicitly means the classical style can only be illustrated through Roman copies. Although Roman sculpture is on show, its location within the pre-Hellenistic exhibition indicates that the sculptures should firstly be viewed as examples of Greek art of the Classical period. The following quotations from a text panel in the sculpture hall explaining Roman copies of Greek statues exemplifies the attitude toward the copying of classical masterpieces (recorded on April 7, 2006): Educated Romans wanted objects that would evoke Greek culture. To meet this demand copies of famous bronze statues were produced in marble. From the Renaissance onward, art patrons have prized these marble statues as decoration for their great houses in much the same way the Romans did. Although not always easy to appreciate, Roman copies testify to the enduring influence of Greek art and suggest the power of the bronze images that they reproduce. The way in which classical sculpture was approached in Roman and later times is exemplified through the exhibition of different versions of the same statue type, for instance the Diadoumenos. There is information on the history of collecting concerning different Diadoumenoi and how they have been restored or reconstructed. Such a display also informs the visitor of the ways in which Romans popularized a specific statue type, and how such types came to survive as icons of ancient art in post-classical times. In this exhibition, the ancient sculptures are presented as timeless objects of exemplary art. An exhibition that conveys a similar, dual message about Roman copies can be found in the refurbished exhibition of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, which opened in the summer of 2006 (visited on April 19, 2008).

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In room 8 on the ground floor, Roman copies are presented in an information panel with the title Gods and Heroes: Greek sculpture in Roman versions. Initially, this text points out that these sculptures are Greek but that they should, in the first place, be viewed as Roman sculpture. The actual historical context and use of these sculptures, as decorative sculptures in affluent Roman public and private environments, is accordingly conveyed to the visitor. The Roman context is further established through the labeling of the individual sculptures where the Roman dates are stated. The main theme of this room, however, is the usefulness of these sculptures for modern research in the study of lost Greek masterpieces. A handout entitled Greek original—Roman copy explains the art historical method of tracing these Greek masterpieces through the study of Roman copies. In this case, it is an art historical perspective that overtakes the overall presentation, in spite of the attempts to historicize the sculptures in their right environment. An even more academically orientated presentation of Roman copies can be found in the exhibition of ancient sculpture in the Antikenmuseum, Basel (visited on October 8, 2006). The aim of this exhibition is to mediate the merits of Kopienkritik as a method of reconstructing lost statues from the Classical period. Ancient sculptures are exhibited in a large sculpture hall created in the 1960s by, to a great extent, the curator Ernst Berger (1967) (see chapter 6, fig. 6.11). The visual experience is similar to that of the sculpture hall in the Metropolitan Museum—a large illuminated hall with neutral colors and statues in a spacious arrangement. Most of the statues are fragmented Roman copies, but the appearance of the original Greek masterpieces is stressed. Labels show sketches of how some of the associated original statues looked. As in the Metropolitan museum, the statues are not organized according to chronological developments, but rather in groups of different types that exemplify famous Greek statues. Little information conveys how Greek sculpture functioned in ancient Greece, or what the role of sculpture was in later Roman contexts. Instead, exhaustive text panels refer to central topics in Kopienkritik, such as the value of the Roman copy in the study of ancient Greek art history, references to the masterpiece in ancient sources and how the copy can be separated from the original sculpture. These exhibitions of Roman copies of classical Greek statues indicate a kind of ambivalence in the display of one important category of Roman sculpture. The Roman historical context is often only cursorily noted, which means that the main theme of the exhibition is the development of the Greek classical style. Arranging Roman portraits according to chronology and stylistics is a fairly common way to display the development of Roman sculpture. It can be found in museums such as the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, the Glyptotek in München and the Louvre. In Copenhagen, where the collection of Roman portraiture is so large, individual imperial dynasties are represented in separate rooms. This distinct chronological division is notable from room 12, where portraits of the Julio-Claudian dynasty are

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displayed, to room 17, which exhibits portraits from the Tetrarchy to Late Antiquity. Thus, the chronological development of Rome is instructively shown both from an art historical, stylistic perspective and from a historical point of view. This way of displaying the development of Roman sculpture in rooms that display only statues from a specific period conforms to the canonical organization of ancient sculpture. The Roman taste for classical sculpture is particularly obvious in Italian museums. Two different consequences of this phenomenon can be seen in the fairly recently refurbished exhibitions in the Archaeological museum on the Palatine, which opened in 1997, and in the Palazzo Massimo, from 1995 and 1998, both in Rome (La Regina 2005, 11 and 167). The first consequence is that Roman taste is reflected in how Romans collected marble replicas of famous Greek masterpieces. It is a notion that refers to the role of the Roman copy in the classical narrative. Secondly, there is ample emphasis on the impact of classical stylistic traits in Roman sculpture. Thus, the entrance room (room IX) to the second floor of the Palatine Museum displays copies of Greek statues that embellished the imperial dwellings on this hill (see chapter 5, fig. 5.8). The inner rooms (V–VIII) of the museum display sculptures and imperial portraiture with classicizing features from the age of Augustus to the fourth century C.E. (La Regina 2005, 171–89). The underlying message of the latter exhibition concerns how Roman artists appropriated the classical style in imperial art. A similar conceptual setup can be found in Palazzo Massimo. The exhibition on the ground floor is largely an exposé of the classical style in early imperial portraiture, with a few examples of original Greek sculpture that may have influenced Roman sculptors (La Regina 2005, 12–30). In several rooms (V, VI, VII and VIII) on the first floor, there is also a focus on collections of Roman marble replicas of popular Greek statues found in Roman villas (see chapter 8 and La Regina 2005, 35–44). In both instances, display techniques emphasize central issues in ancient Art History. The portraits on the ground floor are chronologically arranged according to the stylistics of the sculptures, where important periods, such as the Late Republic, Augustan Age and the Julio-Claudian period, are exposed in separate rooms. The accompanying text highlights the socio-political history of each period. On the first floor, the chronological exhibition of Roman portraits continues, but there are also rooms that display Roman versions of Greek sculpture. Here we have emblematic statues that are well known in the development of classical and Hellenistic sculpture, such as Myron’s Diskobolos, the Kassel Apollo and the crouching Aphrodite (room V). In the display, they are perceived as important masterpieces. Unlike the display of Roman portraiture, these sculptures are not arranged in any particular chronological order. The exhibition conveys the Roman preference for Greek art in an imperial private sphere (especially room V) (fig. 7.4). In the above-described cases, the Roman copies are presented both as examples that illustrate the stylistic development of Greek sculpture, and

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Figure 7.4 Room V on the first floor of Palazzo Massimo, Museo Nazionale, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma).

as expressions of the Roman taste for classical sculpture. Such modes of narratives can be interpreted as the museums’ appropriation of art historical issues that have characterized traditional research on ancient sculpture, in particular the discourse of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik, and, to a small extent, the recent interest in the historical context of Roman sculpture. SUMMARY Ancient sculptures in museums are often arranged according to a chronological outline, an organizational canon that reproduces traditional research topics. This canon enforces art historical narratives that are intimately linked to how scholarship on ancient sculpture has developed since the 18th century. Aesthetic principles associated with the classical style, based on Winckelmann’s formulations, have acted as an input for the centrality of classical narratives in research and museum exhibitions from the 19th century until today. Classical narratives conform to what has been defined as the Hellenist ideology or Hellenist paradigm in Classics. This discourse, which mainly developed with the shaping of the academic discipline in the 19th century, implies that Greece of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., and in particular Athens, epitomized the cultural spirit of the European world (Tanner 2006b, 13–14). Concerning art, the development of naturalism in

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fifth-century Greece is seen as the birth of art. The focus on the mastersculptor conforms to the traditional art historical concern with the individual artistic genius. It is a narrative that is widely represented in current museum exhibitions. As an art historical narrative, it is a consequence of the masterpiece discourse; a true masterpiece can often be attributed to one of the famous Greek sculptors known from ancient texts. Another common technique of display concerns the treatment of Roman copies of Greek original sculptures. Although there is an increasing awareness of the role of Roman replicas in different ancient and post-antique situations, there is still a tendency to display them as examples of Greek sculpture of the fifth and fourth century B.C.E. The fact that the Roman taste for the classical style in sculpture is expressed in many exhibitions of Roman sculpture further emphasizes classical narratives. Also, the fact that Roman copies of Greek sculptures are rarely displayed from a Roman perspective is a case in point. It is an indication that social issues that have characterized more recent studies on ancient sculpture (see chapter 3) have not yet had a great impact in museums. In the next chapter, we will analyze examples of museums that try to incorporate contexts other than the art historical, like socio-historical contexts, in their exhibitions.

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The museum, as an idea and in its physical form, does not encourage archaeological displays, since the objects on display are detached from their original settings, both in terms of time and space. Museum objects thereby gain a new cultural and ideological signification that mainly emphasizes intrinsic artistic values. Svetlana Alpers (1991, 26–27) defines this as “the museum effect,” where all objects on display in museums are turned into works of art. The fact that many sculptures from the Renaissance onward became valuable collectable art alienated them from their original function in ancient societies. In the previous chapter, this estrangement was described as a characteristic trait of art exhibitions, one that seems to dominate both historic and contemporary museum displays of ancient sculpture. Classical Archaeology uses many analytical methods that have been developed by Art History, such as descriptions of formal elements and the creation of taxonomies that follow stylistic developments (Neer 2010, 7). In the case of museums, a sharp conceptual distinction between art installations and archaeological exhibitions can, however, be recognized in one fundamental aspect. In order to be meaningful, archaeological and historical narratives implicitly depend on contextualizations outside of the museum. This could, for instance, concern the archaeological find-context of a sculpture or historical contexts that seek to explain sculptures’ function in a particular historic, social or religious setting. Thus, the more archaeologically orientated an exhibition is, the more it strives to display the original contexts and functions of the sculptures. Such aspirations include issues like the production of sculpture, the functions of sculptures in original settings and reconstructions of sculptures beyond historic, post-antique restorations. Themes like these rarely appear as overarching issues in museums, instead they are projected as archaeological and historical aspects in exhibitions that basically convey an aesthetic and art historical setup in the display of ancient sculptures. It is a situation that further underscores the complex relationship between art and archaeology in museums. The two are not mutually exclusive, but rather epitomize the tension that also characterizes academia’s approach to ancient sculpture. The following survey of

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museums, where only a few examples of purely archaeological exhibitions can be discerned, enforces the general art historical focus in the display of ancient sculpture. ARCHITECTURAL CONTEXTUALIZATIONS The archaeological contexts of sculptures are ideally conveyed in architectural reconstructions of ancient monuments in museums. Exhibitions of architectural sculpture, like pediments, friezes and metopes, however, project art historical narratives to a large extent. This is, for instance, evident in the new Acropolis museum in Athens, which must count as one of the most recent and striking attempts at an architecturally correct exhibition of architectural sculpture. As described in the previous chapter, this exhibition sets out to display the sculptures from the Parthenon as they once were, that is mounted on the temple. The exhibition, however, does not denounce an aesthetic perspective in the installation, since the sculptures are placed so that they can be enjoyed from close up. The general impression of the Parthenon gallery, gray concrete walls and marble flooring, steel columns and large windows opening up towards the Acropolis, is an environment which is characteristic of a modernistic aesthetic framework. In that sense, the exhibition in the new Acropolis museum can be compared with the display of the Parthenon sculpture in the Duveen gallery in the British Museum, although the latter makes no attempt to portray an architectural installation that corresponds to the ancient temple. Another instructive example of an architectural exhibition is display of the Pergamon Altar in Berlin (see chapter 6). This architectural structure consists of a monumental exterior with a base, frieze and colonnade of the Ionic order, while the sacrificial altar itself is placed inside the structure and can be reached through the monumental staircase at the west façade. In the enclosure of the altar there is a smaller interior frieze (the so-called Telephos frieze). The sculptures of the Pergamon Altar are often regarded as emblematic of the Hellenistic era, comparable to the status that sculpture from the Parthenon enjoys with regard to the Classical period (Beard and Henderson 2001, 147–60). In the Pergamon Museum, an attempt to partly recreate the architectural setup of the altar can be discerned. By presenting the rebuilt western face of the altar, with the monumental staircase, the viewer can visualize what the entire monument once looked like. There are, however, evident practical problems with reconstructing the entire altar—it requires an enormous exhibition hall. In the first Pergamon Museum (1901–1908) the entire altar was exposed so that visitors could walk around it. The fact that the altar took up almost the whole exhibition hall, however, meant it was difficult to appreciate the entirety of the altar and its sculptural decoration (Matthes 2000, 37–41). In the present museum, therefore, only part of the frieze that surrounded the entire altar is placed in its original location.

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The rest of the frieze covers the wall of the exhibition room in a similar manner to the Parthenon frieze in the Duveen gallery. Thus, in both exhibitions the visitor is given an opportunity for a close-up examination of the sculptures, which emphasizes their qualities as decorative arts. Even though the exhibition creates a strong sense of the Pergamon Altar as an archaeological entity, which is related to its archaeological context, the exhibition can also be defined within the art historical framework. The fact that the Pergamon Museum is basically perceived as an architectural museum further augments an art historical perspective. Since the focus of the museum was, from the start, on the display of monumental architectural façades, archaeological artifacts that reflect everyday life have never truly been a part of the exhibition (Bernbeck 2000, 112–13). In the British Museum, the Nereid Monument from Xanthos is exhibited in a similar manner (see chapter 6, fig. 6.14 and chapter 7). Acquired in the 1840s through the excavations by Charles Fellows, these statues were originally displayed in a decontextualized manner, that is there was no attempt to illustrate the architectural setting (Jenkins 1992, 145–53). Today, the east side of this monumental tomb has been reconstructed with its freestanding sculpture and reliefs. It has an aesthetically impressive position at one end of the exhibition hall (no. 17), which was entirely dedicated to this monument. The rest of the sculpture is displayed within this hall, with reliefs hung on the walls. In the same museum, a more intimate relationship between the viewer and sculpture is created in the display of the frieze from the temple of Apollo at Bassae. The frieze is installed in an upper room (no. 16) that corresponds to the interior dimensions of the temple cella. Visitors can enjoy a close-up study of the sculptures, a situation that is not consistent with how people of ancient Greece must have perceived the frieze in its original placement high up on the inner walls of the cella. Yet another way of displaying the function of architectural sculpture can be found in the Archaeological Museum of Paestum in southern Italy. Metopes and triglyphs from the archaic temple of Hera at Foce del Sele are mounted on a modern building that has been stripped of any clear architectural references to an ancient temple and placed in the middle of the exhibition hall. The neutral character of the modern building places the visual focus on the metopes. Since there are no indications of other architectural features of the temple, for instance the columns of the peristyle, the museum has not aimed to present a full-scale, realistic reconstruction of the temple, but rather to illustrate the original function of the metopes. In most other museums, metopes are hung on the walls of a room, wrongly facing inward onto an open space, that is they are installed inside out. For example, the metopes from the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi are hung in this way in the site museum. Technically, this may be the most practical way to exhibit metopes but one cannot help comparing this technique with the exhibition of painted artworks. Sculpture from pediments of temples is one of the most common categories of architectural sculpture on display in museums. Standardized display

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techniques have, therefore, developed in these installations. Characteristic light-blue panels indicating the shape and extensions of the pediment are often placed behind the sculptures. The frontal character of the pediments is accentuated. Such techniques were, for instance, used in the display of the west pediment of the “old temple of Athena” on the Athenian Acropolis in the former Acropolis museum, and in the display of the pediments of the temple of Apollo in the Delphi museum (see chapter 6, fig. 6.2). Exhibitions like these permit close-up study of the sculptures. In some cases, the shape of the pediment is not visually indicated in the exhibition, as for example in the current display of the pediment from the “old temple of Athena,” and the pediments from the Parthenon in the new Acropolis museum, or the two pediments of the temple of Zeus at Olympia. In the Acropolis museum the only thing that indicates that we are dealing with pediment sculpture is their relative placement on a long, narrow podium. In other words, the original architectural setting is played down in favor of an aestheticizing display (see chapter 7). No architectural reconstructions disturb the visual presentation of the individual sculptures. At Olympia, the fact that a fair amount of the sculpture is preserved makes it possible to envision the original shape of the pediments. In the case of the Parthenon pediments, the fragmentary nature of the sculptures makes it difficult to comprehend the original appearance of the pediments (see chapter 7). A similar display of pediments, where the fragments are installed on metal plinths as examples of individual pieces, is applied to the Parthenon sculpture in the British Museum (see fig. 5.7). The notion of the architectural structure is, to a great extent, lost in these kinds of arrangements. In another example, in the Glypthotek in München the sculptures from the two pediments of the temple of Aphaia on Aegina are placed on metal and stone structures in the middle of two rooms. Although the arrangement of these sculptures follows the size and shape of the pediments, the sense of the sculptures’ original function as upper pediments at the short sides of the temple is lost (see chapter 6, fig. 6.12). Since the sculptures can be viewed in the round at close range, the individual pieces rather than the whole architectural structure are emphasized. Many of the exhibitions described above estrange the sculptures from their original contexts and functions. It is difficult for the viewer to visualize the original architectural setting of these sculptures. Sometimes there is additional information in the form of reconstruction drawings, or threedimensional models, of the temples. Visualizations of the pediments shape could, however, help the visitor to imagine the original architectural setup of the sculptures. Together with the repression of architectural context, these examples of display enforce an art historical perspective. Thus, even though we have several cases where functional considerations of architectural sculpture from the Greek period are taken into account, this is mainly achieved by using an aesthetic point of view. In that sense, most exhibitions of architectural sculpture follow art historical narratives.

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ARCHAEOLOGICAL AND HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVES Art historical narratives in museums are often characterized by the arrangement of objects after well-defined categories such as sculpture, pottery and bronzes. Archaeological and historical perspectives can, however, also be found within such arrangements. The exhibition of antiquities on the first floor of the Altes Museum in Berlin is a good example. This temporary exhibition, which was displayed from 1998 until its refurbishment in 2011, conveyed several themes relating to the everyday lives of the ancient Greeks such as trade, burial customs and sport. These themes are further highlighted through videos, in particular “info islands” in the exhibition room (PlatzHorster 2002, 45). In spite of these more historically orientated themes, however, the used display technique signals that the objects are regarded as art. The placement of the objects follows a clear chronological route in the exhibition halls. Material categories besides sculptures like vases, helmets, metal attachments, terracotta plaques and figurines are arranged in separate exhibition cases according to form and date. Well-established art historical criteria dictate the display of Greek vases, where, for instance, regional schools and individual painters are in focus. This organization can be defined as a normative way of arranging large collections of Greek vases and is found in many museums, for instance in the Metropolitan in New York, National Archaeological Museum in Athens, Staatliche Antikensammlung in München and the Antikenmuseum in Basel. The fact that collections of precious material like gold and silver—material deemed to be museum treasures—have been placed in separate rooms further enhances an art historical perspective of the past. Furthermore, the display of the Praying Boy and the exhibition of emblematic sculptures in the adjacent rotunda convey techniques of display associated with the museum’s first exhibition of ancient sculptures in the 1830s (see chapter 6). Exhibitions of statuary in the round are still dictated by decontextualized art historical display techniques. It seems that the status of Greek classical sculpture as a representative for fine art overtakes any archaeological commitments that the museums may have. The display of sculptures in the new exhibition of the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki (inaugurated September 2006 and viewed on November 12, 2006) is an exception to the rule. The extensively refurbished museum differs from the old exhibition, where materials including sculptures were arranged according to chronological criteria, that is the organization followed some kind of traditional art historical development. The museum now aims at transmitting the history and lives of the people living in the region of Macedonia and the city of Thessaloniki from prehistoric to the Late Antique period. Chronologically, the exhibition in the adjacent Museum of Byzantine Culture picks up where the Archaeological Museum ends in the Early Christian fourth century. In this way, both museums connect to the present-day inhabitants of this region and city.

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Figure 8.1 The statue of Venus Genetrix as displayed in the new exhibition in the Archaeological museum of Thessaloniki (Photo: authors. Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Copyright © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports / Archaeological Receipts Fund).

The exhibition, as a whole, is organized thematically with an emphasis on people rather than on the objects. Themes like public life (administration, laws, and institutions), social classes, economy and communication, family and private life, burial customs, and myths and worship, concern peoples’ activities in the area of ancient Thessaloniki. As one material category among many, sculpture is used to illustrate different aspects within these themes. To a great extent, how and where sculptures are arranged in the exhibition rooms determines what messages they carry. Sculpture rarely appears as a separately displayed museum category and is instead integrated with other ancient artifacts. In this way, the inherent artistic qualities of the sculpture never becomes the primary focus of the presentation. It is sufficient, here, to mention a few examples. In the section concerning private life, marble female heads are used to exemplify changing hairstyles. A tombstone depicting a man holding a kithara is displayed as an illustration of the ancient practice of music in a section about the arts. The display of family-related tombstones represents ancient family structures, rather than separate examples of private art. A version of the so-called Venus Genetrix is not displayed as a singular masterpiece (fig. 8.1). Instead, it is displayed as one of several sculptures that adorned the Sarapeion, a Roman sanctuary where different gods were worshipped. This sculpture represents the worship of Aphrodite at the sanctuary, rather than a Roman copy of a famous

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classical statue. Here we have an attempt to recreate the sculpture’s function in its original religious context. When it comes to exhibitions of ancient sculpture in a Roman context, the situation is quite different to the presentation of Greek sculpture. There is a greater interest in mediating historical and archaeological contexts, which mirror the increasing socio-historical focus in art historical research (see chapter 3). In museum exhibitions, it is a situation that mostly concerns sculptures with political connotations, like historical reliefs, but also republican and imperial portraiture. Furthermore, even though we saw in the previous chapter that Roman copies of Greek original statues and Roman sculpture inspired by Greek stylistic traits (covering the German term Idealplastik) are mainly displayed to corroborate classical narratives, these categories can also be used to reflect Roman society. A more historically contextual perspective can partly be observed in recently reopened exhibitions in Italian museums. In both the Capitoline Museum (Palazzo dei Conservatori and Tabularium) and Palazzo Massimo, these kinds of sculptures are presented in their capacity as decorations of affluent Roman horti (large residential gardens) that once occupied the Quirinal, Viminal and Esquiline hills of Rome. In the Capitoline Museum, which should perhaps count as the clearest example where a historical context has been implemented, the exhibitions of Roman copies of Greek sculpture and Roman ideal sculpture are grouped in rooms from the different horti. The sculptures are displayed in front of matte-black metal panels that form an evocative contrast to the white marble, thus emphasizing aesthetic aspects, but also recalling the slate walls that were observed while excavating the underground gallery of one of the horti (Fentress 2007) (fig. 8.2). The exhibition appeals to archaeological and historical perspectives, and examines the various families that owned the horti and the archaeological find-contexts, without renouncing an aestheticizing venue. As a contrast, in the adjacent Palazzo Nuovo that also belongs to the Capitoline Museum, ancient sculptures are displayed according to the original 18th-century exhibition (see chapter 5), which can be defined within a clear art historical narrative (see chapter 5, fig. 5.5). Continuing to the first floor of Palazzo Massimo, the archaeological perspective conflicts with art historical narratives in that a major focus concerns the Roman taste for classical Greek sculpture (see chapter 7). Even though the find-context of the sculptures is mentioned, the display technique underscores art historical narratives. Emblematic statues are perceived as masterpieces. For instance, in the white room (VI) on the ground floor, there are only two statues on display: a fragmentary Peplophoros and the so-called dying Niobid. Both statues were found in the Horti Sallustiani in Rome, which is also mentioned in the exhibition (La Regina 2005, 18–23). The two sculptures are placed at walls of the room, facing each other. The fact that the Niobid is placed on a podium means the visitor can scrutinize it from all sides. Both sculptures are highlighted with strong spotlights. Consequently, the display technique emphasizes the sculptures’ roles as masterpieces, since

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Figure 8.2 Sculptures from Roman Hortii displayed in the Palazzo Conservatori of the Capitoline Museums in Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome).

they are considered to be original Greek classical sculptures. Thus, in these museums we find ambivalent messages concerning art historical and archaeological narratives, which further underscore the tension that exists between Art and Archaeology. A similar way of emphasizing the Roman setting of sculptures can be found in the installation of other sculptures from the Horti Sallustiani in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, as seen on April 19, 2008. In the small room 9 on the ground floor, different types of sculpture are on display, such as a Roman copy of the Leaning Satyr attributed to Praxiteles, a fragmentary statue group depicting Artemis and Iphigenia dating to the Hellenistic period, and a running Niobid presented as an original work from the Classical period (fig. 8.3). The purpose of this room, which is mediated to the visitor in the textual information on the wall, is to show what kind of sculptures adorned the gardens of the Roman élite. It is the archaeological find-context (problematized in Hartswick 2004, 83–104), rather than artistic concerns, that is the theme of this exhibition room. Such a contextualization can be contrasted with the preceding room 8 (see chapter 7), which presents Roman ideal sculpture in their capacity as copies of lost Greek masterpieces. It is also an example of historical and archaeological concerns transcending a general art historical narrative. These exhibitions inform us about the use of sculptures in imperial villas, but there is hardly any information about the actual setting of the

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Figure 8.3 Sculpture from the Horti Sallustiani (gardens of Sallustius) in Rome, displayed in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen (Photo: authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen).

sculptures. In other words, these exhibitions do not reconstruct the environments in which the sculptures once stood. Such an intention is partly visible in the new exhibition of the Getty Villa in Los Angeles, which is an elaborated refurbishment of the museum that opened in 1974. In an attempt to architecturally reconstruct the Villa of the Papyri outside Herculaneum, the museum has created an impression of how a wealthy Roman villa owner may have decorated his residence. This can, in particular, be perceived on the ground floor with the garden areas, where copies of bronze statues from the Villa dei Papiri have been placed at the presumed original locations. In terms of display techniques, this exhibition forms a conspicuous contrast to the exhibition of the original bronzes from Villa dei Papiri on the second floor of the National archaeological museum in Naples (fig. 8.4). Devoid of their original contexts and functions, the original bronzes are displayed as individual pieces of art in two large rooms with anonymous white walls and marble floors, far from the appearance of the original environment of the sculptures. Interestingly, in its 1860s display, the museum setting of the original bronzes from Villa dei Papiri emulated a Pompeian style décor, thus trying to create a sense of the Roman villa environment of the statues. The 1973 refurbishment of the exhibition, which is seen today, was called a “recontextualization” of the statues (Newhouse 2005, 98). This contextualization, however, can only be seen in a large-scale reproduction

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Figure 8.4 Bronze sculpture from Villa of the Papyri in Herculaneum displayed in the archaeological museum of Naples (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei).

of the plan of 18th-century excavator Karl Weber, with find-locations of the statues, which hangs on the wall in one of the exhibition rooms. As a whole, the current setup of the exhibition in Naples conveys a decontextualized appreciation of the statues as objects of art. In the gardens and exhibition rooms of the Getty Villa, the museum’s collection of antiquities, including sculpture, is displayed in an environment that seeks to emulate various decorative schemes from ancient Roman interiors. The Getty Villa is, of course, a special case that does not quite compare with traditional public museums. The fact that the museum took the shape of a Roman villa can be ascribed to J. Paul Getty’s personal interest in antiquity. In other words, the Getty Villa can be seen as a wealthy modern collector’s aspiration to appropriate and emulate the cultural setting of a Roman élite. Thus, visitors to the villa are supposed to obtain a sense of how artworks may originally have functioned. In spite of this villa, however, the arrangement of sculpture and other ancient objects is, on the whole, governed by art historical concerns that are particularly evident in the display of the so-called Landsdowne Herakles (see chapter 6). A similar way of recreating the original setting for the sculptures can be found in the recently restored Pompejanum in Aschaffenburg, Germany

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Figure 8.5 Sculpture placed in a Roman villa context in the Badische Landesmuseum in Karlsruhe (Photo: authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Badische Landesmuseum, Karlsruhe).

(see chapter 5). In this early-19th-century interpretation of a Roman villa, which was built by the Bavarian king Ludvig I, examples of Roman sculpture are displayed as part of the decorative scheme of a private, domestic setting (Helmberger and Wünsche 2006, 55–135). Today, it is a museum with dual aims that are not entirely compatible. While it conveys a reconstruction of a Roman villa, and thereby alludes to some kind of authenticity, it is also a museum concerned with the appropriation of ancient Roman art and architecture by the ruling elite in 19th-century Bavaria. One need not reconstruct entire Roman villas to achieve a sense of the private environment connected with Roman sculpture. In the Badisches Landesmuseum in Karlsruhe, different types of Roman sculptures have been placed in a peristyle structure that demonstrates how a Roman villa was once decorated (fig. 8.5). There is no ambition to reconstruct a Roman peristyle with exactitude. Instead, this type of exhibition mediates a feeling of the Roman private sphere. A less obvious comparison, but still with the same idea of conveying a sense of the Roman private environment, can be found in the Roman exhibition on the second floor of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. The yellow walls of the room are adorned with fragments of Roman wall paintings. Thus, even though this exhibition does not present the sculptures amid any architectural reconstructions, the interior decoration of the room alludes to the original setting of these sculptures, that is the private Roman house. The Roman exhibition thereby forms a distinct contrast to the more idealized white-walled classical room on the same floor (see chapter 7). Another historical aspect, which is often associated with Roman sculpture, is the use of art as visual imperial propaganda in a more official context.

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Figure 8.6 Emperor Augustus as Pontifex Maximus in room V of the ground floor of Palazzo Massimo, Museo Nazionale, Rome (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by the Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Roma).

There are cases where the exhibit of Roman imperial sculpture conveys a historio-political narrative. Again, on the ground floor of Palazzo Massimo, a full-size statue of a veiled Augustus as Pontifex Maximus is presented as an example of official imperial propaganda. The entire exhibition room (no. V), with this statue from Via Labicana in Rome, an altar from Ostia and a frieze from the Basilica Aemilia in Rome (La Regina 2005, 15–18), shows how the imperial family consolidated its claim to power through iconography, by making references to Rome’s legendary past (fig. 8.6). In another example, from the archaeological museum of Thessaloniki, the political use of statues is illustrated through the display of an imperial honorary statue of a semi-nude Augustus. In both exhibitions, the religious setting of the two statues is emphasized and further connected with the political role that imperial statues gain in such settings both in Rome and in the provinces. This political narrative permeates the newly renovated Ara Pacis museum in Rome, since this altar can be viewed as epitomizing the political ideology of the Augustan period (the return of the Golden Age) (Zanker 1988, 101– 66). Traditionally, research on the Ara Pacis also subscribes to the discourse of the artistic genius (Castriota 1995, 3–11; Kleiner 1992, 90–99, 119), where the artistic quality of the monument has been compared with the

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Parthenon frieze and, to a lesser extent, the Pergamon altar (see, however, Atnally Conlin 1997, 11–25). Visitors to the museum are informed about the historical and archaeological context of the altar before approaching the monument itself. Plaster casts of busts of various members of the Julian family emphasize the private aspects in this type of official monument. Explicit references are given to the Res Gestae Divi Augusti, the accounts of Augustus’s life and accomplishments. The Res Gestae itself is carved on a travertine wall on the east side of the building, the section that was kept from the earlier museum building (Ziel and Kieburg 2006, 104). There is also a considerable focus on the original architectural setting of the altar in the Campus Martius and its relationship with Augustus’s mausoleum. This is also reflected in the design of the new museum, where walls with large windows open toward the original location of the altar. The other focus, which characterizes part of the exhibition in the basement, concerns the modern discovery and reconstruction of the altar. Even though the Ara Pacis is often perceived as a pivotal example of the Roman artistic appropriation of the classical style, aspects of art are toned down in the exhibition. Instead, in the present exhibition most attention is given to the history, ideology and archaeology of the monument. Since the Ara Pacis museum is located in an urban environment in central Rome, it may not be evident to all visitors that it should be regarded as an archaeological site museum with the original find-spot, the Campus Martius, just around the corner. Although the ancient Roman past is highly tangible in the central parts of Rome, most museums which display the archaeology of the city cannot be defined as archaeological site museums. In the museum, which is in the middle of a large archaeological park, the Palatine Hill, archaeological find-contexts are basically subdued in the exhibition of ancient sculpture on the second floor (see chapter 7). In other words, the architectural setting of the sculptures is not mediated in the exhibition, other than the general notion that the statues were part of the sculptural decoration of imperial residences on the hill. Instead, emphasis is placed on the classicizing qualities of these sculptures. On the ground floor of this museum, which concerns the early history of the Palatine, greater effort has been made to illustrate the archaeological find-context of the Early Iron Age architecture. The objects on display in these rooms are not traditionally defined as artwork, but rather as archaeological artefacts. The situation in modern Athens is both similar and different to that in Rome. Visible archaeological remains in the central parts of Athens also convey the ancient history of the city. As in Rome, in many of the city’s archaeological museums, the National Archaeological Museum for instance, the find-context is not that evident in exhibitions of sculptures. In other museums, the proximity of the archaeological site underscores the original context. The visitor cannot misconstrue the original location of the sculpture on display at the new Acropolis Museum. The sculptures are,

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however, presented as examples of fine arts rather than as archaeological remains. In a site museum like the one at the ancient burial site of Kerameikos, there is little information in the exhibition about the sculptures’ original setting in the adjacent archaeological site. The exhibition of sculptures in this museum is basically arranged according to chronology. On the other hand, several modern replicas of grave-sculpture have been placed at original findlocations, which at least give the visitors an idea of how the ancient burial place may once have appeared. For instance, the famous Stele of Hegeso, which is on display in the National Archaeological Museum, appears as a copy in the Kerameikos. It still projects a delusive and fragmentary feeling, however, since the setup of the archaeological site is constrained by modern confinements such as fences, walking paths, diverging levels, etc. Although they are ideal venues for conveying contexts, many of the archaeological site museums in Greece and Italy conform to the larger European museums in their exhibitions of ancient sculpture. The site museum at Ostia, the harbor town of Rome, is an illustrative example of this practice (see chapter 7). In Greece, we could take the museum within the site of Delos as a typical case. Most of the rooms in this museum are dedicated to the display of marble sculpture from the site. These sculptures are basically arranged according to chronological, stylistic developments and types. For instance, archaic draped female statues are placed in one group, naked male statues in another. The impression of a “forest of sculpture” is accentuated by the fact that most of the sculptures are placed close to each other on marble plinths (fig. 8.7). Typically, the Greek sculpture is exhibited in rooms painted a light off-white color, while the Roman portraiture is separately displayed in a room painted purple. Thus, the different color schemes of the rooms allude to the classical narrative and a Roman imperial context, respectively. The sculptures are exposed as objects of art. Labeling is scarce and the visitor hardly receives any information about the ways in which the sculptures functioned within the archaeological site. ANCIENT SCULPTURES AND COLORS A current trend in museum exhibitions is to present marble and bronze statues as they may have appeared in ancient times by reconstructing their colors. This practice can be compared with the earlier practice of restoring ancient sculpture, although plaster casts are used to exemplify the paint that would have been present on the ancient statues. The display of painted plaster casts of famous ancient sculptures can be seen as a desire to transmit a kind of authenticity that was lost in course of the 19th century when white marble sculpture came to epitomize the highest form of ancient art in museums and research. An obvious problem with the desire for authenticity

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Figure 8.7 Sculpture gallery from the archaeological museum of Delos (photo: authors. © Hellenic Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs, Culture and Sports/21st Ephorate of Antiquities/Delos Museum).

arises from the fact that the painted replicas are usually made of plaster. The combination of color and plaster projects a different effect than does painted marble sculpture (Bradley 2009, 439). A completely authentic mediation of the appearance of painted ancient sculptures can, thus, never be achieved. Although appealing to an archaeological discourse, reconstructed painted sculptures are still presented as decontextualized objects of art. The bright coloring, however, stands in stark conflict with the traditional notion of ancient ideal beauty. The idea of polychromy is not an entirely novel issue. It had been widely discussed in museums during the early 19th century (discussed in Brinkmann and Wünsche 2003), for instance, in the British Museum (Jenkins 1992, 48–49). In the 1830s, Gottfried Semper emphasized the polychromy of ancient architecture and sculpture, a view that was contested by most scholars at the time (Podro 1982, 44). Thus, the idea of polychromy did not have a major impact on the development of research in ancient sculpture at the time. Instead, Winckelmann’s aesthetics were embraced, and these did not include paint on sculpture. It is a situation that also characterizes 20th-century research (Reuterswärd 1960 is one of the few syntheses on color and sculptures). The notion of polychromy and ancient sculpture is mainly materialized in temporary exhibitions. The few examples where modern painted copies of ancient sculptures are included in permanent exhibitions are often the

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result of temporary exhibitions that have found a permanent place in the museum. For example, in the Antikensammlung of Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel, a modern gilded bronze version of the museum’s masterpiece, the so-called Kassel Apollo, is now permanently displayed together with a painted modern copy of the Athena Lemnia statue (see chapter 6, fig. 6.9). These plaster casts were produced for the 1991 exhibition Apollon und Athena – Klassischer Götterstatuen in Abgüssen und Rekonstruktionen (Gercke 1991). Both statues exist as Roman marble copies in the exhibition, and by juxtaposing these with colorful reconstructions, a different visual perception of the ancient sculptures is achieved. Similarly, in the Glypthotek in München, the painted cast of one of the kneeling archers from the west pediment of the temple of Aphaia on Aegina is displayed next to the original sculptures in room 7 (see chapter 6, fig. 6.12). This cast was leftover from temporary exhibition Gods in Color: Painted Sculpture of Classical Antiquity. In this successful exhibition, plaster casts and marble copies of different periods—a Cycladic figurine, the Peplos Kore, sculptures from the temple of Aphaia, a head of Caligula, etc.—have been painted with the assumed original colors. The basis for reconstructing polychromy lies in detailed scientific documentation of traces of color on the original marble sculptures (Bradley 2009, 427–28; Brinkmann 2003). In this sense, the interest in reconstructing paint belongs to the increasing focus on manufacturing processes of ancient sculpture, or the technical side of sculptures. From the beginning, this research and the ensuing exhibition were initiatives of the Stiftung Archäologie and the Staatliche Antikensammlung und Glyptothek in München in collaboration with the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen and the Vatican Museums in Rome (Brinkmann and Wünsche 2003; Brinkmann, Nielsen and Östergaard 2004). Since 2004, the exhibition has been shown throughout the world in museums such as the Skulpturhalle in Basel (2005), the Istanbul Archaeological Museum (2006), National Archaeological Museum in Athens (2007), Arthur M. Sackler Museum in Harvard University (2007–2008), Liebieghaus in Frankfurt (2008–2009), in the Antikensammlung of Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel (2009) and in the Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities in Stockholm (2010–2011). Thus, it must count as one of the most successful traveling exhibitions on ancient sculpture of recent years. Most of these museums have significant collections of ancient marble sculpture, which means that the colorful replicas can be juxtaposed with white marble statues. The popularity of the exhibition could perhaps be explained by this contrast, which challenges our normative perception of ancient sculpture as pure white marble art. The desire to reinstate a discourse that had been suppressed for a long time is not only a result of scientific gains in techniques related to the tracing of paint residues on ancient sculpture, it can also be seen as an attempt to create an entirely new aesthetic framework for the appreciation of ancient sculpture.

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THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF PRODUCTION The production of ancient sculpture can also be placed within an archaeological discourse (Adam 1966; Etienne 1968), since parts of it concern aspects not associated with formal art historical interests. Stages in the process of manufacture, such as craftsmanship, techniques and materials are rarely conveyed in exhibitions of ancient sculptures. This is not a reflection of how the subject has been treated in research where there are several recent studies on marble quarrying and manufacturing techniques (Palagia 2006a). Furthermore, there has been an increasing focus on the technical and geological properties of marble (Maniatis, Herz and Basiakos 1995; True and Podany 1990; Waelkens, Herz and Moens 1992) and its provenance (Herz 2006). In museums there is, in particular, a curious lack of information concerning stone carving techniques. By comparison, issues about pottery production are fairly common in exhibitions of Greek vases, where techniques related both to the making of a vase, and its painted decoration, are exhaustively described.1 An example of the technical focus associated with Greek pottery is the temporary exhibition The Colors of Clay: Special Techniques in Athenian Vases, shown in the Getty Villa in 2006.2 Multiple aspects of production and the uses of pottery, often considered to be central concerns in ancient art (black- and red-figure Attic vases of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E.) were highlighted in the exhibition. Needless to say, certain ancient vases are also perceived as specimens of fine art, a tradition that arose in the 18th century art market (Vickers 1987). The reason for the interest in pottery production, however, may be that vases, more so than ancient sculpture, can be partly related to the category of applied arts, where materials and craftsmanship are important components. In contrast, ancient sculpture exclusively enjoys the status of fine arts, which means that artistic qualities are emphasized rather than the production processes. A serious attempt to convey the production of marble sculpture can, however, be found in the Antikensammlung, Schloss Wilhelmshöhe in Kassel. In one of the handouts (Gercke 2002) available to the visitors, there is a detailed account on how ancient marble sculpture was produced. The text deals with the material of sculpture and its provenance, quarrying, transportation, the sculptor’s working techniques, the coloring of statues, measuring techniques, the practice of copying famous statues, and the income and social statues of the sculptor. There is, however, nothing in the exhibition proper that reflects these aspects in terms of the arrangement of sculptures, objects from production processes or in text panels and labels connected to individual sculptures. This supplementary information about production is primarily meant for the ambitious museum visitor. Consequently, it can be regarded as secondary to the artistic qualities of the sculptures that dominate the general visual experience. In such a setting, it is the museum’s showpiece, the so-called Kassel Apollo, that sets the tone for the entire exhibition.

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In another example from the British Museum, a text panel informs the visitors of different technical aspects of carving in stone. Oddly, this information has been placed in a rather out-of-the-way location, in the basement exhibition of the Townley collection of Roman sculpture.3 It is an exhibition illustrating the practice of collecting ancient sculpture during the 18th and 19th centuries, a theme that does not correspond to such an archaeologically orientated aspect of ancient sculpture as its production. As a striking contrast, in the main exhibition halls on the ground floor, which are basically organized according to the chronological development of ancient Greek culture, there is no mention of the production of ancient sculpture. Thus, in the rooms where most visitors to the British Museum encounter art of the Greek and Roman world, the focus lies on the aesthetics of the sculptures. It further underscores the view that the merit of ancient marble sculpture lies in its role as art, and in particular as a representative of high-quality art. Such a perspective can also be observed in the way the production of sculpture is presented in the exhibition in Altes Museum, Berlin. In a text called Art Production: Stone (seen on October 14, 2006), the uses of stone in art and architecture are described in a sweeping manner, with no information on carving techniques. Its primary concern is the different uses of stone in antiquity. In the case of sculpture, the text only tells us that unfinished statues and reliefs are the best evidence for production techniques. There is, however, no information on the various phases of production. Otherwise, aspects of manufacture are accentuated in displays of bronze statues. As in the research on techniques connected with marble sculpture, the study of bronze statuary and bronze techniques forms a substantial field within sculptural research of recent years (Lahusen and Formigli 2001). The main aim has been to examine the various technical processes in the production of bronze statuary (Haynes 1992; Mattusch 1996; Mattusch 1988). This interest has also had some impact on museum exhibitions. In one of the classical rooms, room 7, of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, a handout informs the visitors about the production of bronze statues by explaining the casting process. The reason behind this information is a bronze statue of a young man (ca. 470–460 B.C.E.), which is the visual focus in this small room.4 It is one of the few ancient bronze statues in this museum and although there is an impressive number of ancient marble statues, information on production techniques in connection with marble is lacking. The presentation in the Copenhagen Glyptotek shows that there is a particular fascination with bronze as a material used in sculptural works. Bronze is often presented as the original material for most of the classical masterpiece; masterpieces which are now only available as marble copies. Accordingly, bronze possesses an air of authenticity: a bronze statue often becomes the natural masterpiece of an exhibition, for example the Charioteer in the Delphi Museum (fig. 6.1). The masterpiece status is not only conveyed in the arrangement of the exhibition but also in the adjacent text information where the Charioteer is compared to the Riace

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bronzes (see p. 113). The text ends with the statement, “Undoubtedly the Charioteer is a masterpiece of the Severe Style that marked the transition from the archaic to the classical period (480–460 B.C). Plain and austere, it mirrors the athlete’s morals.”5 It is often pointed out that most of the famous bronze statues were melted down, destroyed and reused for other objects, which further increases the historical value of the ones that have survived. For instance, an information panel in the sculpture hall of the pre-Hellenistic exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York states that the original masterpieces were made of bronze. The value of Roman copies is that “they testify to the enduring influence of Greek art and suggest the power of the bronze images that they reproduce” (citation from the information panel Roman Copies of Greek Statues, observed on April 7, 2006). A good example of the lure of bronze can be found in the archaeological museum of Reggio di Calabria, where the entire basement is dedicated to the two nude, male bronze statues (the Riace bronzes) and two bearded bronze heads from another shipwreck (Porticello) (see chapter 6). Before entering the exhibition hall, the visitor is informed about techniques involved in the production of bronze statues (Palano 2005, 40). In the exhibition hall, however, the focus is on the aesthetic qualities of the statues and heads, which indicates that the fame of these statues rests on the fact that they are often considered to be original bronze statues of the fifth century B.C.E. (cf. Ridgway 2005, 67 who proposes a date in the first century B.C.E.) and are, furthermore, usually believed to be of Athenian provenance (cf. McCann 2000, 100–105, for a provenance in Magna Graecia). The exedra in the Palazzo Conservatori of the Capitoline Museums, which opened to the public at the end of 2005, presents us with another example of bronze statues being emphasized as fine arts (fig. 8.8). This lofty, open space can be seen as an attempt to emulate an outdoor feeling that refers to the piazza of the Capitoline Hill, which had been the location for the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius from the 16th century onwards. This statue from the second century C.E. is the showpiece of the exedra, but a gilded bronze statue of Hercules from the second century B.C.E., a colossal bronze head, and what is probably a hand of Constantine from the fourth century C.E. are also displayed. In addition to all of the pieces being larger than life size, it is the fact that bronze constitutes the common denominator for these statues of various dates, functions and original locations. Thus, it becomes an exhibition on the excellence of ancient bronze statuary. The only context alluded to is the post-antique location of the piazza of the Capitoline Hill. So, even though bronze, as a material used in the sculptural arts, stands in focus, this exhibition further underscores an art historical approach to ancient sculpture. The allure of bronze as a material for sculpture is, perhaps, even more strongly suggested in room VII of Palazzo Massimo in Rome. This room is dedicated to two late-Hellenistic bronze statues, a seated athlete and a

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Figure 8.8 Equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the exedra of Palazzo Conservatori (photo: Authors. Permission to reproduce image granted by Musei Capitolini, Rome).

standing male nude, which were found at the end of the 19th century on the southern slope of the Quirinal Hill in Rome (La Regina 2005, 23–28). On one of the walls, there is a series of close-up photographs of various details of the statues. In this way, the viewer’s attention is drawn to the skillful execution of the anatomical details of the statues. The mastery in the handling of bronze is emphasized here. When aspects of production appear in exhibitions, the exhibition often examines what materials were being used for sculpture. At most, marble quarrying and different carving techniques of marble sculpture are discussed. Issues concerning the socio-economics of sculpture-production are, on the other hand, rarely conveyed in exhibitions. In the previously described exhibitions of bronze statues, we saw that material concerns often enhanced the aesthetic appreciation of ancient sculpture rather than the technical and socio-economic side of production. SUMMARY In most museums, contemporary archaeological exhibitions involving ancient sculpture are viewed as subordinate to art historical narratives. A case in point is the way in which architectural sculpture is exhibited. There is often a wish to mediate the original architectural setting of such sculptures, but reconstructions often follow an aesthetic trajectory that

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allows the visitors to admire the sculptures as individual pieces of art. Several factors work against archaeological displays of ancient sculpture in museums: the architectural framework of museums—large universal survey museums, smaller local museums, archaeological site museums—alienates the sculptures from original archaeological contexts. In other words, the arrangement of sculptures is often subordinate to the architecture of the museums. The fact that archaeological objectives in the study of ancient sculpture often coincide with a traditional art historical discourse further hampers the mediation of more archaeologically and historically orientated narratives in museum exhibitions. In exhibitions, the sculpture is more often projected as an art object than as an archaeological artifact. In that sense, it is the post-antique cultural context of the sculptures (and the museums) that is emphasized rather than ancient contexts. Techniques of production, which, from a functional point of view, could be defined as an archaeological aspect of sculptures are also used to illustrate art historical concerns, such as the aesthetic qualities of bronze. It is worth noting that aspects of production are usually not placed within any socio-historical contexts, and this further emphasizes the art historical setting of ancient sculptures in museums. In only a few cases where exhibitions transmit historical and archaeological narratives beyond the art historical framework do museums consider issues that are well known in the current socio-historical discourse in research on ancient sculpture. This discourse has been most evident in studies on Roman art. Consequently, we find a greater emphasis on functional aspects in displays of Roman sculpture. These exhibitions concern the decorative side of sculpture in ancient private settings, and also the more official usage of sculpture as images within political propaganda. It shows that, although historical and archaeological perspectives of ancient sculpture are sometimes present, the sculpture as art is almost always a factor present in museum exhibitions. Most displays of ancient sculpture are decontextualized in the sense that the sculptures are detached from original historical and archaeological contexts, but at the same time they are contextualized within a traditional art historical museum discourse.

Part IV

Conclusions

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Conclusion

Before we summarize our analysis, we would like to turn to a critical discourse that has explored the intrinsic problems of the museums. It articulates a fundamental critique against museums as such, and has occasionally been echoed in this study. This intellectual counter-discourse has been voiced throughout modernity. In other words, the critique against the museum is as old as the public museum itself. The critical discourse originated in Antoine Quatremère de Quincy’s criticism against the Louvre in the 1790s. Quatremère was critical against the museification of art. Removing artworks from their original cultural context and placing them in a museum establishes a new framework of meaning. The placement, itinerary, taxonomy and conceptual terminology used in the displays are aspects that contribute to the new context of the artworks. This displacement is problematic for Quatremère, since the objects are removed from the continuous flow of everyday life. The museum freezes meaning, and the artworks are confined to history. In a way, Quatremère opposed the emerging autonomy of art that would characterize the 19th century. Quatremère held ancient art in high esteem, and believed that it could not be surpassed; it should be appreciated in its original cultural setting and not displaced in museums. Quatremère was critical against Napoleon’s looting of art from Italy. Ancient sculptures such as the Laocoön and the Apollo Belvedere were looted from Italy and displayed in the Louvre for a while. Quatremère identified the intimate relationship between unequal political power relations and museum collections (Quatremère de Quincy 2012 [1796]; Adams 2004). Viewed as a public authority in the modern bureaucratic nation-state, the museum has been questioned during the last decades. The ethical crisis of the museums, which is propelled by the inability of museums to represent marginalized groups, has also contributed to this questioning. This has resulted in the resurrection and spread of the critical discourse in museology. Besides Quatremère, other advocates of the critical discourse are Theodor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Pierre Bourdieu and Terry Eagleton. Adorno was concerned with the neutralization of culture that museums establish (Adorno 1967; see also Benjamin 1999; Sherman 1994). Pierre Bourdieu and Terry

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Eagleton explored the effects of the autonomy of art in modernity. Their elaborations are also pertinent for the critique of museums (Bourdieu 1996; Bourdieu and Johnson 1993; Eagleton 1990). The fundamental issue in the critical museum discourse is the fissure between real life and the exhibited objects. This fissure is intrinsic, and is constructed during the process of selection (see Bennett 1995; Crimp 1985). Didier Maleuvre has an interesting take on the critical tradition. He views the very act of separating the objects from the everyday flow of life as the essential defining trait of the museum (Bennett 2003, 42–46; Maleuvre 1999). The critical tradition surrounding the museum can be seen as part of a wider postmodern critique of modernity, which questions the compartmentalization that has resulted from the modern organization of knowledge and life. In relation to the critical discourse, our study differs in some aspects from previous literature. Our study fills a void since we identify the discursive associations between academic concerns with ancient sculptures and museum displays of ancient sculptures. We have explored the mutual influences of two realms that are often viewed as autonomous parts of modernity. Ancient sculptures have attracted considerable attention in Classical Archaeology. The academic discourses on ancient sculptures, however, are seldom scrutinized and the display of ancient sculptures in museums is not discussed in Classical Archaeology. Museum Studies is an academic field that strikes us as more critical than Classical Archaeology. The ideological, political and epistemological context of the museum has received considerable attention. Ancient sculptures and displays of antiquity are, however, often ignored or only cursorily considered in Museum Studies. We aim to shed some light on this discursive blind spot. Scholarly perspectives have also influenced our conceptualizations of ancient sculptures. We have found it fruitful to conceptualize the scholarly setting for sculpture studies according to three trajectories: 1) Classical Archaeology in general; 2) Art History; and 3) sculpture and art historical studies of classical antiquity, or within Classical Archaeology (see Snodgrass 2007). Scientific Classical Archaeology, from the late 19th century onward, consisted of three major theoretical perspectives: first, a normative traditional perspective; secondly, the social turn that emerged and spread in the 1970s; and thirdly, the cultural turn that did not have any considerable impact until the 1990s. The traditional perspective was founded on naïve empiricism. Describing, sorting and authenticating the ancient evidence were the main concerns in normative Classical Archaeology. Scholarship paid attention to political history, major public, often religious, buildings and aesthetically pleasing objects. Only a selected part of the ancient material record was considered. Socio-functional issues became important with the spread of the social turn. Topics such as the hard social conditions of life, the organization of production, marginalized social groups, social processes, and the environment were studied intensely. Explicit methodology is a hallmark of the social turn. Quantitative methods were introduced and

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scholars aimed to identify general laws of behavior. With the cultural turn, quantitative methods gave way to qualitative concerns. The universal was abandoned in favor of the specific. Scientific objectivity and analysis was replaced with hermeneutical interpretation. Embodiment, ideology, worldview and agency emerged as the new buzzwords. The cultural construction of the world was a primary issue. The theoretical landscape of Art and Art History is different. The mimetic perspective, in which art is evaluated according to its mimetic qualities, dominated until the late 19th century. From this perspective, the naturalism of ancient art was regarded as exemplary. Ancient sculptures in particular epitomized the aesthetic ideals. The meticulous observation of the artworks was established as discursive method. The analytical focus on details reached new heights with Morelli, who elaborated on the methodology of connoisseurship. With scientific connoisseurship, the basic methodological procedures necessary for the authentication of artworks were formalized. The formalization of connoisseurship in the late 19th century indicates the institutionalization of Art History as an academic discipline, but also the emerging formalistic conceptualization of art. If we consider how art has been conceptualized in the long term, we can detect a paradigmatic shift that began in the mid-19th century. Prior to this shift, the mimetic qualities of art were fundamental. Art was judged according to how realistically it portrayed reality. This gave way to a formalistic conceptualization of art. Formal qualities became primary and artworks were appreciated on the grounds of technical skills. Art was increasingly viewed as a separate realm. The discursive separation of art from ordinary social life complies with fundamental characteristics of modernity. With the advent of modernistic formalism in the late 19th century, classical art was dethroned. Style and formal aspects of the objects emerged as important criteria for the appreciation of art. Modern art was challenging. Later, it blurred the divide between high art and everyday life. Modern Art History focused on notions such as style, artistry and national schools. A characteristic feature was the development of universally valid schemes that would explain the development of art. Riegl’s Kunstwollen and Wölfflin’s Malerich were concepts that were sensitive to formal aspects of art. These concepts were also introduced as principles in theories that aimed to explain art universally. In iconology, a theoretical framework introduced by Panofsky, the emphasis is placed on how agents perceive art. The search for a universal principle of art meant, in effect, that European art was seen as normative. These models presuppose a trans-historical position for the art historian. He stands outside the flow of time. In this sense, these art historians epitomize modernistic Art History. Both the social and the cultural turns were introduced with the New Art History in the 1980s. Social aspects that shaped the development of art, like the role of patronage, the political use of art in different contexts, and the symbolic connotations of art in a given social setting emerged as relevant issues within New Art History. The analytical scope of Art History

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was widened to include the contemporaneous social and cultural contexts, which traditional modernist Art History had neglected. Modernist Art History conceptualized the history of art through a Eurocentric perspective. This was questioned with New Art History, which also means that art history as a discourse was put under the looking-glass. This widened analytical scope included also the institutions that mediated and organized art, such as the museums. The Hegelian foundation of Art History, which rested on the assumption that style can only be produced at a specific time, a specific place and by a specific people, was abandoned. Art History and art entered the post-Hegelian, postmodern, bewilderment. The paradigmatic place of ancient sculptures in the scholarly universe was secured with Winckelmann’s influential scheme that cast classical Greek sculptures as embodiments of ideal aesthetic beauty. It was not Winckelmann’s explanation of aesthetic perfection as the result of environmental and political conditions that proved to be influential, but his stylistic categorizations and detailed descriptions. Studies of ancient sculpture are still marked by Winckelmann’s scheme, in the sense that a substantial amount of them are propelled by the aim to correct and fine tune his chart of ancient sculptures. Another important scholar for the development of sculpture studies was Adolf Furtwängler. He combined different scholarly traditions and formalized the notions of Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik. Meisterforschung denotes a discourse that pays particular attention to artistic geniuses and their work. A primary concern is the establishment and verification of sculptures as the work of a particular artist. Kopienkritik refers to a fundamental method in sculpture studies. Most of the original Greek sculptures have not survived and we have often only Roman copies of the Greek originals at our disposal. In Kopienkritik, scholars work backwards in order to ascertain the appearance of the original. The traditional perspective of sculpture studies was encircled by Winckelmann’s framework, Meisterforschung and Kopienkritik. The analytical focus evolved around issues such as the attribution of artworks to artists, workshops, or regional styles and the charting of motifs across time and space. Sculpture studies, in the traditional sense, have a confined focus on the empirical objects, and in this sense resemble the discourse of connoisseurship. Sculpture studies articulate a characteristic trait of modernist scholarship since the analytical objects are isolated from other realms and the social flow of time. A contrast emerges in relation to Art History, in a general sense, since in sculpture studies, models about how sculptures are to be interpreted and understood are not developed. Sculpture studies remain entrenched in the normative perspective. Tentatively, we can point to the idealization of the classical sculptures as a reason for the strong position of naïve empiricism. The social and cultural turns have only had a marginal impact on sculpture studies, despite some noticeable exceptions. The divide between sculptures and society was bridged with the advent of the social turn. Paul Zanker and Tonio Hölscher, who analyze the use and

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function of sculptures as part of imperial ideology in the Roman Empire, introduced the social turn in sculpture studies. They abandoned the diachronic issues concerning the sculptures and investigated the synchronic functional aspect of sculptures in contemporaneous Roman society. In their wake, the use of sculptures in Roman society has been a topical issue. This illustrates that different discourses influence different subject areas. Thus, whereas ancient sculptures from the Classical period are still primarily studied according to traditional stylistic notions, sculptures in Roman society are analyzed with reference to their socio-political functions. In sculpture studies, the cultural turn is visible in scholarship concerning the emulation of Greek sculptures in Roman culture. The divide between art and archaeology is weak in Classical Archaeology. In Classical Archaeology, archaeology often denominates a practice that focuses on the retrieval of ancient objects. The emphasis is on the description of the objects, the establishment of a chronology and the authenticity of the objects. The aesthetic quality of the ancient objects is an important aspect in this discourse: “The main topics of archaeological study are the study of monuments, art history, and artistic artifacts” (Gerhard 2004 [1850], 173). This antiquarian discourse should not be confused with a second denomination of archaeology. Here, archaeology means a practice that uses material objects in order to analyze and understand a past reality in its wholeness, often with an emphasis on social and cultural aspects: “Archaeology studies all changes in the material world that are due to human action” (Childe 1956, 1). The antiquarian discourse can be equated with the traditional normative perspective while the second denomination of archaeology resembles the concerns of archaeological practice after the social and cultural turns. In museums, ancient sculptures are displayed as artworks. The masterpieces of ancient sculptures are the famous sculptures that epitomize the classical legacy. In displays, these are often singled out through means of various techniques. Masterpieces are placed in cabinets, in the center of exhibition rooms, at the ends of long corridors or at the top of staircases. Only masterpieces are displayed in places that break with the general taxonomy of the exhibition. Masterpieces are not related to their original cultural setting. Occasionally, they are related to a stylistic development, attributed to an artist, workshop and/or regional style. The perceived aesthetic qualities of the masterpieces facilitate a discourse that emphasizes the unique aesthetic qualities of the objects. The decontextualized display of masterpieces corresponds to the sense of wonder, and, thus, the display is organized in order to enhance a sense of awe and admiration of the intrinsic aesthetics of the object. Masterpieces were often retrieved without reference to their archaeological context before the development of scientific field archaeology. This contributes to the lack of references to the original cultural setting. Aesthetic preferences change and we do not venerate the same masterpieces today as they did in the 19th century. A common technique of displaying

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masterpieces was through plaster casts. Collections and displays of plaster casts of the masterpieces were essential to the museums of the 19th century. Traces of the aesthetic appreciation of the masterpieces are found in contemporary popular culture. Images of masterpieces stand for the classical legacy, and are used in a wide variety of settings. The popular consumption, on one hand, is founded on the cultural value of the aesthetic qualities of the classical legacy. On the other hand, the very reproduction contributes to reinforce the aesthetic value of the masterpieces and the high-brow connotations of the classical legacy. The European nobility collected ancient sculptures from the Renaissance onward. Traces of the private collections of ancient sculptures can also be identified in contemporary exhibitions. Ancient sculptures were collected and displayed because of their aesthetic qualities. They were displayed in elaborate settings that reinforced their reputation. Displays of ancient sculptures in 19th-century public museums were also organized according to aesthetic preferences. The interior museum space was elaborate. Architectural ornamentation and intense color on the walls contrasted with the displayed objects. Visual contrast was also created by the lighting, which was organized in order to generate shadows on the displayed objects. Displays of plaster casts of ancient masterpieces were common. The taxonomy was based on what the sculptures represented rather than on the stylistic and chronological development. The aesthetic scheme was contrasted with a scientific scheme, which was based on chronology. A conceptual turn in the early 20th century resulted in major changes in museums. The modern notion of art meant that the museum space was transformed into a neutral bright environment. Ancient art was no longer the unquestioned aesthetic ideal. Authenticity emerged as a crucial notion and plaster casts were removed from the displays. The rearrangement of the museum space in association with this conceptual scheme is the most profound change of the museums that we have identified. Other scholarly conceptual turns have not resulted in the same profound transformations of the museums, despite the correlations between academia and museums that we have identified. Many ancient sculptures are not masterpieces. The ordinary sculptures are not singled out for their exemplary qualities but are contextualized through narratives. These displays are organized in accordance with the notion of resonance. It is not their intrinsic aesthetic qualities as such that are mediated but their place in a conceptual scheme. The narratives often relate the sculptures to art historical aspects. Style, chronology, their attribution to a master, or certain regional styles are the dominating features in exhibitions of ancient sculptures. In general, the taxonomy of the exhibitions is based on chronology. Ancient sculptures are presented as a separate entity, organized according to stylistic development. In addition to the distinction of the masterpieces, there are also a couple of other art historical narratives that

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feature in museum displays of sculptures. A common narrative is the identification of the ancient artists. The individual genius is often emphasized in the exhibitions. Ever since Winckelmann and the advent of modernity, our conceptualization of antiquity has been Athenocentric. Many exhibitions are guided by an emphasis on the Classical period in Greece. This is articulated through various narratives that enforce the significance of it. That is, fifth-century classical Athens epitomizes Classical Antiquity. The Parthenon and other artistic and cultural achievements of Periclean Athens are considered to be the strongest symbols of the classical legacy. The Athenocentric, or even Parthenocentric, view also permeates museum displays. Objects deriving from this center of antiquity are often emphasized for their aesthetic qualities. The narrative themes of the rise of Athenian power and the battle between Athens (the West) and the Persian Empire (the East) are often mentioned in museums. Roman copies of lost original Greek sculptures are displayed as Greek sculptures. The Roman obsession with Greek sculptures is not considered to be as a phenomenon that has influenced our perceptions of antiquity. This narrative theme enforces the significance of classical Greece. Ancient sculptures are also displayed as archaeological evidence. In these exhibitions, the sculptures are contextualized according to criteria other than their internal stylistic development. They are associated more widely with other categories of evidence and their original cultural setting. The obfuscation between art and archaeology in Classical Archaeology is evident here. Archaeological narratives in displays of ancient sculptures focus on technical and functional aspects of ancient artistry, such as the painting of the sculptures and the manufacture of particular bronze sculptures. Sculptures are contextualized with reference to an architectural setting, ranging from the Pergamon altar to the Parthenon and the Getty Villa. These displays are often organized in order to facilitate a close-up examination of details which is yet another indication of the conceptual intersection between art and archaeology. Also, archaeological narratives focus primarily on the retrieved objects. The socio-functional and cultural dimensions receive considerably less attention in displays of ancient sculptures, although portraits of ancient Romans are often presented as having social functions. We find it remarkable that museums in archaeological sites also present sculptures as artworks. One would expect that these museums, which primarily mediate the history of the particular site, would aim to present the sculptures as archaeological objects, but this is seldom the case. There is a correlation between the academic elaborations on ancient sculptures and displays of sculptures. The discursive bridge is indicated by the emphasis on similar topics in both scholarship and museums. Display techniques such as the placement of the sculptures and the taxonomic order of the display enhance the perception of the sculptures as artworks with exemplary qualities. Academic research on ancient sculptures has been

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determined by the discourses of Kopienkritik and Meisterforschung. The entrenchment of sculpture studies in the traditional normative perspective is also reflected in the museums. The conceptual social and cultural turns and the new perspectives that were introduced with them remain largely unnoticed both in scholarship and museum displays of ancient sculptures.

Notes

NOTE TO PART 1 1. European tradition denotes not only Europe, but comprises also the wider cultural boundaries of the Western World.

NOTE TO CHAPTER 1 1. It should be noted that the terminology differs considerably between academic disciplines. Archaeologists use post-structuralism (aka post-processualism), whereas historians, for instance, carefully avoid the term (e.g., Iggers 1997). The distinction between a soft and hard post-structuralism that we appropriate here is influenced by the archaeological vocabulary.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 2 1. See also Donohue (1995) and Kaufmann (2001, 541), who downplays the genius of Winckelmann. 2. “New Archaeology” was introduced by Binford (1962). It should be mentioned that New Archaeology was on the lips of Anglophone classical archaeologists in the mid-1980s, when several influential scholars, for example Snodgrass (1985), discussed its relevance for Classical Archaeology. 3. Halliwell (2002) has questioned the art historical usage of the concept of mimesis, on the basis on a reexamination of how Plato and Aristotle used it. Not surprisingly, he argues that mimesis was a complex notion in antiquity and that art historians, particularly Kristeller (1951) and Kristeller (1952), have misunderstood it. In the end, we fail to recognize any major difference between Halliwell’s proposed terms (2002, 23) and the terms he criticizes. Nevertheless, the notion of mimesis has been fundamental in Art History and, therefore, merits attention here. 4. Belting (2003, 46) makes a distinction between a classic phase of modernism (pre-World War II European avant-garde) and a second modernism (postWorld War II, USA realism/abstraction/pop art) that deserves to be mentioned. 5. Iconology has been compared with Saussure’s structural linguistics, since they dwell on signs, meaning and signification—see Holly (1984, 43); Argan (1975, esp. 299). As Pettersson (2001, 62) notes, Panofsky’s semiotics (1939) should, however, not be conflated with the post-structural semiotics presented in the influential article by Bal and Bryson (1991).

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6. Block, an important journal for New Art History, organized a conference in 1982 where the term became more widespread. Several art historical journals, most notably the Art Journal 42 (4) 1982 (Zerner 1982), had theme issues about the crisis in Art History during the 1980s. 7. The internal differences between new art historians are illustrated by Preziosi (1989, 161–65) who criticizes first Hadjinicolaou (1978), and then T. J. Clark (1973a, 1973b).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 3 1. A revised edition of the book was published after Winckelmann’s death. We have used the new English translation by H. F. Mallgrave, Winckelmann 2006 [1764], which is based on the 1764 edition. 2. Studies on ancient sculptures which are arranged according to the stylistic development implied by Winckelmann are numerous. To mention but a few that have functioned as standard reference works for the field during the 20th century: Picard (1935–1966) Lippold (1950); Lullies and Hirmer (1957), with a focus on visual representations of Greek sculptures; Richter (1970), where the stylistic phases are characterized by famous sculptors; and Fuchs (1993), where the stylistic development is traced within different sculpture types. 3. This is an aspect analyzed in the third section concerning portraits and politics of Smith (1988), which is a monograph on Hellenistic Royal portraits. Similar aspects are analyzed in several articles in a recent anthology on early Hellenistic portraiture (Schulz and von der Hoff 2007).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4 1. She is carefully sceptical about Phidias’s role on p. 35, while he is made into the master sculptor of parts of the west frieze on pp. 102 and 120–21. More revealing is her view that the narrative structure of the frieze may have been inspired by painting. On pp. 46–48, she assumes that Phidias had a close familiarity with monumental painting. Consequently, it is suggested that Neils thinks Phidias was responsible for the design of the frieze. In this case, she entirely trusts later sources (Pliny and Pausanias), since none of the paintings from the fifth century B.C.E. have survived. For a comparable conclusion to the Phidias question, see Robertson and Franz (1975, 16), who state the following: “the record is clear that Phidias was the greatest and most influential figure in the art of this time. The purest distillation of that art to survive for us is the Parthenon frieze, and if we read it as Phidian we cannot be altogether wrong.” For an opposing view that Phidias can, with certainty, only be associated with the colossal statue of Athena Parthenon, see Ridgway 2005, 64–65. 2. Alexandridis (2004) is a revised version of her dissertation, which was submitted at the Ludvig-Maximilians-Universität, München in 1997. 3. Kosmopoulou (2002) is based on her dissertation “Greek Relief Bases for Statuary from the Archaic Period to the End of the Fourth Century B.C.,” submitted at Bryn Mawr College in 1996. She is a student of Brunhilde S. Ridgway. 4. Karakasi (2003) is the English version of a German publication (Karakasi 2001), which is based on her dissertation presented to the Department of Classical Philology and Art History at Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt am Main in 1996.

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5. Stieber (2004) is a revision of her dissertation Realism in Greek Art of the Archaic Period from Princeton University 1992, under the supervision of William A. P. Childs. 6. Keesling (2003) is partly based on the dissertation “Monumental Private Votive Dedications on the Athenian Acropolis, ca. 600–400 B.C.,” submitted in 1995 to the University of Michigan: Ann Arbor. John G. Pedley acted as her advisor. 7. Her study is based on the dissertation “Mythological Statuary in Late Antique: A Case Study of Villa Decoration in Southwest Gaul,” submitted in 1994 at University of Michigan: Ann Arbor. Elaine Gazda and Thelma Thomas acted as her advisors. 8. Piekarski (2004) is based on a dissertation with the title “Studien zu anonymen Porträts des 4. Jhs. V. Chr.” It was submitted at the Rheinischen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität in Bonn in 2002/03, under the direction of Harald Mielsch. 9. Wulfmeier (2005) is another dissertation from the Rheinischen FriedrichWilhelms-Universität in Bonn submitted in 1993. 10. Stewart (2003) is based on his dissertation with the same title, and submitted to the Faculty of Classics, University of Cambridge in 1998. 11. Uzzi (2005) is a revised version of the dissertation “The Representation of Children in the Official Art of the Roman Empire from Augustus to Constantine” submitted in 1998 at Duke University under the direction of Mary T. Boatwright. 12. Perry (2005) is loosely based on her dissertation “Artistic Imitation and the Roman Patron with a Study of Imitation in the Ideal Sculptures of Herodes Atticus” submitted at the University of Michigan in 1995. Elaine Gazda was her advisor.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 5 1. The development was not unitary across Europe. More discreet gray and stone colors were preferred in early 19th-century Italian museums, the Pio Clementino in the Vatican, the Louvre and the Royal Museum, and later in the Nationalmuseum, Sweden, whereas elaborate ornamentations of the interior were found in the Glyptothek in München and the Altes Museum in Berlin (Jenkins 1992, 44–45; Widén 2009, 117). 2. An early 20th-century catalogue listed 2067 casts in the Metropolitan Museum (Fitzpatrick Nichols 2006, 115). 3. For instance, plaster casts of ancient sculptures in the British Museum were restricted to the Venus de Milo, Hermes of Praxiteles and Venus de Medici, which were only installed in 1886 (Jenkins 1992, 39). See Wallach (1998, 39) for a list of plaster casts in 19th-century U.S. museums. Hasselgren (1906, 12–15) presents the ancient plaster casts in the Nationalmuseum in Stockholm at the time. He emphasizes the copies of the canonical masterpieces. It is also interesting that the display of ancient casts was mixed with portraits of famous Swedes. 4. There is, of course, a technological development that facilitated this development. Electric lighting did not spread until the second-half of the 19th century. 5. Due to external reasons, that is the Nazi period, World War II and the subsequent disorder, the Glyptothek did not reopen again to the public until 1972. An abandonment of the aesthetic scheme in favor of the modernistic was discussed even before the Nazi period (Diebold 1995; Ernst 1992–93).

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Notes 6. Ironically, a similar idea guides the display of the Parthenon frieze in the new Acropolis Museum in Athens. In order to make an architectural contextualization as accurate as possible, representations/copies of the missing parts of the Parthenon are displayed. The dichotomy between authentic and copy is a guiding principle, and a constant reminder to the visitor of the controversy about the repatriation of the Parthenon Marbles. 7. Room 21, housing the Jockey from Artemision, is an exception that has been preserved in accordance with the aesthetic scheme of the 19th century. 8. There are exceptions. The Farnese collection in the first floor of the Naples museums is certainly not displayed according to scientific/modernistic schemes, but rather according to aesthetic displays.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6 1. The Liebieghaus altered its exhibition in 2008. The interior of the museum was painted in a rich color scheme and some ancient Greek sculptures were moved; most notably the Frankfurter Athena was moved from the cabinet. Personal communication Vinzenz Brinkmann (1/17/2013). 2. The Lansdowne Herakles shares the cabinet with two other sculptures, Leda and the Swan and Satyr Pouring Wine, which receive considerably less attention. 3. Many visitors rush through the Belvedere courtyard to the Sistine Chapel and other masterpieces. The abundance of the masterpieces also obscures the ancient masterpieces on the webpage of the Vatican Museums (url: mv. vatican.va). 4. The label calls this type the “Syracuse Aphrodite”. Save for the drapery, it seems very similar to the Capitoline Aphrodite. We have not been able to find any specific references to the Syracuse Aphrodite. 5. The description of the exhibition in Kassel is based on a visit on October 6, 2006. The exhibition was rearranged in 2009 with a more thematic emphasis (Splitter 2010, 86–91). 6. The Schliemann-Saal in the Museum für Vor- und Frühgeschechte in the Schloss Charlottenburg contains material from Troy and Asia Minor, which can certainly can regarded as part of classical antiquity. This exhibition will not be discussed here, since it does not contain any classical masterpiece sculptures. 7. Everything is temporary on the Museumsinsel, due to the ambitious plans to create a new Insel by 2015. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note that the Nefertiti head, the prime masterpiece of the Egyptian collection, was displayed exactly one floor above the Praying Boy, in the middle of the Egyptian exhibition, when we visited the museum in October 2006. 8. This sculpture has been moved around in the museum, and its reputation as a masterpiece was emphasized more in the previous display (Knittlmayer and Heilmeyer 1998, 12–13). 9. Although references to the private collections are made also in the Galerie Daru, there are no Baroque restorations on display. 10. The Venus de Milo’s ordinary place is in room 12 of the Sully wing. The Athena Mattei was displayed in Venus de Milo’s place during our visit, while the Venus de Milo was displayed in room 74 of the Sully wing. We visited the Louvre on June 2, 2007. It is interesting to note that the inscription that attributes the Venus de Milo to a Hellenistic sculptor was not exhibited. 11. These publications are, to some degree, similar to the atlases analyzed by Daston and Galison (1992). Daston and Galison’s (1992) characterization of

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atlases as articulations of “mechanical objectivity” is worth mentioning. Atlases hinge on the notion that images/photographs are actually neutral un-distorted mediators of reality, and are therefore objective mediators of a reality. NOTES TO CHAPTER 7 1. For instance, the 1992/1993-exhibition The Greek Miracle: Classical Sculpture from the Dawn of Democracy: The Fifth Century B.C. in the Washington National Gallery of Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Arts concerned the artistic supremacy of classical sculpture (Buitron-Oliver 1992). In 2002, an exhibition on the Classical period in general, The Classical Period of Ancient Greece. Idea or Reality (Die Griechische Klassik: Idee oder Wirklichkeit), was shown in Berlin and Bonn (Zimmer 2002, see also reviews of the exhibition by Villing and Adams 2002 and Stähli 2003). Information on this exhibition can also be found at http://www.klassik2002. de/ (November 20, 2009). In the 2007 exhibition, Praxiteles: A Master of Ancient Sculpture, the Louvre (Pasquier and Martinez 2007b) pays tribute to one of the master sculptors of the Classical period. This exhibition was also presented as a smaller version in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens in autumn 2007. 2. For a citation of the whole text, see p. 208 n. 10. 3. From the information text in the classical room of Boston Museum of Fine Arts. The entire text can be found on p. 152–153. 4. This citation is taken from a text that concerns Greek art of the fifth century B.C.E. in the Wiener Gallery of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The sentence describes the sculpture of the Parthenon as the best example of the high classical style. For a further quotation from this text, see p. 154–155. 5. See the article from New York Times, November 4, 1988 (www.nytimes. com/1988/11/04/arts/student-probably-made-fake-bust-at-the-getty. html?scp=2&sq=skopas&st=cse). To date a particular statue to the Classical period is not a new phenomenon. In the late-19th-century debate concerning the Venus de Milo, French scholars, among others S. Reinach, claimed that the statue was from the fourth century B.C.E. In opposition to this view stood A. Furtwängler, who argued for a date in the second century B.C.E., an opinion that is now commonly accepted (Curtis 2003, 145–46). 6. A similar description of classical art is found in a label from the exhibition of Greek Antiquities at the Chicago Art Institute (at visit on December 9, 2005): “In 490 and 480 B.C., the Greeks defeated the invading Persian armies, thereby ending the threat of foreign domination. For Attica, the citystate of Athens, the Persian defeat also represented the victory of freedom and democracy over oppression and monarchy. Although the Persians had destroyed the city’s most sacred precinct, the Acropolis, the Athenians used the destruction as an opportunity to rebuild their city with renewed pride and confidence. In this period of peace and prosperity, the arts flourished. The Athenian victory over the Persians inspired Herodotus to write the first known work of history. Playwrights, such as Sophocles and Euripides, celebrated the mythic past of Greece while exploring humanity’s relationship to the gods and to society. Sculpture was commissioned to decorate new public buildings as well as private family graves. In a neighborhood near the city market, potters and painters made red-figure jars to be filled with the famous olive oil and wine of Attica, which were sold abroad as one of the biggest export items of the city’s economy.”

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7. We noted the following titles on the information panels at our visit on April 7, 2006: Painted Greek vases (the text concerned vases as sources for Athens in the sixth century B.C.E.); Athens in the sixth century B.C.; Artists of the sixth century B.C.; Funerary monuments (the text concerned monuments created in the sixth century B.C.E. by landed families of Attica); Attica in the sixth century B.C.; The Amasis Painter, Athens in the fifth century B.C.; Greek culture during the fifth century B.C. (with a focus on Athenian artists); archaic and classical Greek coins (with a special note on Athenian coins); Early red-figure vases (only Attic vase painting was described); Cup painters (concerned only Athenian painters); Attic vase-painting of the second-half of the fifth century B.C.; Thucydides’s Athens, Athens in the fifth century B.C.; Athens in the fourth century B.C.; and The Making of Tanagra figurines (the technique for the production of these figurines were presented without any geographic or historic contextualization). 8. Quotation from a text about Greek art of the fifth century B.C.E. in the Wiener Galley of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (at visit on April 7, 2006). 9. The Venus de Milo was temporarily displayed alone in Room 74 on the first floor of the Sully wing. The organization of the exhibition of ancient Greek art was finalized in 2010. The Venus de Milo is now displayed in Pavillon du Roi (room 18) on the ground floor of the Sully wing (www.louvre.fr./ en/departments/greek-etruscan-and-roman-antiquities retrieved on May 16, 2012). It has been suggested that the Athena Mattei is a copy of the Piraeus Athena, a bronze statue discovered in 1959 in a warehouse that had been destroyed in the first century B.C.E. (Waywell 1971, 373–82). Mattusch (1996, 135–40) presents some conflicting views on the connection between the Athena Mattei and the Piraeus Athena. Even though the former may not be a copy of the latter, the Athena Mattei is usually considered to be a Roman marble statue that stylistically emulates a Greek statue of the fourth century B.C.E. 10. The English text runs as follows (as seen on visit October 6, 2006): “This period is marked by Athens’ rise to power, the Spartan-Athenian dualism and Macedonian control over Greece with the loss of the political autonomy of the poleis. Religion, art, science and politics were merged into that exciting whole which subsequent periods and cultures considered exemplary. Polytheistic liberality and enlightened courage led to individual self-responsibility being stressed and the picture of the gods becoming more like that of the idealized human. Gods such as Dionysus, Asclepius, Nemesis and Tyche became more important. Arts and science reached perfection. Harmony and symmetry of the forms, ethos and pathos of the effect, precision and accomplishment of the design as well as idealism and abstraction distinguished sculpture (Polycleitus, Pheidias, Praxiteles, Lysippus), painting (Polygnotos, Parrhasius, Nikias, Apelles) and architecture (Hippodamus, Iktinos, Pytheos, Satyrus). Similar high quality was achieved in poetry (Aischylos, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes), science (Empedocles, Democritus, Thucydides, Protagoras) and philosophy (Parmenides, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle). The Greeks themselves evaluated the epoch as ‘Golden Age’. The term ‘Classical’ was coined by the Romans. Later cultures sought to emulate this epoch or to respond critically to it.” 11. On the webpage of the British Museum, it is stated that the official museum term for the sculptures is “The Sculptures of the Parthenon” and not “The Elgin Marbles,” http://www.thebritishmuseum.ac.uk/gr/debate.html (May 11, 2007).

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12. One information panel in room 17 (visited February 5, 2007) describes the sculptures as follows: “The Nereid Monument is the tomb of Arbinas, king of the city of Xanthos in ancient Lycia (south-west Turkey). This magnificent monument shows the meeting of two cultures: Arbinas himself is presented as a Persian, yet his tomb resembles a Greek temple. Lycia was in the Persian empire, and Arbinas reigned at Xanthos around 390–370 under the ultimate power of the Great King of Persia. On a frieze from the tomb he is shown like a Persian ruler. The rest of this frieze shows Arbinas’ armies besieging enemy cities, in scenes resembling those of earlier Assyrian palace reliefs (Rooms 7–10). Other sculptures are more Greek. Some reliefs, and the figures of Nereids between the columns, show the influence of the Parthenon Sculptures (Room 18). The upper architecture of the tomb is entirely Greek. The capitals of the columns seem to be copied from the Erechtheum on the acropolis at Athens (Room 19).” 13. During our visit to the Louvre, June 4, 2007, the Salle du Parthénon (room 7 on the ground floor of the Sully wing) was temporarily closed. Instead, an adjacent room, room 6 (Salle de Diane), displayed the sculptures separately. The fragments are: one metope (no. 10) from the south façade, part of the east frieze and a female head from the west pediment. 14. The label (as seen on visit October 6, 2006) runs as follows: “Römische Kopie (2. Jh. n.Chr.) einer griechischen Statue frühklassischer Zeit (um 460/450 v.Chr.). Die Originalstatue aus Bronze vom Bildhauer Phidias stand vermutlich auf der Athener Akropolis als Weihgeschenk zum Dank für die Hilfe des Gottes aus einer Heuschreckenplage.”

NOTES TO CHAPTER 8 1. There are several examples where Greek pottery production is described. At the entrance to the fairly recently refurbished exhibition of Greek pottery on the second floor of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, information panels describe the process of firing and the various stages of vase painting (as seen on visit December 2, 2006). In the room on the first floor of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, where mainly Attic black-andred-figured pottery is displayed, various aspects of pottery manufacture are conveyed to the viewer (seen on April 22, 2006). Focus is placed on the different techniques in black-and-red-figured painting. This is also described in several texts in the pre-Hellenistic exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, for instance in a text that presents the Amasis Painter (seen on April 7, 2006). 2. In the publication accompanying the exhibition (Cohen 2006), several articles concern various vase techniques that were highlighted in the exhibition. For an introduction see the homepage of the exhibition: www.getty.edu/art/ exhibitions/colors_clay/homepage.html (January 31, 2008). 3. The information panel in room 83 of the basement was observed at our visit to the museum on February 5, 2007. The caption is How marble sculptures were carved and the text gives a detailed account on the process of carving, from cutting out the block to finishing treatments of the surface of statues, through a presentation of the tools used. 4. The handout “Bronze Statues” was available in room 7 at our visit to the museum on April 19, 2008. The bronze statue, inv. No. 2235, was originally found in Rome and was acquired in 1892. 5. The text was documented during a visit to the museum on May 23, 2011.

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academic discourses 4 academies 96 Adler, D. 31 Adorno, Th. 195 Aegean Prehistory 26 Aegina, temple of Aphaia 98, 104, 126, 175, 187 aesthetic ideals 5, 41, 98, 134 aestheticize 143 – 4 Aldrovandi, U. 83 Alexandridis, A. 62, 71 Alpers, S. 172 anamorphism 36 antiquarianism 15, 84 Aphrodite Callipygos 124 Aphrodite of Capua 166 Aphrodite of Cnidus 165 Aphrodite, Pan, and Eros Group 121 Apollo Belvedere 40, 83, 91, 118, 163 – 4 Apollo Sauroktonos 165 Ara Pacis 184 archaizing style 44 – 5 architectural ornamentation, museum space 87 – 8 Arezzo, Archaeological Museum 107 Argos, Archaeological Museum 106 Aristodikos 121 Aristophanes 67 art: autonomy 32; historicized 22 – 3; nationalism 28, 89; objects 78; symbolic meaning 84, 85 Art History 21, 28, 145, 197 – 8; binary concepts 20 – 1; biographical 22 – 3; discursive foundations 35 – 6; formalism 27 – 8, 31, 65, 198; modernist 27 – 33; New Art History 33 – 7, 52, 145, 198 – 9;

post-historical 35; universal principles 28 – 33 Artemis with a Doe 130 artist 28, 47 – 50, 57, 78, 110, 153, 162 – 6, 171, 183 artistic education 84, 96 Aschaffenburg, Pompejanum 88, 95, 181 – 2 Ashmole, B. 58 Athena 36 – 7 Athena Farnese 155 Athena Lemnia 123, 187 Athena Mattei 132, 155 Athena Parthenos 121, 130, 154, 155 Athenocentrism 42 – 3, 60 – 1, 66, 201 Athens 36 – 7, 55 – 61, 66, 173; Acropolis 36 – 7, 55 – 61, 66, 153 – 4, 157 – 8; Acropolis Museum 59, 157 – 9, 173, 175, 184 – 5; fifth century B.C.E. 36 – 7, 58, 91, 153, 156 – 7; Kerameikos Museum 185; National Archaeological Museum 62, 95, 106, 121 – 2, 146, 149, 152, 176, 184 – 5; see also Parthenon attribution 23, 163 Augustus 183; equestrian statue 121; Prima Porta statue 50 authenticity 23 – 4, 28, 46, 55, 78, 96 – 7, 99, 103, 104, 151, 182, 185 Azara Herm 130 Bandinelli 84, 95 Barberini Faun 127 Barkan, L. 84 Barlett head 153

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Baroque 85 – 6 Basel, Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig 108, 124 – 5, 152, 168, 176 Basel, Skulpturhalle 124 – 5 Bassae, temple of Apollo 174 Beazley, J. 25 – 6 Belvedere Torso 41, 83, 84, 91 Benjamin, W. 195 Bennett, T. 91 – 2, 196 Berenson, B. 24 Berlin: Altes Museum 127 – 9, 146, 176, 189; Pergamonmuseum 129 – 30, 149, 173 – 4; see also Pergamon Altar big digs 17 Boardman, J. 26 Bonn, Akademisches Kunstmuseum 93 – 4, 97 Borghese Gladiator 132 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 97, 100, 146, 149, 151 – 6, 164, 182 Bourdieu, P. 195 – 6 Brendel, O. 40 Brillo Box 35 bronze statues 189 – 190 Brunn, H. 46, 163 cabinets 87 – 8, 113, 117, 119 – 20 cabinets of curiosities 83 Cambridge, MA, Fogg Museum 97 Capitoline Venus 87, 119, 129 cast collections 97, 99 cataloguing 6, 23, 62 Chalkis, Archaeological Museum 106 Charioteer 113, 189 Cheramyes Kore 132 Chicago, Art Institute 146, 153, 161 – 2 chronological taxonomies 68, 105, 107, 113, 170 civilizing rituals 92 Clark, T. J. 33 Classical Archaeology 5, 15 – 20, 29, 42, 70, 101 – 2, 196 – 7; traditional 15 – 17 classical style 150 – 1 classicism 3, 17, 22 – 3, 39, 41 – 3, 101 – 2, 150 – 7, 162, 186 classicizing style 44 – 5 coffee-table books 143 – 4 collecting 82 – 8, 110, 117, 122, 200 colonial 108 colonialism 89

color: museum space 78, 94 – 5, 102; sculpture 25, 185 – 7 commercialization 142 comparative taxonomy: see display: aesthetic connoisseurship 15, 23 – 6, 46 – 8, 50, 60, 198; critique of 24 – 5, 36; see also Morelli, Zadig’s method constructivism 18 contextualization 6, 52, 66, 70; archaeological 6, 176 – 8, 182; architectural 52, 98, 105 – 7, 114, 130, 158, 173 – 5; art historical 32, 79, 124, 130, 146 – 71, 176, 178, 192, 200 – 1; cultural 52 – 4; historical 66 – 73, 79, 109, 114, 176 – 8; political 71 – 2; social 18, 50, 52 – 4, 69 – 73, 109, 182 Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glypotek 149, 167 – 8, 179, 187, 189 Corinth 62 crisis literature 34 critical semiotics 36 cultural turn 18 – 9, 34 culture, negotiated 19 damnatio memoria 52 Damophon 47 Danto, A. C. 35 David, J. L. 41 Death of Seneca (a.k.a. the Louvre Fisherman) 86, 131 deconstruction 35 decontextualized objects 144 decorum 72 deductivism 17, 33 Delos, Archaeological Museum 106, 185 Delphi: Archaeological Museum 106, 113 – 14, 149 – 50, 174, 189; excavations 17 descriptive epistemology 16, 62 – 4, 143 – 4 Diadoumenos 122, 125, 155, 167 Discophoros 132 Diskobolos 49, 169 displacement 195 display: aesthetic 90 – 1, 92 – 4, 101 – 102, 110, 146, 200; archaeological 78, 79, 122 – 3, 127 – 8, 172, 176 – 92, 201; isolation of objects 115, 117, 121, 124, 127, 134 – 5;

Index modernistic 101 – 11, 115 – 17, 121, 125 – 6, 173; ordinary sculpture 109; placement of objects 78, 87 – 8, 113, 124; private collecting 87 – 8; production in antiquity 188; scientific 90 – 3, 101 – 102, 111, 200; sculpture gallery 147, 148, 158; techniques 78, 102, 113, 199; see also color, lighting Donohue, A. 39, 58, 63 Dörpfeld, W. 16 Doryphoros 155 Duncan, C. 92, 163 Eagleton, T. 195 – 6 East-West dichotomy 160 eclecticism 72 Eirene and Ploutos 27 embodiment 19 emulation 51, 72 Enlightenment 27 Eretria, Archaeological Museum 106 ethnic essentialism 57 European nobility 83 evolutionary taxonomy see display: scientific exhibitions: permanent 79 – 80; temporary 79 – 80, 135 Farnese Bull 124 Farnese Hercules 124 Florence, Uffizi Gallery 90 Foucault, M. 91 – 2 fragment 84 fragmentation 142 – 3 Frankfurt am Main, Liebieghaus 108, 115 – 17, 148 – 9 Frankfurt Athena115 – 17 functionalism 18, 52 Furtwängler, A. 46 – 8, 104, 163, 198 Goethe, J. G. 118 Gombrich, E. 33 Grand Tour 87, 99 great men of history 16, 18, 19; see also artist Greek museums 106 Greenblatt, S. 112 Hegel, G. W. F. 28, 31 – 2 Hellenistic art 43 Herculaneum 15, 52, 87 – 8, 180

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Hermes with the Infant Dionysos 114 – 5 historical materialism 33 history of collecting 124 history of the nation 89 Hölscher, T. 51 Hooper-Greenhill, E. 77 Horse and Jockey from Artemision 95, 121 – 2 horti 178 Humboldt University 15 Humboldt, W. 15 iconology 32 Idealplastik 150, 166, 178 identification 22, 84 ideology 71 – 2 illicit trade of cultural objects 88 inductivism 17 Ishtar Gate 130 Istanbul, Imperial Museum 89 Italian museums 107 – 108 Jordanova, L. 79 Kampen, N. 7 Karakasi, K. 64 – 5 Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 182 Kassel, Antikensammlung 87, 108, 122 – 3, 150 – 1, 156, 187, 188 Kassel Apollo 109, 123, 156, 167, 169, 187 Kavalla, Archaeological Museum 106 Keesling, C. 66 Kopienkritik 45, 49 – 51, 109, 150 – 1, 165, 167 – 8, 170, 198; critique of 50 – 1, 72 korai, archaic 63 – 8 Kos, Archaeological Museum 106, 150 Kosmopoulou, A. 62 – 3 Kunstwollen 29 – 30 Lady of Auxerre 132 Landsowne Herakles 87, 117, 119, 181 Laocoön 40, 46, 83, 84, 91, 95, 118, 163 Late Antique Art 29 – 30 Leaning Satyr 165 Leochares 163 Lessing, G. E. 118 lighting 78, 92 – 3, 102 literary evidence 16, 70

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logical positivism 17, 33 London: Bassae room 130; British Museum 59, 90, 96, 100, 104, 130, 146, 153, 159 – 61, 173 – 5, 186, 189; Duveen Gallery 173; Elgin collection 87; Hamilton collection 87; Townley collection 87, 166 – 7, 189; Sir Hans Sloane’s collection 90; see also Parthenon Los Angeles: Getty Museum 90, 151 – 2; Getty Villa 88, 117, 119, 180 – 1 Ludovisi Throne 121, 154 Lysippos 40, 47, 128, 164 – 5 Madrid, Museo del Prado 90 Maleuvre, D. 196 man 91 – 2 Marathon Youth 121 Marcus Aurelius, equestrian statue 190 Market Gate of Miletus 130 Marvin, M. 166 master narrative 23, 77 masterpieces 46 – 50, 78, 84, 96, 97, 109, 112 – 45, 151, 155, 163, 168 171, 199 – 200 Mausoleum from Halikarnassos 130 Medici Venus 118 Meisterforschung 45 – 8, 50, 57, 60, 109, 148, 163, 170, 198; critique 51 Meleager 165 methodological issues 18 metrology 48 mimesis 26, 27, 65, 198 minimalistic display see display: modernistic modern copy myth 49, 166 modernism 99, 198 modernity 145 Mona Lisa 133 Müller, K. O. 42, 45 München: Glyptothek 93, 98, 104, 126, 146, 149, 152, 168, 175, 187; Museum für Abgüsse Klassischer Bildwerke 97; Staatliche Antikensammlung 176 Morelli, G. 22, 24, 47 museums: critical discourse 195 – 6; discourses 81, 92, 200; ethical crisis 92, 195 – 6; museification 6, 172, 195; origins 89 – 95;

universal survey 149; see also display, contextualization Myron 49 naive positivism 16 – 7, 24, 26, 68 Naples: National Archaeological Museum 87, 107, 123 – 4, 155 – 6, 180 – 1; Farnese Collection 123 – 4 Napoleon 91 nationalism 89, 91 Neils, J. 56 – 9 Neoclassicism 41, 85, 105, 119 New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 88, 95, 97, 100, 108, 146, 149, 151 – 2, 154, 167, 176, 190; Peggy Guggenheim Collection 90 niche 113, 114 Nike by Paionos 114 Nike of Samothrace 133 – 4; appropriations of 138 – 42 Norwich, CT, Slate Memorial Museum 97 objectivity 63 Olympia: Archaeological Museum 106, 113 – 15, 149 – 50, 164, 175; excavations 16, 17, 99; temple of Zeus 43, 52, 175; Zeus statue 164 origins 103 – 104 Ostia, Archaeological Museum 107, 149 – 50, 185 Overbeck, J. 46 Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 90 Paestum, Archaeological Museum 107, 174; temple of Hera 174 Panathenaia 58 Panofsky, E. 31 – 2 paradigm 25 Paris: Daru Stairway 133 – 4; Louvre 87, 89, 90, 95, 130, 148, 155, 161, 168; Luxemburg Gallery 90; Salle des Caryatides 130; Salle du Manège 131 – 2 Paris 1867 Convention for Promoting Universally Reproductions of Works of Art for the Benefit of Museums of All Countries 99 Paros, Archaeological Museum 106 Parthenocentric discourse 153, 157 – 9

Index Parthenon 51, 52, 55 – 61, 88, 98, 104, 105, 130, 153, 157 – 62, 173, 175, 184; see also Athens Pasquino 83 Pausanias 67, 162, 164 pediments see contextualization: architectural Pergamon Altar 130, 173 – 4, 184 Pericles 57, 164 Perry, E. 72 Persian Wars 153, 154, 160 Phidias 39, 43, 47, 48, 57, 60, 153 – 4, 156, 162, 164 – 5 photography 16, 30, 47, 99, 143 – 4 plaster casts 95 – 101, 185, 200; removal 100 Pliny the Elder 27, 46, 70, 162 – 3 Pollitt, J. J. 57, 151 Polykleitos 47 – 50, 125, 153, 165; Kanon 48 Pomian, K. 89 – 90 Pompeii 15, 52, 87, 88 Popper, K. 33 Poseidon of Artemision 121 positivism 16 post-structuralism 18 – 19 Praxiteles 40, 43, 47, 48, 114, 115, 154, 165, 179 Praying Boy 109, 128, 176 Preziosi, D. 21, 35 – 7 professionalization 16, 31 progress 28 Quatremère de Quincy, A. 195 reception studies 4 reductionism 16, 32 Reggio di Calabria, National Archaeological Museum 107, 117, 190 Renaissance: Art 21 – 2; Italy 91 reproductions of masterpieces 49, 84 – 5, 95, 136 Res Gestae Divi Augusti 184 restitution of cultural objects 59, 88 Riace Bronzes 117, 189 – 90 Ridgway, B. S. 6 – 7, 44 Riegl, A. 29 – 30 Robertson, M. 43 Roman: art 69 – 73; context 178, 199; copies 40, 49, 51, 72, 106, 151, 155, 165, 166 – 9, 171, 178, 179; perception of art 53 – 4, 70;

241

portraiture 71, 166, 168 – 9; villa 122, 182 Rome: Ara Pacis Museum 183 – 4; Augustan 91; Baths of Caracalla 52; Campus Martius 184; Capitoline Museums 95, 119 – 21, 147 – 8, 178, 190; Palatine Museum 107, 169, 184; Palazzo Altemps 87, 121, 154; Palazzo Massimo 107, 149, 169, 178 – 9, 183; Vatican Museums 83, 87, 90, 95, 113, 118, 147, 187; Villa Albani 95. Romanticism 28, 163 St. Petersburg, Hermitage 90 Schinkel, C. F. 129 science 85 Selinus 52 Semper, G. 25 Sikyon, Archaeological Museum 164 – 5 Skopas 48, 151 – 2, 165 Snodgrass, A. 40 social turn 17 – 8, 19, 33, 34, 48 Sosikles Amazon 48 Stewart, A. 43, 151 – 2 Stewart, P. 69 – 70 Stieber, M. 64 – 6 Stirling, L. 68 Stockholm, Gustav III’s Museum of Antiquities 147 – 8 style 5, 6, 21 – 3, 25, 26, 39, 44 – 5, 47, 62, 63, 65, 68, 69, 110, 166 185, 198 Suicidal Gaul 121 Syracuse Aphrodite 122 systems theory 18 taxonomies 5, 27, 92, 95, 109 – 10, 148, 170 teleology 91 theories of practice 19 theoxenia 58 Thessaloniki: Archaeological Museum 108 – 109, 176 – 8, 183; Sarapeion 177 Thorvaldsen, B. 98, 104, 127 Three Graces 130 Tivoli, Hadrian’s Villa 52 Torment of Marsyas 130 Torso of Miletus 132 Tschumi, B. 159

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typologies 62, 68 Tyrannicides Group 156 UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property 1970 88 universal architectual language 147 universalistic 28 University of Göttingen 97 University of Tübingen 97 Uzzi, J. D. 71 Vasari, G. 21 – 2, 163 Venice, National Archaeological Museum 90 Venus de Milo 95, 118, 134 – 5, 155; appropriations 137 – 8

Venus Genetrix 177 Verona, Archaeological Museum 107 Villa of the Papyri 52, 180 Visconti, E. Q. 42, 57 Warhol, A. 35 Western art 28 Winckelmann, J. J. 22 – 3, 38 – 45, 53, 57, 104, 118, 198; styles 39 – 41 wonder 112 Wulfmeier, J.-C. 69 Wölfflin, H. 30 – 1 Xanthos, Nereid Monument 130, 160, 174 Zadig’s method 103; see also connoisseurship Zanker, P. 50