Читать книгу Greek Sculpture - Edmund von Mach - Страница 10

For most people Greek sculpture means beautifully white sculptured marble. Few realise, however, that bronze and not marble[11] was the Greeks’ favourite material; all their marble was coloured as well. When Renaissance artists began studying remains of the ancient past, existing Greek or Roman statues showed no traces of colour. More than a thousand years had passed since their creation, and erosion had wiped all colour into distant memory; excavated statuary underwent a vigourous scrubbing process that removed not only any encrustation of their long burial but also any paint that might have been preserved. This inadvertent cleansing led Renaissance artists, and the moderns after them, to believe in purity of form, which neither required nor permitted the addition of colour. At an early date, however, scholars began casting doubt on this so-called purity of form. They based their arguments upon four well-established facts. Firstly, the Roman Catholic Church has always had coloured statues of saints. The Church, highly conservative, has practised colouring its saints since its inception, and its inception was contemporaneous with the artistically active centuries of the early Empire. Thus, several questions arise: If classical sculpture was not coloured, where did the Christians get their different practice? If their practice consciously deviated from that of their secular contemporaries, why do we not find references to them in any of the early church fathers?

Secondly, secular sculpture down to the Renaissance was also frequently coloured. Again, this may survive from ancient customs, for the sculpture of those times was a distant descendant of classical sculpture. Thirdly, Egyptian sculpture, and probably the Assyrian, was profusely coloured. The interaction between the Greeks and other older groups was at times intimate; Herodotos conducted a systematic study of the differences between the Greeks and the Egyptians. Had he never seen a coloured statue at home, he might have been expected to at least mention the different practice of the Egyptians; on this point he is silent. Fourthly, Renaissance sculptors’ belief in purity of form in classical times fails as an argument either way, for it was obviously founded on the appearance of ancient statues in their time.

These considerations raise grave doubts about the generally accepted absence of colour in Greek marble, especially since the advocates of the purity of form in ancient times have advanced no better argument than bad taste, with extremists criticising it as barbarous. Being entirely subjective, such an argument is best left to itself; it needs no refutation. Evidence to this effect can be gathered from three sources – the literature of the ancients, the remains of their art, and practical experiments.

Nothing in ancient literature has produced a definite response as to whether the Greeks painted their statues. Mr. Edward Robinson[12] concludes from the silence of ancient writers on this point that mentioning the act would have been like saying “water is wet”; that, or that it never was practised.[13] This latter thesis is contradicted not only by more recent finds, but also by certain clear remarks recorded in Greek and Roman literature. Pliny quotes Praxiteles as saying that he prized those of his statues the highest which the famous painter Nikias had touched (manum admovissei), for “so high an opinion he had of his colouring of statues” (circumlitio); and Plato, in discussing the relative value of colours, makes light of the artist who, in attempting to apply the most beautiful colour to the most beautiful part of his statue, would paint the eyes golden instead of black. Such and similar passages prove conclusively that at least some statues in antiquity were coloured; and this, as Robinson has pointed out, goes far in proving that it was the universal custom of the ancients to paint their marble statues.

Recent finds and careful examination of existing monuments strengthen this opinion. Many statues preserving traces of colour have been found: on the Aegina pediments, for instance, and the draped female figures from the Acropolis (Illustration 1, 2, 3), and the Hermes of Praxiteles; many others clearly indicate that paint was originally applied. On the grave monument of Hegeso in Athens the lady is represented as taking something out of her jewellery box and letting it glide through her fingers. She is watching the object, which itself is not sculptured, but was originally either painted or left to the imagination. The latter alternative seems more than doubtful, both because of the difficulty of imagining the object and because of the easy explanation of its omission by accepting the theory of applied paint. Other statues exist whose uneven surface corrosion suggests the application of colour in different degrees. The stele of Aristion, shows a well-defined star on the right shoulder lap of the cuirass. The colour, now completely vanished, was once probably superimposed upon the body colour of the cuirass; it therefore did not wear off as easily as the rest, preserving that part of the marble it covered from the corrosion that overtook the rest of the stele. The figure itself did not reach the bottom of the slab, but was separated from it by a rectangular and apparently empty space. There is a very similar stele, also in Athens, which represents the warrior painted and not sculptured. It shows the same rectangular space at the bottom, on which a painted miniature horseman still can – or at least some years ago could – be distinguished. A reasonable assumption would be to imagine that the identical space of the Aristion stele was filled in the same way by the painting of a horseman. A painting at the bottom of a sculptured slab, however, only seems appropriate if the carved portions are not left entirely colourless.

On the Parthenon frieze few accessories, e.g., bridles, halters, and ropes, are carved. Often holes are found, which apparently served as attachment points for bronze bridles and the like, while elsewhere no such holes are in evidence. In any case the addition of bronze implements would have deprived the frieze of colour uniformity, and a natural supposition would be that where no holes are found the necessary accessories were painted. This is not to suggest that every minor detail was either added in bronze or painted; much was merely suggested. The introduction of colour in the Parthenon frieze is entirely in keeping with the architectural scheme of the building, which was highly coloured above the capitals of the columns. On this point scholars agree.

Altogether, the evidence strongly implies that the Greeks utilised colour in their marble sculpture. No statue, however, has ever produced a trace of paint upon the flesh parts, leading some to believe that only hair, lips, eyes, drapery, and accessories were painted. The nude parts underwent a process known as ganosis, which toned down the marble’s natural glare. The complete disappearance of colour on the smooth flesh parts during the intervening twenty centuries or more is not surprising and cannot be used as an argument, while the meaning of the words circumlitio and ganosis, both of which are used by classical writers in connection with the colouring of ancient statuary, remains obscure. The main argument, therefore, of those who believe in the colourless nude in ancient art is based solely upon the seemingly correct observation that the extremely delicate treatment of the nude in the best periods would have been an incomprehensible waste of time if it was to be covered by paint.

Kore 686, called “The Sulky One”, Acropolis, Athens, c. 480 B. C. Marble, h: 58 cm. Acropolis Museum, Athens.

Kore 594, Acropolis, Athens, c. 500 B. C. Marble, h: 122 cm. Acropolis Museum, Athens.

Experiments on antique statue colouring casts have proven important, establishing one point beyond all question.[14] According to Robinson and those having viewed such statues – “and one” says Robinson,[15] “which will come as a surprise to many who have examined the subject only theoretically. Colour, even when applied as a coating, instead of diminishing the effect of modelling, considerably heightens it. Far from hiding the sculptor’s work, it enhances its beauty. The more delicately he models, the “more the colour emphasises its delicacy; should his own work be poor, the colour will accentuate the defects, possibly perhaps because of the close comparison with nature. To a remarkable degree his can be observed in the heads of two statues, the Venus (Genetrix) and the Hermes of Praxiteles. The Venus (Genetrix), usually passes for a good head, and is sometimes spoken of with enthusiasm for its delicate contour and subtle smile. Coloured, it becomes hard and dry; the modelling of the cheeks, and especially about the nose, is meagre, betraying the hand of the copyist more than any other part of the statue; and defects in the modelling of the mouth and chin, hardly perceptible in white, become unpleasantly apparent. In no part of either statue did Mr. Smith have to work so hard, try as many experiments to produce a result on a par with the rest. The head of the Hermes, on the contrary, shows the marvellous beauty of modelling much more effectively under colour than in white cast. The exquisite modulations are more apparent when painted; in contrast the white cast has a curious, empty look. And what is true of the heads is equally true of other portions of the statues. The body and drapery of the Venus are modelled much more finely than the head, and the colours emphasise this.

“If these experiments teach nothing else, they will at least demonstrate that the addition of colour, instead of enabling the sculptor to slur his work, subjects him to new and severe exactions; and hence they offer a suggestion as to one of the most important factors in the rapid rise to perfection of Greek Sculpture.”

Such experiments, though they cannot be said to have proved the application of colour on the nude parts of Greek statues, have nevertheless shifted the responsibility of proof to the other side. Colour was used on ancient marble; the addition of colour on all parts, even the nude, is possible. In the absence of definitive data it appears to have been the natural thing and in keeping with coloured terra cottas, many of which are believed to have been made in imitation of statues, in full accord with the paintings of coloured statues in Pompeii. With the question of colour application settled, other, more difficult questions arise: What colours were selected and how were they applied? Were the statues painted to represent reality? No information can be gleaned from ancient literature, and the few dots of paint found on marble are of little consequence. In the first place they may represent only the body colour, while the actual shade which was seen may, and probably has, disappeared; and in the second place even these samples have surely faded and changed under the influence of air or minerals in the soil when the statues were rediscovered. The Greek statues did not exhibit actual garments, but rather, in keeping with the mental images represented by the statues, conceptions of garments. They were not real; the application of the real colour is inappropriate. The effect of Mr. Smith’s coloured casts, therefore, proved unpleasant, and not regretted. A complete change, if it occurred, must have happened subsequently; when is beyond our knowledge to ascertain.

Such and similar considerations arguing against the universal use of colour on Greek marble statues should not be taken too seriously. They demonstrate the impossibility of making a solid case of events two millennia ago; if compared with the sound arguments in favour of the practically universal custom in Greece of painting marble statues, they are too slight and uncertain to have great weight. One point has been proved conclusively: ancient marble did not routinely exhibit the “colourless purity of form.” The final proof that they never exhibited it is still unsettled. All recent discoveries and investigations argue in its favour. It is therefore not unreasonable to expect that in time the current colouring theory of ancient statuary will become a universally accepted fact.

Kore 682 (detail), Acropolis, Athens, c. 520–510 B. C. Marble, h: 182 cm. Acropolis Museum, Athens.