Journal Entry for the Week of February 21 to February 25

If there is one thing that can be said with certainty about art, it is that death is certainly not the limit of it. In fact, when one studies the Roman catacombs, death only accentuates the mystique and allure of the artwork that adorns these dank and dreary caverns. If one ever gets the chance to venture down these historic sites, an artistic utopia awaits those curious about life in Roman antiquity and beyond. The paintings of The Good Shepherd as a metaphor for Christ, or the Virgin Birth as depicted in the image above, all speak of a society that underwent a religious revolution that permeated their consciousness well beyond the grave. Catacombs were not just cemeteries for ordinary people but the resting places of Saints and other revered men and women. For this reason amongst others, it was vital that the paintings on these tombs accurately reflected not only the social climate of ancient Rome, but also significant details about the people that were buried herein. Just like the skeletons in Pompeii alluded to the status and health of a person, the amount of detail and intricacy that went into a tomb's decor reflected wealth and a fancy for posthumous grandeur. Certainly, if a tomb were made of carved marble one could safely assume that it was home to someone who was quite well-off. The artwork adorning these tombs would also tell the viewer a host of information such as a person's relationship to others, their profession, the number of children they had etc. Indeed, in many ways the catacombs and the art therein acted as a synthesis between life and death.

A particular aspect of the catacombs that really stuck with me was how wealth would determine the beauty and allure of your tomb. This is something I have experienced in my own homeland, Pakistan. If you visit a local cemetery there it is not difficult to tell who was wealthy and who was just a person living on common means. Though not fantastically wealthy, my family in Pakistan enjoyed a certain amount of prosperity around the time when my grandfather passed away. His grave certainly reflects our status; compared to many of the plain and scattered grave plots around him, his grave is entombed within a roof with four white pillars and a set of steps leading up to it. It makes me marvel at the strange ways in which class differences follow us even into the afterlife. The wealthier Romans got the tombs made out of marble; my grandfather recieved a white chamber with pillars instead of a simple hole in the ground. Art and architecture in ancient times and in many ways even today, is utilized as yet another medium to establish a hierarchy between classes and generations. It certainly has interesting implications for some of the more romantic perceptions of art, especially for those who see art as the great liberator of the mind or a means through which to transcend the earthly world. Although art undoubtedly functions in these ways, in many ways I find it forces us to continue conforming to our earthly roles. Simply by studying the materials and details that are used in the construction of a grave or catacomb, we can label the tomb as belonging to a slave or a ruler, a commoner or a saint. The art in the catacombs strangely symbolizes how we can never truly escape who we are, even in death.

Journal Entry for the Week of February 14 to February 18

They say Rome wasn't built in a day. Watching the documentary "Rome: Engineering an Empire," I'm forced to accept that they were right. The documentary is an astonishing account of the centuries it took for Rome to become the architectural gem it is famously regarded as; and all this while the nation was under the guardianship of leader after leader, dictators and philanthropists, the bloodthirsty and the socially conscious, all part of a tangled legacy that belied the creation of Rome into an architectural utopia, a Mecca for lovers of art and architecture around the world.

It is awe-inspiring to say the least when one views the innovations that took birth in Rome, innovations that we take for granted as part of our technologically superior modern world. The first national highway—as sophisticated as the technology of the time allowed—was built in Rome in 312 B.C. and soon became a sophisticated and efficient navigational route. But for the Romans a road was never just a road; primarily under the meticulous rule of Augustus, these highways also functioned as a political statement. They made the Romans a cunning and formidable enemy to neighbouring nations, a people who used their physical achievements to solidify their socio-political prowess. Looking back on this innovation centuries later, I can almost feel the enemy’s hesitation when debating whether to penetrate Roman walls.

But by far the most incredible feat of Roman antiquity was the construction of the infamous Coliseum, begun under Emperor Vespasian. Vespasian, it was duly noted, was a practical leader who was averse to pretension and put his architects to work for the people. He certainly lived up to this characterization in the construction of the Coliseum. What I found particularly interesting— and admittedly disturbing—was the transformation of old lands into a gigantic entertainment amphitheatre symbolized both Rome’s admirable architectural talent and a more sinister underlying bloodlust in entertainment. Two theatres constructed back to back provided a panoramic 360° view that has been appropriated into immeasurable architectural innovations ever since. The numerous entryways both controlled and comforted the audience; when entering and exiting there was a lowered probability of being crushed to death; some might argue this is a good thing. The Roman architects were mindful of their audience and the weather as well; a retractable awning over the Coliseum provided shelter in the hot days, though this likely offered little comfort to the source of entertainment in Coliseum: the victims of vicious and bloody duels. Indeed, while it was an architectural innovation for the centuries, the Coliseum also underscored the more gruesome attributes of Roman antiquity. Amongst these was the pleasure derived from seeing gladiators being torn to shred by animals, or more excitingly by one another (re: is this craziness, brilliance or just sheer boredom?). A panoramic view certainly must have heightened the experience of bloodshed, as you could truly get a feel for a victim’s agony and a winner’s triumph literally from all angles. The Coliseum is quite a challenge to assess as a historian looking back centuries later. In retrospect, it served as an almost nauseating display of self-indulgence and sadistic entertainment; at the same time, I can’t help but admire the sheer magnitude of the achievement in building such a colossal theatre and the implications it had for Rome as an empire. If Rome is an art lover’s Mecca, then the Coliseum is where these travellers must kneel and worship.  

Journal Entry for the Week of February 7 to February 11

This week in class we watched the movie "Buried Alive," about the explosion of the infamous mount Vesuvius in Pompeii circa 79 A.D. Although it's not crucial to the plot of the movie, it helps to note that Leonard Nimoy narrated the movie as well.

Prior to the explosion Pompeii was a thriving cultural center, where the residents went about their business under the watchful mountain, blissfully unaware of the looming threat it posed. Without getting too engrossed in the minute details of the explosion, the most captivating part of the movie dealt with the remains uncovered years after and the fascinating details they revealed about the people who died there centuries earlier. Quite accurately described as "phantoms from a long gone civilization" the conditions of the skeletal remains allowed archaeologists to speculate with certain precision about the humans who once lived in ancient Pompeii. For example, a skeleton that showed visible signs of malnutrition and bone deformity was probably that of a beleaguered slave. The movie makes a strong case for how important these skeletal remains were, for they allowed historians access to a civilization long buried (metaphorically and literally) under fire and ash. Entire dwellings could now be explored, and at every step one could see the heavy Greek influences in the dwellings, in the frescoes, the sexual boldness and the bronze statues commemorating great heroes of decades past. The movie certainly allows the audience to bridge the gap between the Roman and Greek civilizations; whether through architectural influence or cultural innovations, we can certainly appreciate how the Romans both welcome and were overwhelmed by the Greek culture. The movie effectively adds a captivating, though admittedly dramatic tone to this synthesis of culture. It also raises the important question of just how intimately the two civilizations overlapped one another? The visibly inspired art and architectural culture of Pompeii is certainly an intriguing starting point to a discussion that warrants more in-depth research and analysis.

On the negative end of things, there are some flaws that hamper the overall narrative. One, and I cannot stress this enough, is that despite his popularity Leonard Nimoy is perhaps not the best choice to direct the narrative of a historical movie. His previous screen persona is virtually larger that the important topic he is covering. The intrigue of the Vesuvius and the charm of Pompeii can never fully disguise the fact that Spock is talking to us; his obvious persona distracts from the subject at hand. Another blatant problem is a bold assumption (as I perceive it) that the movie makes when it's talking about working Roman women. It asserts that "a Roman woman wouldn't want to build a career." While certainly a woman venturing outside the house was unheard of at this time, it's a bit of an overstatement to claim that historians know with psychological certainty the fact that women would've rejected the opportunity. Perhaps there were overwhelming socio-cultural norms and expectations that prevented women from working? Perhaps they thought it would mess up their hair? Whatever their motivations were, petty or large, at best we can simply speculate about them. The physical skeletons offered the explorers abundant tangible information about the residents who died in the explosion; it would be wiser to leave the psychological skeletons buried in this instance.

Journal Entry for the Week of January 31 to February 4

The process of entering a building is an experience of visual stimulation and navigation through carefully designed space and form. The structure and form of a building speaks volumes about its function; certainly this is true when I walk into the Dewhurst Hall, the common cafeteria on campus at Bishop's University. The entrance way is a simple door, and as you open it you find yourself in an open mini foyer, with a corner that leads into the cafeteria. There are coat hooks and bathrooms on adjacent walls leading into the cafeteria, giving the entryway a feel of organized and confined chaos. It is certainly functional to hang your coats and bags before getting your food, although the relatively narrow walking space gives the experience the feel of an assembly line at boot camp.

As you walk into the cafeteria, a whole host of visuals greet your eyes. At the door is the payment counter. The main room is a large, mostly rectangular design with a somewhat obstructing counter in the middle of the room where the cutlery and condiments are. Various food stations are arranged around the perimeter of the room, which makes it very easy to navigate from one station to the other, rather like a confined food court. The place is brightly lit and relatively easy to navigate, even though rush hours leave much to be desired in terms of breathing room. On a more positive front, the area is painted in bright, welcoming hues of yellow, and a large colourful mural adorns one wall, lending a certain creative appeal to the otherwise functionary room.

As you walk out of the food serving area, you walk into a large open room flanked with windows at all sides and square tables arranged in predictable (re: reliable) cafeteria style, row by row. With freshly installed granite floors, this room is welcoming during the sunlight hours with the large windows and the bright decor announcing various policies and campus events. The machine dispensing drinks is located to the right as you walk into this room, with the food compost and trash bins located along the same side. The room certainly functions well as a homely social spot, as the giant television screen at the furthest wall would indicate. Couches are also scattered along the outside perimeter, inviting tired students to rest and have a snack after a long day of studying or partying (these are not mutually exclusive). The stiff wooden ceilings and array of fluorescent lighting does not make this an ideal place to study once sunlight hours are over. Indeed, the wood ceiling and the columns standing throughout the cafeteria are not entirely navigation friendly, and give a somewhat claustrophobic air to the area.  If the function of the cafeteria is to be a place to sit and have meals with relative ease, this function is met. However, the overall structure is simplistic, and though easy to navigate, leaves something to be desired in what should be a welcoming creation.