An amazing discovery in South Africa, as seen in today’s New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/14/science/14paint.html?pagewanted=1&hp
Goosebumpy stuff.
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An amazing discovery in South Africa, as seen in today’s New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/14/science/14paint.html?pagewanted=1&hp
Goosebumpy stuff.
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Have you ever been to Chefchaouen, a stunning little town tucked away in Morocco’s Rif Mountains?
Many of the town’s buildings are painted with an ethereal, translucent blue pigment, similar to haint blue. The result is other-worldly, really. And although I’ve seen some blue-painted buildings in Essaouira, Rabat and a few towns in Israel, I’m not aware of any other towns painted blue to this extent in northern Africa or the Middle East.
So, how did most of Chefchaouen get painted blue? Why here and nowhere else? Who painted the town blue? Why and when did this happen? As an architectural historian, I was eager to find out the answers.
Local lore and town historians say the blue paint originated from the Jewish refugees who came here after fleeing the Spanish Reconquista. The town grew enormously between the 15th and 17th centuries with the arrival of Moriscos and Sephardic Jews from Spain.
Perhaps this theory has a seed of truth to it. Jewish tradition mentions the practice of weaving blue threads into prayer shawls to symbolize holiness and heaven and protect from evil. If they carried this belief into their architecture, it makes sense, then, that they would paint their houses in this hue, too. We’ve seen this with the Gullah culture’s haint blue.
A few towns in Israel, such as Safed, have blue doors and trim, but it’s a very pale blue wash, not as bold as the Chefchaouen buildings.
In fact, this pale blue is most likely truer and more authentic than the current electric blues in Chefchaouen. A few seasoned Morocco travelers I’ve talked to report that Chefchaouen’s blue has gotten progressively bolder and bluer through the years. One visitor mentioned that as late as the 1970s, the town had just a few blue buildings, and the blue was a very pale color (probably similar to the Israeli blue). It’s not known when this pale blue tradition started, most likely at the end of the 19th or early 20th centuries.
So, alas, although more research has to be done, it seems that the powerful, in-your-face, bold blue paint of Chefchaouen is a fairly modern development.
Historically authentic, or not, the town’s color is pretty fabulous. See for yourself.
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The mere mention of Pompeian wall painting conjures up images of deep red, yellow and charcoal black panels decorated with half-naked mythical figures and fantastic architectural ornament. (See last week’s post about Pompeian wall painters.)
While there’s no doubt this fabulous wall decoration is stunning and noteworthy, it’s not the only interior decorating style the ancient Romans used on their walls.
The most impressive examples I’ve seen are at the Villa Poppea, built in the 1st century BC in the ancient town of Oplontis (now modern day Torre Annuziata).
Allegedly, the villa may have been occupied by Nero’s second wife, Poppea Sabina. (Although the jury’s still out on this one.) The renovation work on the villa began in 62 AD, either due to damage from the big earth quake of that year, or because of the marriage between Nero and Poppea, who may have been decorating their dream home. Either way, renovation work was still underway during August of 79 AD, when Vesuvius blew her top and buried it all.
The villa, now a UNESCO World Heritage site, was partially excavated in the 1960’s. Sadly, about half the villa remains under the town’s main street and buildings, but what has been excavated is spectacular and well worth the short detour from the more famous sites of Pompeii and Herculaneum.
A few months ago during a visit there, I was busy snapping photos of lovely decorated dining rooms and bedrooms in the villa. I turned a corner and saw the zebra stripes for the first time. I yelped with joy — I had certainly never seen anything like it, nor had a read about it. I needed to know more.
After coming home from Italy, I started to dig up a bit of information about the zebra stripes. According to historian and Cambridge professor Mary Beard, this zebra paint was pretty common, but little of it remains in situ, as far as I know.
From a practical standpoint, the zebra stripes were certainly a quick, cheap way to decorate long hallways that wouldn’t normally be seen by the visiting public. The pigments used to make the black and white paint were cheap and found locally – probably black soot and white chalk or lime – so it makes sense to use them for this purpose. The stripes would have hidden scuffs and dirt, as well. But at Oplontis, amazingly enough, these zebra stripes were in public corridors, too.
Must have been a wild sight to see. Sonny and Cher would have loved it.
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Quite a bit of the wall decoration has just been done, so they’ve moved on to the central panel of the middle section, and are working from the top, down. Two red and black panels have just been painted with playful scenes of a god, cupids, nymphs, and goats pulling chariots. Whimsical trompe l’oeil architectural columns, covered in foliage, vines, flowers and birds, separate the panels. The central panel has just been plastered, with mythological figures sketched out in yellow ochre, ready for the painter to work quickly with his paint.
Two of the painters (perhaps a painter and his apprentice or slave) stand side-by-side on scaffolding or ladders while they fresco one panel with black paint. One of their more experienced co-workers stands at the east wall, painting the final details of the wall’s trompe l’oeil architectural decoration. A fourth talented colleague is nearby, applying the final secco details to the finished frescoes.
A huge renovation project is underway. Painting supplies are scattered everywhere — mixing bowls, plaster jars and dozens of tiny pots of paint sit on shelves or in baskets nearby. Piles of shiny mosaic tesserae, lime and sand sit nearby.
It’s a regular work day, filled with chatter, gossip and a fast food lunch from one of the food stalls nearby. Suddenly, the sky grows dark. It’s hard for the workers to see what they’re doing. They rush to the windows and doors to see what’s going on. The skies begin to empty on their heads – ash and pumice begin to rain down on them from above. The ash rain gets heavier and heavier, until it starts to accumulate on the ground. Chaos and panic ensue, and the painters flee their workplace, leaving their paint pots uncovered and the plaster, wet.
Mount Vesuvius was erupting. Little did the painters know that this fiery volcanic ash would continue to fall from the sky, along with large pieces of pumice, for the next 12 hours, eventually burying their city in over 2 meters of debris that day. Hopefully they were able to leave town to escape the toxic gases and burning cinders that hit Pompeii the next day, smothering everyone and everything under 6 more meters of ash.
The painters were using 7 basic colors for this particular project: red, yellow, blue, green, orange, black and white. Lab analysis shows the paints were made from 15 pigments, including soot (black) and chalk or limestone (white), both found locally.
More exotic imported pigments included hematite, the mineral form of iron oxide (red), celadonite from Cyprus (green), and pricey Egyptian blue, which was available commercially and made with a heated mixture of sand, copper and calcium carbonate.
The painters were working with pigments and paints that reflected the general artistic trends of Pompeii during that time. While the so-called Pompeian Red is the most well-known color from ancient Pompeii, yellow and black were used frequently, as well. Black was the most popular panel background color for most ancient Romans’ “best” rooms (probably because it was inexpensive and easy to produce locally) but yellow (made from yellow ochre or ground Goethite) and red (often made from hematite or cinnabar) were chosen by the wealthier patrons because they were more costly. Red, despite its popularity, may have not been as widespread as previously thought, because scientists have discovered that the yellow ochre paint changed to red under the intense heat of the eruption and blast.
If Vesuvius had remained dormant on that fateful day, the painters would have finished their room in typical Pompeian style: a typical three-part design with framed sections or panels with red, yellow or black backgrounds, filled with figures or scenes. Attenuated, fantastic architectural elements with flowers, vines, foliage or birds frame the panels, and an trompe l’oeil dado would have run along the bottom of the wall, visually dividing the space.
When archaeologists uncovered these incredible frescoes at Pompeii and Herculaneum during the 18th century, their discoveries ignited a frenzy in the European art and architecture worlds. Suddenly, copying the ancient world was the trendiest, hippest thing to do. From Neoclassical architecture and Wedgwood pottery to Canova’s sculpture and Empire furniture (to name just a few examples), the rediscovery of this ancient world influenced the entire European aesthetic.
If only our humble painters knew what kind of influence they had on the entire world.
Sources:
Mary Beard, Fires of Vesuvius; Cottica & Mazzochin, University of Venice, Pots with Coloured Powders from the Forum of Pompeii; Pompeii Scavi
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