tang dynasty times

Sex and the Getty Bronze

Not unlike the story about my favorite Carpaccio painting, it was almost a year ago when he was talking about the exhibition publication of National Gallery of Art's Bellini, Giorgione, Titian, and the Renaissance of Venetian Painting. A huge fan of Renaissance painting, he complained that the authors insisted on seeing sex in many of their scholarly interpretations of Renaissance portraits. For example, discussing the book's take on Titian's Flora, he wrote:

"This question in fact summarizes about 80% of the scholarly writing on Titian’s Flora – and about 50% of all scholarly writing on all Venetian women’s portraits, whether nude or not. The question, in other words, is: did this so-and-so, whoever she was, or did she not, have sex? And — would she have it with me?

Which goes to show you that the art-historian’s mind isn’t very far from the lacrosse players’ locker room. The relevant question is the same: is she easy? Can I have her?

I don’t know, dear friends.

This seems some really, really weird stuff. I mean – is someone – er – frustrated here?

In all the years of looking at these paintings it has never occurred to me to ask whether these women are virtuous or otherwise. (I have always assumed them to be like most women I have known in my life – a little bit of both – virtuous for the most part — and thank heavens for that “most”; what would we do without a little doubt in the more shadowy corners of our lives, ahem). And, in any case, in staring at their beautiful skin, and hair, and into their dreamy eyes it has never occurred to ask myself whether they would sleep with me.

They were paintings; portraits of women dead these 500 years. It seemed – well – just a little irrelevant to ask?"

Irrelevant? Perhaps....

More of note, however, is what I would call the slippery nature of the art historian's occupation. To my mind, more potentially dangerous than their call to interpret, is their will to place value; which, I am afraid, is probably a necessary by-product of what they do. That is to say that through the act of interpreting art, they are affecting the way people understand art and therefore are creating certain values (which over time become institutionalized). Their opinions have been-- and continue to be-- not only influential in the way we see art, but more, are instrumental in what art we see at all (that is, what we even view of as being art).

The entire discussion, in fact, reminded me of the Apollo Belvedere; a statue I would very, very much like to make the long trip to see someday. In Joseph Alsop's unique book, The Rare Art Traditions, Alsop uses the Apollo Belvedere to make the same point: to illustrate the profound way our Western way of looking at art has changed over the past 150 years (in great part-- he explains-- due to the decisions and opinions of art historians and the art market). To make his point, Alsop traces the dramatic rise and fall of the Apollo Belvedere.

It is a fascinating story.

The statue has always been believed to be a Roman-time marble copy of a Greek original bronze made by Alexander the Great's court sculptor Leochares. The Romans of imperial times, had a huge liking for Greek art and there was a thriving industry to make marble copies of the original bronzes to be used as decorations in the villas and gardens of the wealthy. They were used like wallpaper or outdoor decorations, explains Alsop.

Jump ahead a thousand years, and again Italy can be seen turning her lovely head toward the East, as once again the ancient Greeks were held up as the great pinnacle of culture, civilization and art. And as they had in the past, Italians of the Renaissance pined more than anything to own an "ancient souvenir." (For the Han connection see this) Anything at all from classical times was coveted and admired, from ancient books to pieces of classical sculpture. Vasari spoke of the vast collection owned by Lorenzo Ghiberti, who was described as being proud to own a single Greco-Roman bronze leg!

To feed the great hunger of the Italians, Rome was under constant excavation. Although classical pieces were found on almost a weekly basis during the early Renaissance, to uncover an almost completely intact marble-- well, the Apollo Belvedere was destined for high fame! Bought by an art-collecting Pope, the Apollo was practically enshrined in the Vatican's Cortile del Belvedere .

For the next 350 years, the Apollo Belvedere was to remain the "statue of all statues;" and the "most admired sculpture in the world." During Victorian times, it will be remembered, people of means, as part of their overall education, went on tours to visit the great sights of France and Italy. Called "The Grand Tour," these trips abroad were thought to be like the crowning of a fine education; providing real life experience which could not be learned from books (読万巻書，行万里路). The trips were undertaken with the aim of enriching both the mind and the spirit. This was a time when people still believed that a person could cultivate their heart and mind through the aesthetic appreciation of beautiful things, and the Grand Tour was a social practice which grew out of this concept.

Not only was the Apollo Belvedere part of the Tour-- it was the main attraction. Goethe claimed to have been "Swept off his feet" by the sculpture while 18th century archaeologist and classical historian J.J. Winckelman said that the Apollo Belvedere was "the consummation of the best that nature, art, and the human mind can produce." It was indeed the must-see for anyone on a Grand Tour. A description of the wig worn by amateur Cellist Count Mateeuz Wielhorski is described in a book I am reading right now as being "curled a l'Apollo Belvedere." The statue had a profound influence during its day.

What happened? As Alsop says, "Few make the lonely trip out to look at the Apollo Belvedere any longer." And for those that do, what do they see? Are we even capable of really looking at ancient sculpture any more? Are these bronzes and marbles any more accessible to our modern eyes than say a Shang dynasty bronze?

In an age of Asian art and impressionism, JP Getty was stunningly unique in his commitment to classical European art. Well, the museum is unique in 2 ways for which it is most famous: one is the content of its collection but the second is its huge purchasing endowment, which I heard (but have a hard time believing) is equal to the total combined purchasing budget of all the other museums of the world! The Getty has a staggering amount of money to play with and no other museum stands a chance. Because it can literally buy the national treasures of a country right under that country's own nose, the Getty has been involved with many scandals as well.

This brings me to the statue that I cannot get out of my mind. The Getty Bronze. Also, mired in scandal, I think the Getty is still trying to fend off the Italian government over its purchase (almost $4 million to Art Investment fund Artemis).  Called "Victorious Youth," it was a classical bronze that the ancient Romans violently pried off its pedestal to drag back to Rome. The ship that carried my beloved boy then sunk in the Adriatic. Scholars think this happened in the first century AD. or BC.

The Getty Bronze is what scholars refer to as a victor's statue celebrating a youth's win in one of the Greek games. Perhaps he was the son of a wealthy family who wanted to celebrate their golden boy's athletic achievements. People may talk about his hair, but I love his arms, especially the one delicately pointing to the winning garland adorning his perfectly shaped head.

Such a beautiful start. But then the Romans literally ripped his feet off trying to drag him back to Rome (maybe for melting down since so little care was taken to pry him off his pedestal?) Then to sink in the cold waters of the Adriatic. Our boy spent lifetimes down at the bottom of the sea until he was finally pulled up by fisherman in 1964, in the waters of the coast of Fano, Italy. First, the fisherman thought it was a dead body in the water, and then all the barnacles and encrustations had to be pried off. The statue then changed hands several times under murky circumstances until the Getty finally got a hold of him (though the Italians are still laying firm claim to the Victorious Youth). The full story from the LA Times can be read here.

The Getty now keeps him at the Malibu villa. I always try to make it a point to visit him as soon as I get to town. The truth is, I often long to see him when too many months have past. I start to miss him. The experts say that originally his eyes were inlaid with bone and his nipples in contrasting copper. The patina left from all his time beneath the sea is exquisite enough, isn't it? I hate to say it, but-- just like those art historians of Renaiisance art that my friend was complaining about-- I do kind of wonder--- about his love life....

_______________

*I am re-reading Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's book, The Art of Seeing. Utilizing his usual socio-science method, he and his team interview a group of curators and educators in the museum world, and then from those interviews, go on to try and pin down (like a frog in biology class) what exactly is the aesthetic experience of the expert?

His conclusion is that the expert response is based on the following 1) Emotional response (which of course differs hugely between people) is the one trait they all unanimously agree, but what was interesting was the variations on stress put on this by historians in different fields of art history (see below).

2) knowledge (the intellectual skills the viewer brings with them that contributes to their experience; this includes an intellectual appreciation of excellence).

3) Perception was the next and 4) this was followed by something they (not Csikszentmihalyi) termed “communication” and “transformation (which is what they described as being a direct communication or connection they felt with the creator of the piece and the piece itself. That is; how the piece of art "spoke" to them).

Of interest here is that when Csikszentmihalyi broke down which characteristics had the greatest value placed on them by field, it turns out that museum professionals in the field of classical art all placed the intellectual aspect on top. I believe this is due to the reason I hinted-- that classical sculpture has become in many ways inaccessible to us and no longer "speaks to us;" Dreyfus would most likely say, that is because we no longer live in the classical understanding of being.... and because of this background knowledge becomes more essential for aesthetic appreciation. Csikszentmihalyi found this to be in direct contrast to the professionals working in modern art who claimed that direct perception and emotion were the most important aspects of their aesthetic experience. There is much food for thought in the book-- also recommended is, The Victorious Youth by Carol Mattusch

**I also like to follow the fate of my boyfriend here and here.

the glorious mural express (臥遊)

There exists a great arc dotted with Buddhist cave temples that stretches from the State of Maharashtra in India reaching all the way across the Taklamakan Desert-- deep into the heart of China.

It is miraculous really. From influences derived from the West, Buddhist art was born.

And within 5 centuries, dozens of cave temples covered in murals of impossible beauty were to be created across thousands and thousands of miles along the Silk Road-- all the way to Japan.

I told him: We really should start a railway company and put down tracks to connect all the temples so that pilgrims can ride with us on our glorious mural express.

Being a practical sort of guy, he was dubious about the diplomatic and political hurdles, and so I sought to persuade him.

It would be a very sexy start, that's for sure. I mean, starting in India, the wonderous Murals of Ajanta would set the mood in every way.

He said he was listening. So, I continued:

It must be a little ultramarine blue narrow gauge train with a carmine red engine and red caboose. "Just like the one we rode to Shimla," I say. Not just anyone shall be allowed on the train either-- for like Mecca, our train will be a place reserved only for true believers of love and beauty.

He smiled and answered that, It wouldn't be easy since the mountains kind of get in the way.

That's when I tell him my plan to dynamite our way through the mountains:

What do you think about blasting a huge tunnel that goes for miles and miles under the Himalaya—and then we can use laser lights to recreate all the murals that were lost on the tunnel’s dark walls for our dear passangers? Wouldn’t it be romantic? They can dine on Cantonese cuisine by candlelight as they watch the evening laser light mural show?  After all, so much has been lost. Are you in or not, my darling?

I'm in, he says at last. And asks, Where to from Ajanta?

Well, first it's up to Ladakh.

Ladakh? Isn't that a little off the beaten track?

No, not really. For in that remote region, downtown Leh might as well be downtown Manhattan. And everyone loves Manhattan.

Just a few kilometers outside of the town of Leh is-- of course-- the Monastary of Alchi, which has paintings that have almost stained my mind with their dazzlingly rich colors. As I have written in these pages before, sometimes when I close my eyes before sleeping at night--even now all these years later-- I see those colors. And, it was Alchi that first inspired me to dream this dream journey dream from Ajanta to Dunhuang and then all the way across to Horyuji-- traveling on the glorious mural express.

**

I spent some time last year translating two documents for the Oriental Library about two other cave temple sites along the Silk Road: Bezeklik and Kizil. As I looked at photos from the sites, I become dazed like a pilgrim-- nearly blinded by the beauty of the Flaming Mountains and and the seering noonday sun of the desert, I imagine stepping into a darkened cave temple, and there I find myself in another dimension-- a place of pilgramage.

This from my translation:

The architecture follows an iconographic programme, functioning as the stage for the carrying out of a Buddhist pilgrimage. device for this procedure. Entering  the cave, the pilgrim   first contemplates the past lives of the Buddha as he or she passes along murals depicting scenes from these past lives. The pilgrim would next circumambulate the corridor moving in a clockwise fashion. Along the back walls, the pilgrim would view scenes Sakyamuni’s nirvana scene and in order to contemplate his or her own existence...

Like falling in love; like mountains of the mind; indeed, like all pilgramages-- this is an imaginary possession achieved via the colloboration between physical form and human imagination; a dream journey that occurs at precisely that disjuncture between the real and the imagined. Pilgramage. I wonder if this is not yet another essential human practice on the decline (an endangered species?) Pilgramage being of particular significance since it is both practiced collectively together with others and serves to connect inner and outer understanding.

And then-- this morning-- appropos of everything...

...the mysterious and sexy Csomo de Koros emails to point me to his new website:

Nekorpa. 

And right at the top of the page are the words of the Dalai Lama:

A pilgrimage through wild, open lands provides visions that help shape the proper attitude and inner awareness for religious practice.

I have written again and again of feeling myself in a flimsy boat (Palinurus at the helm) being tossed about on the open sea. And so I re-listen to the TED Talk lecture with Matthieu Ricard, on his book the Habits of Happiness. In the lecture, Ricard talks about the Buddhist idea of a pebble being tossed about on the waves on the ocean. Most of us exist in such a state that like a pebble being tossed about in the water, our state of mind is so dependent on outside forces that we are happy when things are going well and then crash when bad things happens. The Buddhists tell us to combat this doomed way of being, we need to cultivate our inner serenity, inner freedom, and confidence through what Ricard calls mind training (ie meditation). For it is mind that "translates" all our outer experiences into inner meaning, he says. As a translator myself, this image of mind "translating" experiences into meaning speaks to me very strongly. Ricard urges us to think about how illusory our control inevitably is over outer circumstances. And indeed we meet people all the time who have everything in the world and yet remain unhappy. And vice versa, those suffering great adversity who seem strangely quite happy.

In the end, I think just as Ricard says, it all comes down to working to cultivate practices and habits which will enrich us by forming and strengthening what is an underlying ethical-aesthetic sensibility-- for it is that which will help us to flourish and feel serenity. Ricard talks of meditation while the Dalai Lama speaks above about the "shaping power" of pilgramage. The Dalai Lama's words above recall the project of the Confucian Rites as proper comportment through the cultivation of ethico-aesthetic sensibility, don't you think? I know I am not the only one who wonders what is at stake for the human race when collective and shared practices which have long served to connect inner and outer understanding via the human heart are lost forever (Are we really destined to become McPeople like I fear?).

In the spirit of Csomo's new project, I too want to imagine that the Mural Express will have a special line that travels West to Bamyan, which stands as the ultimate symbol of that which is lost forever. But East to Bamyan or West all the way to Japan. For what better place than Japan to end up? Land of the Great Antiquinarians, the Japanese have been obsessed with the Silk Road since the 1980s and scholars continue to work to re-create what was lost--in reproductions or in digitalization--in what in itself is an act of pilgrammage 

 

translating blue-green (汝窯 青磁)

竹枝詞 劉寓錫
楊柳青青江水平,
聞郎江上踏歌聲.
東邊日出西邊雨,
道是無情卻有情

Bamboo Stalk Lyrics by Liu Yuxi
Willow trees dangle blue-green; the river flows languidly as
I hear my lover's voice, singing joyfully as he walks upstream
Clear morning skies in the East; while in the West it rains
...It almost seems heartless, and yet my lover sings in blue-green

 

I knew he wouldn't approve of my translation. The illustrious Wang sensei is no pushover, that's for sure. 

But, what to do about translating the word for China's blue-green color, qīng (青)? A color that is so associated with late spring and early summer it is thought to express the color of nature itself. A green so deep it is blue. Like the dark moss at Nikko, the color of willow trees and slowly moving rivers, dragons, dragonflies, tea and bamboo, all of these things are known as qīng. In spring, people talk of "stepping on blue" （踏青→ getting out and walking in nature）, and along with the Japanese idea of the gods of the fields returning from their long slumber around this time of year, this concept of the return of blue-green is deeply connected to Japanese sensibilities surrounding cherry blossom viewing. The best time of year in which to begin a love affair (since we know from Genji that everything is sure to be dashed to hell by the start of autumn), it is a time for picnicking and picking herbs outdoors (山菜摘み）...the time of 清明; late spring into early summer is a world of blue-green.

And so as the famous poet said:  "Shu rivers are green and Shu mountains are blue" (蜀江水碧蜀山青).

**

Qīng (青).

My beloved too loves painting in blue. In fact, you could almost say he was obsessed with the color. And, while-- like me-- he loved all shades of blue-green-- one shade in particular fascinated him. Sometimes, he and I would wile away the hours playfully trying to describe some particular shade of color to each other. He, though, always came back to that one specific shade:

"Close your eyes and imagine the color of the sky, in early morning after a rainshower..."

I closed my eyes and recalled that slowly over the years, my Emperor's unquenchable “yearning for blue" was a beautiful, imperial dream which had somehow worked its way into my own heart. And, I became fascinated not so much by his passion as by his method. For what better way to "capture" a particular shade of color than in porcelain?

So an emperor dreams of blue. And being the wish of an Emperor, his wish was everyone's command and it wouldn’t take long for the ingenious potters at nearby Ru to provide him with exactly what he as looking for:

The most beautiful porcelain in the world

Because Ru ware was created with the Emperor’s particular taste in mind and then disappeared so mysteriously without a trace after the fall of his dynasty, it has been forever after associated with my man. And, with less than 100 surviving examples, a very small piece was sold several years ago at Sotheby’s in New York for approximately 1.5 million dollars. The National Palace Museum in Taipei holds the great majority of the remaining pieces, with a fairly large number held in British museums as well.

As rare as they are stunningly beautiful; the celadon glaze ranges from pale green to a lavender blue and is characterized by its delicate opalescent quality caused by minute crystals and air bubbles trapped in the glaze. It is this shimmering quality--this transportive luminecence-- which reminds me of the luxerious purple of the Roman emperors. But then again Huizong's blue, in my opinion is far finer yet.

Due to its watery translucency and magnificent green-blue color, the quality of its much admired glaze reminds one more than anything else of jade, and although countless artists and even scientists have tried to re-create it, its exact method of production remains a mystery. 

Researcher, Fumito Kondo, on assignment for Japan’s NHK, visited the Ru kiln site not all that long ago, and he describes his meeting with a Chinese researcher, a certain Mr. Zhu, who had been working for over 20 years en-situ, attempting to unlock the glaze’s secrets. Kondo writes,

On the day we arrived at Ru to begin filming, 30 pieces of celedon were being fired. The color in celedon glaze is extremely delicate and so  slight changes occur depending on where the vessel is placed inside the kiln. Mr Zhu, carefully removing each piece, upon examing
them, discovered that not one piece had turned out! Mr. Zhu then
exclaimed that 20 years at Ru together with all the advances in
modern technology had been unable so far to bring back that very
mysterious color blue.  

A shimmering blue-green-lavender that has somehow been lost forever. This dream of the rain-drenched color of the morning sky after a storm was, in his own words, "like a vision or a poem between us...a work of floating imagery...a dream: it is very blue...very deep. Blue..."

-- Recommended viewing: Ru Ware at the Palace Museum

--Painting below in blue by Tullio deSantis: This is my Mind and Aquarelle by the Great Samuel Peralta

 

 

Aquarelle

The oars dip in silence, gentle
As the soft light over the waters
Or the ripples slowly spreading

From the shadow of the shore.
Far away the leaves are falling
Into an autumn that is you

And me, our lives gently touching,
Here and beneath the waters,
Like a moon and sky that sets

An evergreen blue. 

persian picnics and other elegant pastimes (春山淡治而如笑)

 -the vernal equinox 春分

Some say Nowruz, or Persian New Year, is a holiday that goes back 2,500 years. Seems impossible, but everyone agrees it is one of the world's oldest celebrations-- a celebration which continues to be one of the most looked-forward to events in the Persian calendar. 

Part of the festivities include a picnic-- hopefully with a fire. Persians love their picnics-- as this devotion to picnics can be seen across the vast expanse of what was once the Great Persian Empire. From Turkey, Afghanistan, Central Asia to Kashmir-- even in Tehrangeles, in the more elegant part of LA-- people picnic around the vernal equinox. 

It is a civilized pastime, very much like cherry-blossom viewing-- a day to relax and dream of paradise-- enjoying both the company and  spring itself-- the birds, the clouds, the sunshine, and more than anything the flowers.

And, why is it that everything tastes better outdoors?

I was indoctrinated into picnics long before I came to Japan (by a Persian best friend back home). It is a custom which I have carried with me to Japan-- where, of course, it fits like a glove.

So, every year we celebrate the vernal equinox by picnicking. And, in my heart, this will always be the real New Year.

Like clockwork, the ducks and egrets return to the Uzumagawa River and specks of green start sprouting in the lawn-- yes, the return of life and the start of a new year. I cannot help but start imagining all the picnics and flower-viewing-- and somehow everything seems so filled with possibility.

 

The Kid and I usually start taking to the mountains just before the equinox to go "baby fern hunting."  Called "zenmai" 薇 you know how they are like little coiled springs waiting till it gets to be just the right time to unfurl?

They are so cute and adorable. I read once that ferns used to cover prehistoric forests... so maybe they're very old like dinosaurs? Can you imagine wandering in never-ending forests of ferns as huge, prehistoric dinosaur birds soared in the skies above?

There is an expression used in haiku poetry composition around this time of year: "Mountains smiling in early spring" Borrowed like so many other things from China, the painter who coined this phrase, the Northern Song painter and Literati great, Guo Xi, is most famous for his work titled Early Spring. His poem about mountains smiling appeared in an poetry anthology in Japanese known as  漢詩集 「臥遊録」 (yes, that's right, the Han Anthology Dream Journey Jottings)

春山淡治而如笑
夏山蒼翠而如滴
秋山明浄而如粧
冬山惨淡而如眠　

Mountains smiling in early spring was a theme much appreciated at court-- even during my beloved's times-- which came about 100 years after the painter wrote his legendary poem. Imagine after what must have felt like an almost unendingly long period of cold and depressing "mountains sleeping," the mountains in March would seem to almost "spring" to life again.

First, came the slow but sure return of green. Followed by a splash of color here and there: plum, robai, and finally sakura. And, so people would take to the hills....

This was also after all the best season for a love affair (for of course, we all know everything is always dashed to hell by mid-Fall so it's better to get started early, right? )

In China, people travel back to their hometowns around this time of year for qing ming to sweep the tombs of their ancestors and celebrate the return of spring-- very much like Japanese O-bon. There is also a custom of eating outdoors to celebrate spring.Some scholars see the Japanese cherry blossom-viewing custom having its roots in qing ming --as a day of family communion (between the living and the dead), picnics (celebrating spring) and purification. Ideally, one picnics on top of a hill and purified oneself in a river (to wash away in bad deeds or bad luck). There are probably poems about friends climbing hilltops （踏青）or maybe about picking mountain herbs　(山菜摘み）...

It was this idea, of "stepping on blue" （踏青→ getting out and walking in nature）, along with the Japanese idea of the gods of the fields returning from their long slumber around this time of year that are most deeply connected to Japanese sensibilities surrounding cherry blossom viewing.

And, it's almost that time again.

**

 Shalimar Garden; one of Srinagar's three famous "gardens of love," one the most memorable picnic I ever had in my life took place in the shade of one the garden's many chinar trees. Beautiful tulips were planted alongside the many fountains, and families sat in the pavilions as what seemed like an army of newleyweds strolled across the grass....Sultan's wife had prepared a true Persian picnic of pollo rice and yogurt, kebabs and tea served in glasses. Although nearly 20 years have passed since then, I will never forget it. She had brought the most beautiful tomatoes I have ever seen and we laughed and talked about the flowers and all the future children we would have.

To sit in the warm sunshine in a cool garden surrounded by the sounds of flowing water and laughing children truly is the perfect pastime for a spring day. I only wish I could go back in time and somehow insert my son right smack in the middle of the memory. Of course, he doesn't like kebabs, hates tomatoes and would have been really leery of the rice with nuts and fruit in it....Still, I think he could have really had fun in those fountains.

Persian New Year article in National Geographic: Persian New Year Transcends Religions, Regimes

 

Tyrian Purple 貝紫染

--from the Peony Archives

What should have been one of the greatest homecomings in ancient times, instead ended in cold-blooded murder when the King's wife stabbed him to death that evening in the bath.

How did it come to that? You ask.

Even Odysseus-- the reluctant hero-- finally in the end made it safely home to his loving wife and son, didn't he? 

And, hadn't the Greeks won the war after their rightful sack of Troy? 

Why did she do it?

The chorus, too, demands an answer.

And, so in a series of stunning speeches, which would be the envy of any Washington speech writer, the queen lays out her case. Her husband-- the King-- has killed their beloved daughter, and for that he must die. That he had brought a concubine home with him from Troy and that she and her lover were already happily ruling the Kingdom ensconced in the castle were reasons as well. But Clytemnestra-- make no doubt about it-- is clear about her reasons: he killed their daughter and for that he must die.

So, she sets him up.

In what is one of the most famous homecoming scenes in all history-- Clytemnestra gives her husband Agamemnon the "red carpet treatment."

Laying out the family's priceless reddish-purple color tapestries, she urges him:

"Walk across, my Lord."

He tells her he will not. For that is the kind of arrogance that Persian Kings show-- believing themselves to be as all-mighty as the gods.

"We are democrats," he responds.

And when she continues begging him to glide across the sea of blood-red tapestries, he retorts:

"These are heirlooms, how can we soil our family heirlooms?"

In the end, exhausted perhaps from the trip, he allows himself to be persuaded and across he walks-- to his death. For this show of arrogance is the all-important piece of evidence that Clytemnestra will need as "reason" of the need she had to get rid of him; for most Athenians would have agreed that an all-powerful monarch in the style seen in Persia was something to be avoided at all costs.

In the translator's introduction, it is stated that "puffed up with ego, Agamemnon walks across the tapestries." (many of you will be more familiar with the translator's brother from his Chongqing days)

Dreyfus, though, is upset-- and it's worse than Heidegger's translator.

"Is Lattimore totally oblivious?" Asks Dreyfus, "Where did Agamemnon show any indication of being puffed up? Didn't he try in vain to argue with his wife till he just became exhausted and walked across to please her?"

Dreyfus has a point.

Judge for yourself:

AGAMEMNON
  Daughter of Leda, guardian of my home,
  your speech was, like my absence, far too long.
  Praise that's due to us should come from others.
  Then it's worthwhile. All those things you said—
  don't puff me up with such female honours,    
  or grovel there before me babbling tributes,
  like some barbarian. Don't invite envy    
  to cross my path by strewing it with cloth.
  That's how we honour gods, not human beings.
  For a mortal man to place his foot like this
  on rich embroidery is, in my view,
  not without some risk. So I'm telling you  
  honour me as a man, not as a god.
  My fame proclaims itself.  It doesn't need
  foot mats made out of such embroideries.   
  Not even to think of doing something bad
  is god's greatest gift. When a man's life ends
  in great prosperity, only then can we declare
  that he's a happy man. Thus, if I act,
  in every circumstance, as I ought to now,
  there's nothing I need fear.      

They debated back and forth. In the end, though, the King gave up and treaded upon the "sea of blood." Scholars continue to argue about exactly why he did finally acquiesce and walk across the tapestries.

But what of "these red tapestries dyed in the sea?"

In the translation above, the English word "cloth" is used, and that is probably a safe translation. I think Lattimore uses the word "carpet" but that doesn't quite seem right, does it? For carpets are made to be walked across. Even the heirloom rugs which one finds hanging in a millionaire's yurt could also probably be walked on without causing too much damage. Dreyfus, I think, prefers calling them tapestries, and that works, I think.

The walls of medieval castles were covered in tapestries of fantastic quality-- in fact, I think I read somewhere that tapestries were among the most costly heirlooms of Medieval Europe.

I have also seen the above translated as robes-- which is perhaps my personal favorite translation. The other day, I was having tea with a friend who had taken out several of her beautiful kimono to air them in the dry autumn weather. Silk brocades with golden threads were only to be out done by the most exquisite embroidery on the thinnest, most delicate silk I have ever seen. It was a splendid fortune in textiles, amassed by a woman who in her youth had been very successful in Osaka's water trade.

Dreyfus says, "It would have been like as if Clytemnestra had taken a dozen Monet paintings down from the walls, and laying them down, had said: Walk across my Lord." Textiles more costly than the finest oil paintings....

My tea teacher as well had warned me to never waste money on jewelry if you can buy textiles.

In the ancient world-- almost no matter where you look-- people who could, spent vast amounts of money on such textiles. And, before the invention of money, cloth formed a large bulk of things which were traded across borders. Indeed, it was the silk trade which was to give its name to the most legendary overland trade routes in history!

Agamemnon's robes were most probably woven from wool. The Persians were known for their exquisite dyed cloth in this material. Still, textile scholars remind us that the silk trade, while it took off in Han or Roman Empire times, actually goes back much further. In 1983 the New York Times ran an article about strips of woven silk found on an Egyptian mummy from 1000BC. Scientific studies showed this silk to be Chinese. Silk was also found in 7th century BC graves in Germany and 5th century BC graves in Greece. This latter date corresponding to Aeschylus' play.

It is not outside the realm of possibility that Agememnon's robes or tapestries were made of woven silk.

II.

More than the material, however, it is their color which intrigues. Many will know that these robes, "the blood red color of the sea," were dyed from the pigments gotten from mollusks-- thousands upon of sea creatures. This was the "purple" dyed linen of the Arc of the Covenant that was later to be the color of the robes of the greatest Roman emperors and the color of Cleopatra's "fragrant sails." Indeed, Cleopatra was said to have dwelled within a world of fragrant incense and a cloud of costly purple.

The color purple has long been associated with emperors and queens. While we say "purple" the term actually encompassed a large spectrum of colors from light pink to very dark fuchsia-- with the most sought after color being a shimmering dark red (sometimes referred to as the color of blood). The most refined-- and therefore the most sought after--  shade was this precise shimmering shade of blood, in fact.

The Phoenicians built their fortunes on trade in the dye-- and indeed, the color is known to us today as Tyrian purple. Based on the coast of Lebanon, the ancient mariners of the Mediterranean delivered cloth dyed in this purple of the sea throughout the ancient world. They say it would take 10,000 dead mollusks to dye one robe the coveted color. 

It was smelly business too-- as dying inevitably is. But so lucrative was it that many peoples gave it a shot. No one, however, achieved as beautiful a shade of purple as the Phoenicians (who are believed to have used two species of mollusks: —the Purpura pelagia or Murex trunculus, and the Purfura lapillus or Buccinum lapillus). 

Victoria Finlay tries to track down the color in her book, Color: A Natural History of the Palette, and it is really the only failed adventure in the book. The species have been hunted to the point of extinction and while she did get a glimpse of the huge ancient vats that were once used to make the luxerious dyes (wisely located downwind of the ancient city of Tyre), she is unable to find much of anything else in Lebanon and so travels to the New World where the Central American Indians continue to dye cloth in a similar color gotten from mollusks of a different species. (See this Post for more about her travels into Blue).

I would love to see cloth dyed this color. I cannot even really imagine what murax silk would have looked like, but it is something I would very much like to see.

III.

Anyway, the Phonecians and their trading...I have been thinking a lot lately about the silk road. In particular, I am-- as many here will know-- interested in the way the silk road is held up today as a symbol of something worth emulating for today's times.

For example, we see scholars in Europe (UNESCO scholars) discussing silk road exchanges as "two way streets" where, perhaps in contrast to monoculturalization or super-power monologues of today, silk road influence worked more like a true dialog. (And, how much of this is being romanticized is not really the point as the interesting thing is not the historical accuracy, but rather what contemporary phenomenon it is being contrasted with)

In history books as well, there is a stress on the manner in which trade led the way for these exchanges. And, sometimes when I read, while I feel that there is an implied contrast at how things occur in today's world, I am left with questions.

Aren't international exchanges even today based on trade? Or has the financial world changed to such an extent that two-way trade doesn't really exist any longer?

But, we know that huge trade imbalances existed during Roman times. Pliny (I seem to recall) took pains to complain about Roman trade deficits with India. Purple silk was banned in part for this reason in ancient Rome (being reserved for the emperor). But, if it is not contemporary trade imbalances, what then is being implied?

Last month, Sam Crane had a post over at his place called Finance is Immoral. He says:

Decades ago, "finance" was generally understood as financing something other than finance itself; that is, stocks and bonds and money were tied to the production and circulation of goods and services, which were for the most part tangible, or "real" in economic parlance.  Beginning with at least the oil crisis of the 1970s, finance has been transformed, now stunningly overshadowing the "real" economy.   Left academics have coined the term "Financialization" to get at these changes.  How big has finance become?  That is a difficult question but think about this kind of statement (from the above linked Wikipedia page):

Thus, [in 2006] derivatives trading – mostly futures contracts on interest rates, foreign currencies, Treasury bonds, etc had reached a level of $1,200 trillion, $1.2 quadrillion, a year. By comparison, U.S. GDP in 2006 was $12.456 trillion.

Indeed, this week "trillion" has become a common reference.  How big is the market in credit default swaps?  We hear reports in the tens of trillions.  Government action valued in the hundreds of billions seems puny by comparison.  Welcome to the world of financialization.

Sam asks, what would Mencius think? I think it's a good question.

The Philosophers Zone had another very good show, by the way, on Bailouts, Capitalism and the Financial Markets. Raghuram Rajan, who brings up some of the same points as Sam, had some really interesting things to say, I think.

So, these topics remain on my mind, and I still am not exactly sure how to approach them:
silk road trade versus contemporaray finance
silk road cosmopolitanism versus contemporary globalization
silk road international relations versus the Great Game

**

I am going to re-visit my post (and Sam's comment) on Andre Gunder Frank's book The Centrality of Central Asia. The The Centrality of Central Asia (1992)/ Frank's website.

Checking in at the provincial warlord's homestead, I see someone left a comment here concerning the warlord's preposterous idea that the Tang dynasty is China's #4 most impressive dynasty. I can only say it again: he must be delusional (as clearly the Tang must be either #1 or --if I calculate my beloved's feelings into the calculation-- then, fine, #2) In any case, the comment had some interesting things to say about trade and is recommended reading. Whoever wrote it seems to have similar spelling issues that I have, so at first I wondered if I did in fact write the comment-- but reading it, I realized, no it wasn't me.

**

And, finally sending a kiss:

shimmering blue

   

Kublai Khan: There is a sense of emptiness that comes over us at evening with the odor of the elephants after the rain and the sandalwood ashes growing cold in the brazier, a dizziness makes rivers and mountains tremble on the fallow curves of the plainspheres where they are portrayed, and rolls up, one after the other, the despatches announcing to us the collapse of the last enemy troops, from defeat to defeat, and flakes the wax of the seals of obscure kings who beseech our armies' protection, offering in exchange annual tributes of precious metals, tanned hides, and tortoise shell....Italo Calvino

I recently read that so tightly controlled was the Great Khan's empire that it was claimed that a beautiful woman could cross the great expanse of pax Mongolica carrying a solid gold tray atop her head and be assured of arriving wherever she was going in perfect safety. 

Empire does have its advantages, I suppose.

In spite of his tremendous power and wealth, however, the Great Khan seems restless; and while he doesn't necessarily believe everything the Venetian tells him, still he enjoys the listening; for indeed, there is no better way to wile away the evenings than in storytelling.

And so like a magnificent Caliph in a long and luscious dream, Kublai Khan listens to the Venetian tell stories of marvelous and exotic cities located on the edges of his vast empire. And, in this way, the Khan and his humble servant Marco Polo engaged in the most exquisite conversations-- where sometimes they even speak without words, as one imagines what the other wants to say, the other imagines answering.

You will recall that I too sometimes have conversations with an emperor. While we often talk about the way the light reflects on the icy cold river, whose waters flow slowly south from Siberia; sometimes he will silently-- extemporizing a poem-- describe one of his paintings; delicate and perfectionist paintings of flowers or tiny, plump birds-- "paintings

which are but a promise
of a thousand autumns to come
Painting Autumn birds"

Every so often too, we will playfully try and describe a partiular shade of color. This game often goes on for hours as describing a shade is never easy. Some may even say it is impossible to describe a color.

He said, "Close your eyes and imagine the color of the sky, in early morning after a rainshower..."

I closed my eyes and recalled that

over the years, my Emperor and his unquenchable “yearning for blue was a beautiful, imperial dream which had somehow worked its way into my own heart (in the way of all truly fine conversations). And, I became fascinated not so much by his passion as by his method-- for what better way to capture a shade than in porcelain?

And as the wish of the great Emperor, it wouldn’t take long for the ingenious potters at nearby Ru to provide him with exactly what he as looking for either.

The most beautiful porcelain in the world

Because Ru ware was created with the Emperor’s particular taste in mind and then disappeared mysteriously without a trace after the fall of his dynasty, it has been forever after associated with my man. And, with less than 100 surviving examples, a very small piece was sold several years ago at Sotheby’s in New York for approximately 1.5 million dollars. The National Palace Museum in Taipei holds the great majority of the remaining pieces, with a large amount held British museums as well.

As rare as they are stunningly beautiful; the celadon glaze ranges from pale green to a lavender blue and is characterized by its delicate opalescent quality caused by minute crystals and air bubbles trapped in the glaze. It is this shimmering quality--this transportive luminecence-- which reminds me of the luxerious purple of the Roman emperors.

The glaze is also characterized by a fine crackle, a quality which was highly appreciated as a kind of natural decorative element to the otherwise unadorned vessel. Due to its watery translucency and magnificent green-blue color, the quality of its much admired glaze reminds one more than anything else of jade, and although countless artists and even scientists have tried to re-create it, its exact method of production remains a mystery. 

Researcher, Fumito Kondo, on assignment for Japan’s NHK, visited the Ru kiln site not all that long ago, and he describes his meeting with a Chinese researcher, a certain Mr. Zhu, who had been working for over 20 years en-situ, attempting to unlock the glaze’s secrets. Kondo writes,

On the day we arrived at Ru to begin filming, 30 pieces of celedon were being fired. The color in celedon glaze is extremely delicate and so  slight changes occur depending on where the vessel is placed inside the kiln. Mr Zhu, carefully removing each piece, upon examing
them, discovered that not one piece had turned out! Mr. Zhu then
exclaimed that 20 years at Ru together with all the advances in
modern technology had been unable so far to bring back that very
mysterious color blue.     

Its not just Ru ware either. Many of the most renowned Song dynasty glazes as yet remain impossible to perfectly reproduce. Isn't that amazing?

My emperor. When he spoke of his Palace so faraway-- it was almost as if like a swallow traveling south-- his eyes too were locked faraway on the horizon.

 How can I ever forget that old Palace?
 Sometimes I visit in dreams
 And yet all alone
Sometimes I am even unable to dream

To not be able to dream-- and yet, so well did he describe that  rain-drenched color of the morning sky after a rain-- that, well, I don't believe he ever stopped dreaming-- though sometimes I understand how he felt.

-- It's not the voice that tells the story but the ear (Calvino's Cities by Colleen Corradi Brannigan)

-- Recommended viewing: Ru Ware at the Palace Museum

 

  

 

Gandhara

  --from the Peony archives

I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing the moment I learned that the Taliban had blown up the Buddhist statues of Bamyan. 

Sitting in the backseat of a car in Los Angeles, we were stopped at a traffic light. The radio news mentioned it, but conversation in the car continued on-- I don't think anyone noticed or was even really listening. 

Even though they had been firing rockets at the statues for months, still it was a shock to hear that the statues had been completely destroyed-- that the statues no longer existed.  

How could they actually have gone through with it? I thought.

Although their destruction came as a shock, in fact the two statues had been practically tortured to death after months of rocket fire, canon fire, machine gun volleys and weeks of dynamiting. 

The Japanese had been working furiously behind the scenes when the Taliban first made their intentions known to the world. Working with UNESCO and several Muslim governments, even their concentrated effort could not stop what was to be. Years later, my Japanese friends still bring it up.

You see, the Japanese are the world's great antiquarians, and they above most people find it impossible to grasp why anyone would want to destroy those priceless statues which towered up against the sandstone cliffs for 1300 years in what is called one of the world's most beautiful high-altitude valleys.

So important were these statues that rather than taking the direct route straight to India, the venerable Xuanzang himself walked an extra thousand miles or so just to see them.

Sally Hovey Wriggins in her book, The Silk Road with Xuanzang, describes the monk's first sight of the famed statues:

Xuanzang's caravan prevailed against blizzards, mountain gods, and robbers and finally approached Bamiyan, an oasis town in the center of a long valley separating the chain of the Hindu Kush from that of the Koh-i-baba range...The first sight of the Great Buddha must have made the weary travelers gasp.-- immense cliffs of a soft pastel color and behind them indigo peaks dusted with snow, rising to a height of 22,000 feet. They saw reddish cliffs in the cold, clear air; as they came closer, they could make out two gigantic statues of the Buddha standing in niches carved in the mountain. Closer still, they saw the two colossal figures were colored and glistening with ornaments; the smaller wore blue, the larger one red, and their faces and hands were gilded.

Once painted blue and carmine, they were as famous for their extravagant colors as they were for their size.

Carmine and ultramarine.

My friend Makiko writes of the aquamarine pigment of Kizil.

The color was so splendidly used in the Buddhist cave murals at Kizil that the leader of the German team, Albert von Le Coq, who was to discover and haul back much from the site to Germany, was stunned. Stumbling upon the cave temples in what was by that time the middle of nowhere, imagine his surprise to discover murals of such beauty that he described them to be "the finest in all of Turkestan." And, his first impression was of the astounding beauty of the blue pigment used in the paintings decorating the cave walls. He wrote,

“…the extravagant use of a brilliant blue – the well-known ultramarine which, in the time of Benvenuto Cellini was frequently employed by the Italian painters, and was bought at double its weight in gold."

As Le Coq explains, this ultramarine pigment was the same blue so beloved of the Renaissance painters, which was actually made from ground up lapis lazuli, mined not all that far from Bamyan itself.

Victoria Finlay, in her breathtaking book, Color: A Natural History of the Palette, begins her chapter on blue with these words:

One Day many years ago somebody told me that all the true ultramarine paint in the world came from one mine in the heart of Asia.

It's true, it seems that all the ultramarine paint in the world was painstakingly derived from the lapis lazuli rocks mined from one place in northeast Afghanistan. Located not far from Bamyan, from there, donkeys transported the expensive pigment in rough sacks over mountain ranges East to Central Asia and beyond, and West to Venice and beyond.

 In Europe, the precious pigment was so expensive that it was worth more than gold, and the legendary painters of the Renaissance were forced to wait till their patrons provided them the pigment before they could apply the heavenly blue to Mary's robes (for by this time the color was symbolic of Mary). Finlay says in today's money, a pound would cost about $3000. The color is truly heavenly-- just look at the Wilton Diptych-- shown left. That is all lapis lazuli from the Sar-e-sang mine in Afghanistan.

Le Coq was with good reason stunned to see the precise same shade being used in the cave paintings of Kizil-- the famed ultramarine of the Renaissance. Le Coq was surprised not only by it being present this far East, but also by the abundant use of the extremely costly pigment

Lying in the dead center of the Silk Road, Bamyan was long famous for being a conduit between East and West. And in addition to the mineral pigment themselves, it was recently discovered that nestled around the great statues in the caves were mural paintings which are the oldest example of oil-based pigment in the world.

Part of the ancient kingdom of Gandhara, the art of the region has had a tremendous influence on the artistic traditions to both the East and the West-- and as Makiko pointed out to me the other day, Gandhara (like Dunhuang) was only discovered in approximately the last hundred years.

また、ガンダーラや敦煌は、いずれも19世紀末～２０世紀初頭に発見された、いわば目新しい美術作品であるということも、人気を博した理由の一つではないでしょうか。敦煌は、小説家の井上靖氏が『敦煌』という名の小説を書いています。また、ガンダーラは、1970～80年代にダイゴという音楽グループが「ガンダーラ」というタイトルの印象的な歌を歌って、大ヒットしました。

"The discoveries of Dunhuang and Gandhara were after all only first uncovered at the end of the 19th century-early 20th century, and so were therefore relatively new artistic discoveries-- which could account for part of their popularity in Japan. There was the novel by Inoue and also in the 70s and 80s the band Godiego came out with song, Gandhara, which was a huge hit." 

As I have written before, Japan has been in its "silk road boom" the entire time I have lived here, and Gandharan art is without a doubt one important part of the package.

An astonishing amalgamation of Hellenistic culture with Indian Buddhism, woven in with elements from Persia and many of the other artistic traditions of the silk road, the art of Gandhara is one of the glorious by-products of the silk road.

 (See this you-tube video "Gandhara Art" )

Known broadly as Greco-Buddhist art, the style originated in what were the Greek colonies of Alexander the Great-- isn't that amazing?

And because prior to Gandharan art, Buddhism-- like Islam-- was iconoclastic, it was forbidden to create images of the Buddha-- so there existed no Buddhist figurative sculpture prior to Greco-Buddhist art. In Gandhara, what with that Greek tradition (it was probably in their blood), the first Buddhist statues were created-- and surprise, surprise, the Buddha incredibly resembled Apollo, Adonis and Hercules. As the first real Buddhist sculpture, it was to define the canon of Buddhist art for centuries to come. Indeed, this sculptural tradition would have tremendous impact as faraway as Japan (by way of the oasis kingdoms in the desert).

***

We are reminded by the experts not to forget that along with these Buddhas, 2000 sculptures in what was left of the Kabul Museum were also smashed. So much has been lost. And now what?

A Japanese artist, Hiro Yamagata, has set in motion a plan to "re-store" the statues through laser technology(beaming images of the statues onto a cliff) using $9 million solar and wind enerated technology.

The plan is awaiting UNESCO approval.

J, who is also interested in such things, says she is not hot on the idea. She doesn't really like lasers.

The thing that is compelling about his plan, though, is that perhaps light (in the form of the laser)-- being immediately experienced as something ephemeral-- would drive home the reality that there are some things which you just can't take back.

NPR has several programs on the German team that is trying to piece together the countless bits of rubble so the statues can be re-made. Some think that if at least one of the statues can be pieced-back together again, they should be. It would cost $30 million to piece together the smaller one.

And, there is one more idea concerning how to replace what is lost.

Paris-based Afghani archaeologist, Dr. Zemaryalai Tarzi (whose daughter lives in California) has another plan altogether. Instead of re-building what is lost or creating their illusion in light, Dr. Tarzi would like to unearth a third statue (1000 feet long), which if it exists at all, has never been seen by anyone other than Xuanzang 1300 years ago!

Is there really any chance that a 1000 foot long statue has remained unseen by anyone for 1300 years? Well, Xuanzang it will be remembered instills trust. If nothing else, the monk was very detail-oriented and if he wrote of a 1000 feet long sleeping Buddha statue in Bamiyan-- well, it must have been there at one time!

(You will recall that NHK went into the desert of death armed with Stein's maps, which Stein undertook based on Xuanzang's written records!)

The only problem is that no one has seen it in over a 1000 years. And, the monk wrote his distances in Chinese li which remain ambiguous so the sleeping statues could be buried just about anywhere under the valley floor. Dr. Tarzi, however, remains undaunted. "Let's raise this new masterpiece from the earth and waive it in the face of the terrorists who destroyed our statues!" he says.

I was happy to hear in early fall of last year that  Dr. Tarzi is one step closer to his great ambition: Giant Buddha Statue Unearthed in Afghanistan.

Finally, I leave you with this: "historical footage" of Bamyan from 1973.