At first glance, the prison camp at Guantánamo Bay doesn’t seem like much of a subject for archaeologists. The controversial camp, built to detain suspected terrorists after the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, seems far too new, far too contemporary for archaeological research. And if that weren’t reason enough to steer clear, Gitmo remains firmly out-of-bounds to nearly everyone, a terra incognita behind barbed wire on an American naval base in Cuba.
Myers has a particular interest in modern internment camps and prisons, and he thinks archaeology can tell us much more about life in those grim barracks and cells than a stack of official government reports peppered with half-truths and omissions.
In honor of the patron saint of romances, St. Valentine, whose day rapidly approaches, I thought I’d bring you something very different today–the expressions of love carved upon the walls of Pompeii some 2000 years ago. This proved to be a little trickier than you might expect at first blush, for many of the Pompeiian inscriptions are wonderfully raunchy. The Romans really loved sex and weren’t at all bashful about publicizing their talents in the sack. So I had to be a little selective.
First a word about where I found these wonderful translations. The Italian archaeologist and epigrapher Antonio Varone, who works in an office building tucked away on the grounds of Pompeii, has written a superb book on the inscriptions: Erotica Pompeiana: Love Inscriptions on the Walls of Pompeii. While nearly everyone who visits the ancient resort town notices all kinds of graffiti scratched on the stone of villas and public buildings, very few possess sufficient knowledge of the Latin language or Roman culture to decipher the inscriptions. Thank you Antonio Varone for opening our eyes.
Ok, bring on the inscriptions. First the lovesick:
“Vibius Restitutus slept here alone, longing for his Urbana.”
“Girl, you look lovely to Ceius and many others.”
Next, the tender:
“So may you forever flourish, Sabina; may you acquire beauty and stay a girl for a long time.”
The jealous:
Who is it that spends the night with you in happy sleep? Would that it were me. I would be many times happier.
The wry:
“Warmest regards from Puddle to her Fishlet.”
The angry:
“Virgula to her Tertius: you are loathsome.”
“Erotarin, you jealous old fool.”
The boastful:
“No one’s a real man unless he’s loved a woman while still a boy.”
“Restitutus has often seduced many girls.”
The feminist version:
“Euplia was here with thousands of good-looking men.”
The contented:
“I would not sell my husband…for any price…”
The proud new parents:
“Cornelius Sabinus has been born.”
What I love most about these inscriptions is their immediacy. I feel as if I know these people, as if for a moment or two, I can share their thoughts across the great dark chasm of time.
A few weeks back, I had the great pleasure of touring Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright’s school and winter camp in Scottsdale, Arizona. It was a surprisingly raw, blustery day, and I joined one of the tours that wend frequently through the sprawling desert complex. As I am sure you know, Frank Lloyd Wright, was one of America’s greatest architects in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, a genius of concrete and glass and light, and his winter camp, though roughhewn and experimental looking, did not disappoint.
Wright died in 1959, but his spirit was still very much alive at Taliesin West. At one point in the tour, for example, I briefly spied, through the glass windows of a room off-limits to the public, a stooped, elderly figure swiftly fleeing like a startled bird into some hidden room. I later learned that he was a member of The Fellowship, one of Wright’s aged former students who resides at Taliesin West. Like the British aristocrats who open their castles and estates to the public in order to pay the upkeep, the Fellowship does not care much for tourists. But the steep entrance fees provide Wright’s fellows with one of the most beautiful and elite retirement homes in North America.
I found many things about Taliesin West fascinating. Wright’s students, for example, had to be a hardy, self-sufficient lot. When the newest students arrived at the camp, their first assignment was to design and build a shelter in the nearby desert, where they would live while attending Wright’s school. Some of these shelters grew quite elaborate over time, as their builders added more space, but none possessed much in the way of creature comforts. I can imagine that some future archaeologists will have a great deal of fun digging what remains of these imaginative shelters.
When Wright purchased the land for Taliesin West in the 1930s, it possessed an unparalleled view of a desert wilderness, precisely what he was looking for. So he designed the complex so that it would face out into the sweeping desert below. Civilization soon caught up with Taliesin West, however: someone built a home in its sightlines, and the residential lights at night apparently threw Wright into a state of despair.
But he was not easily defeated. He did not want to pick up and start afresh somewhere else, so he reoriented the entire complex so that it would look out upon a mountain that rose in the opposite direction.
I’m posting below a wonderful little YouTube video taken in 1933 of the Taliesin Fellowship. It was filmed by a former student in Spring Green, Wisconsin, where Wright and his proteges spent their summer.
Over the next week or so, while I am off on holidays, I will be posting archaeological or historical photos that I love for one reason or another. Today’s photo, taken by Drolexandre on May 20, 2008, focuses on the exquisite artistry in just one tiny corner of The Forbidden City in Beijing.
At first glance, the prison camp at Guantánamo Bay doesn’t seem like much of a subject for archaeologists. The controversial camp, built to detain suspected terrorists after the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, seems far too new, far too contemporary for archaeological research. And if that weren’t reason enough to steer clear, Gitmo remains firmly out-of-bounds to nearly everyone, a terra incognita behind barbed wire on an American naval base in Cuba.
Heather Pringle 