Colour Matching
Any man will be familiar with the tedious task of finding the exact match for a certain colour, whether it is shoes to go with a handbag, a handbag to go with a dress or a dress to go with the wall paper. Shop after shop is searched, catalogues are consulted and discarded, days lengthen into weeks and every suggestion he - the mere male - makes is rejected with scorn. Finally - mark this - an article of a quite different colour is chosen on the grounds that, allegedly and according to some incomprehensible feminine logic, it "harmonises" or "complements" the other object.
It seems that the mosaic makers of antiquity were as pernickety in their choice of colours. Back in 1842 farmers working in the vineyard belonging to Count Giovanni Dedideri, near the Bay of Baratti on Italy's western coast, discovered a splendid mosaic. It depicted various sea creatures, including some quite realistic deep-sea varieties, and in the middle is a ship being overturned by a gigantic wave.
Curiously, just above the ship is a large shell, but if you go round the other side of the mosaic and look down on it the shell turns into a dove - a clever piece of whimsy because both shells and doves were sacred to Aphrodite Euploia: "she who protects navigation". It seems highly likely, in view of the unique depiction of a shipwreck, that the 6'6"x7'0" mosaic formed the floor of a temple or shrine and was put in place by someone grateful for deliverance from a disaster at sea.
The mosaic probably dates from the end of the 2nd century BC or the start of the 1st century BC, and it stayed in its shrine for 2,000 years. Since then, however, it has been quite well travelled. Count Giovanni, an amateur archaeologist, kept the mosaic on his estate, but in the 1960s it was smuggled out of Italy by persons unknown and next surfaced in 1995 in a London salesroom. Fortunately it was recognised by someone in the art world who tipped off the Italian authorities. The auction was stopped and after the usual negotiations the mosaic was returned to Italy and placed on display in the Museum of Piombino.
Using modern techniques not available to Count Giovanni, the museum authorities have examined the mosaic and made an interesting discovery. The background of the mosaic - the "ground", to use the artistic term - is a very dark blue colour, almost black, probably intended to represent the sea at night. It is made up of basalt brought all the way from Sicily.
Admittedly, Sicily is not as far from the Bay of Baratti as - say - London is. Nonetheless there are plenty of dark coloured stones available a good deal closer, but I can just imagine the artist in his studio sorting through a bucketful of pebbles and shaking his head disconsolately over each one until finally someone shows him a bit of basalt from Sicily.
"That's it!" the artist exclaims, striking a pose. "That is just so *it*!"
(Have you ever tried to find the exact shade of green? The artists of ancient Italy had the same problem.)
And nothing will do but that an expedition be sent off at great expense to bring back a couple of bagfuls of the black stone.
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Actually the Bay of Baratti is quite interesting from the archaeological point of view. This was the location of the Etrustcan city of Populonia, who very existence depended on the important mines in its hinterland. Silver, copper, lead and tin were found in these mines and their wealth, together with a decent harbour and good trading routes in all directions, meant that Populonia became rich and powerful.
Not powerful enough to resist the Romans, of course, but they brought added wealth to the city by building one of their important roads - the Via Aurelia - along the coast and right past Populonia.
Unfortunately the city was destroyed in the vicious civil war between Marius and Sulla in 87-83 BC. Despite its natural advantages, the withdrawal of Roman favour meant that the city had no future and it was never even rebuilt.
Various people dug at the site of Populonia, alerted to its presence by the discovery of antiquities in the sea, including the famous "Apollo of Piombio" in 1832. Even the great Heinrich Schliemann tried his hand at Populonia, but although they tried all the obvious places - what looked like a tel, around a couple of arches that remained standing, and so on - it wasn't until the 1920s brought a new Superintendant, Antonio Minto, that discoveries began to be made.
After surveying the site Minto had the brilliant idea of digging up the slag heaps that littered the shoreline. Sure enough, he quickly found the workshops and houses for the workmen who had produced the slag. What he didn't expect was that beneath the slag heaps were some amazing Etruscan tombs, some shaped like one-roomed houses with gabled roofs and one that looks like a snare drum dropped on the beach - a large, low, circular building with a doorway on the side facing away from the sea.
© Kendall K. Down 2009
