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Both the decline in supply of new materials and sustained recycling practices that were culturally embedded drove villa material salvage and recycling. Economic models emphasize the importance of extant trade routes, especially riverine routes, for the recycled materials markets.
Archaeological evidence of reprocessing installations (hearths, kilns, and other fire-powered operations) has been discovered at thirty-one villa case study sites, working lead, iron, bronze, gold, copper, glass, and converting limestone into quicklime. The spatial relationship between the installations and the rooms in the former villa indicates both that these workshops reprocessed salvaged architectural materials and utilized the footprint of the villa to undertake the operations.
Evidence of the removal of desired architectural components has been archaeologically detected at villa sites ranging in chronology from the second century CE to the medieval period. Alongside common patterns of material salvage from late antiquity, there was also evidence of ritual practices undertaken as part of demolition and recycling operations, providing a window into the cultural or religious beliefs of these workforces.
This concluding section emphasizes that in late antiquity, materials held monetary value that was higher than their use-value and this value was capitalized upon by landowners and groups of specialized professionals involved in recycling. Furthermore, villas were ideally positioned for the movement of materials within local networks, which ultimately preserved the manufactured value of architectural glass, metals, and stone.
The Roman description of value in architecture is positioned against other value propositions, including value in ruins, historical-value, use-value, and age-value, to arrive at a pyramidal value structure for Roman villa architecture. A summary of common villa building materials enables a greater understanding of cultural and monetary values of architectural materials.
In addition to the economic factors influencing recycling, the cultural context of villas, as properties of the now-Christian aristocracy, placed them ideally for supplying materials for new church construction.
This book fundamentally rewrites the cultural and religious history of North Africa under the Roman Empire, focalized through rituals related to child sacrifice and the carved-stone monuments associated with such offerings. Earlier colonial archaeologies have stressed the failure of the empire to 'Romanize' Indigenous and Punic settler populations, mobilizing inscriptions and sculpture to mirror and explain modern European colonial failures as the result of ethnic African permanence. Instead, this book uses postcolonial theory, pragmatic semiotics, material epistemologies, and relational ontologies to develop a new account of how Roman hegemony transformed and was reproduced through signifying practices in even a seemingly traditional, 'un-Roman' rite such as child sacrifice. In doing so, the book offers a model for understanding the Roman Empire, the peoples who lived across its provinces, and their material worlds.
Griffins, centaurs and gorgons: the Greek imagination teems with wondrous, yet often monstrous, hybrids. Jeremy McInerney discusses how these composite creatures arise from the entanglement of humans and animals. Overlaying such enmeshment is the rich cultural exchange experienced by Greeks across the Mediterranean. Hybrids, the author reveals, capture the anxiety of cross-cultural encounter, where similarity and incongruity were conjoined. Hybridity likewise expresses instability of identity. The ancient sea, that most changeable ancient domain, was viewed as home to monsters like Skylla; while on land the centaur might be hypersexual yet also hypercivilized, like Cheiron. Medusa may be destructive, yet also alluring. Wherever conventional values or behaviours are challenged, there the hybrid gives that threat a face. This absorbing work unveils a mercurial world of shifting categories that offer an alternative to conventional certainties. Transforming disorder into images of wonder, Greek hybrids – McInerney suggests – finally suggest other ways of being human.
How do we best see and understand the art of late antiquity? One of the perceived challenges of so doing is that this is a period whose visual production has been defined as stylistically abstract and emotionally spiritual, and therefore elusive. But this is a perception which – in her path-breaking new book – Sarah Bassett boldly challenges, offering two novel lines of interpretative inquiry. She first argues, by focusing on the art of late antiquity in late nineteenth-century Viennese intellectual and artistic circles, that that period's definition of late antique form was in fact a response to contemporaneous political concerns, anticipating modernist thinking and artistic practice. She then suggests that late antique viewers never actually abandoned a sense of those mimetic goals that characterized Greek and Roman habits of representation. This interpretative shift is transformative because it allows us to understand the full range and richness of late antique visual experience.
Chapter Four examines how the vocabulary of visual abstraction emerged from the language of nineteenth-century studies in optics and psychology and was supported by developments in the occult sciences and currents in modernist thought. It connects Riegl’s definition of late antique style with these developments.
Chapter Two argues that the interest in and definition of late antique art promoted by Franz Wickhoff and Alois Riegl was in part spurred by political conditions in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Chapter Five considers the definition of mimesis in the visual arts to argue that ancient ideas of visual imitation encompassed a wide range of styles, among them formal solutions modern observers would consider abstract. It posits that the stylistic language deployed by Hermogenes of Tarsus in his rhetorical treatise Peri Ideon can be applied to the description of late antique visual art.