Chapter 11

“Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite

Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Assessments of style and the formation of stylistic categories are staples of art‐historical research. As a method of critical inquiry, an analysis of style can be useful in defining a set of visual ­criteria that at once distinguishes some works of art from others, while grouping together those that share a definable pattern. For example, as historians of Roman art, we discuss wall decoration and styles (the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Styles) and what the ­characteristics and dates are for each (e.g., Mau 1882; cf. Ling 1991; Leach 2004; Strocka 2007), or define a historical style and interpret its meanings (such as Flavian art, which is dis­ tinguished from Julio‐ art in appearance and message). Analyses of style thus create relationships among works of art primarily derived from drawing comparisons and contrasts based on visual characteristics. In fact, categories of style can be immensely useful, as they help to organize bodies of artistic material and to create historical narratives (Ackerman 1962). All of this may seem obvious and something that we may take for granted, but there is much at stake in defining categories of style—often with some problematic consequences. Such is the case with the study of Roman art. This chapter takes as a point of departure Jaś Elsner’s observation that style was once “king” of the discipline of . He asserts that it should be central to what we do as art histo­ rians, despite the fact that style as a method of art‐historical inquiry apparently died in the 1970s and 1980s (Elsner 2003, 98). In Roman art, however, investigations into style never really faded away. Rather, it could be argued that we put style to a different use than scholars did earlier in the twentieth century—that is, in the name of a social history of Roman art that produced the category of non‐elite art.

Style and Roman Art

To begin, we are confronted with the fact that the corpus of Roman art resists easy categoriza­ tion; it defies the type of internal, chronological/stylistic development that has traditionally been assigned to Greek art: archaic, severe, classical, late classical, and Hellenistic period styles (cf. Donohue 2005 for a rigorous challenge of this type of “objective” description). It has thus

A Companion to Roman Art, First Edition. Edited by Barbara E. Borg. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 215 been commonplace to think about Roman art as wide‐ranging and diverse, with being its defining attribute: eclecticism is what makes Roman art Roman (Bianchi Bandinelli 1970; Brendel 1979; Kleiner 1992, 9–11). Indeed, at a given time or on a single Roman monument, we can sometimes detect the presence of more than one style. The column base of (161 CE) serves as an excellent and oft‐cited example (Figures 11.1–11.2). Of its four sides, one contains an inscription, one a scene of apotheosis, and the other two are identical and show the funerary decursio, military maneuvers in honor of the deceased (Vogel 1973; Kleiner 1992, 285–288; Davies 2004, 40–42, 96–101). The apotheosis scene owes much of its appearance to the classical tradition in . The figures are carved against a plain background and with a single ground line, which serves to provide a steadying frame with which we view the image head on. The bodies themselves are rendered in what we tend to consider as pleasing, naturalistic proportions. With the strong use of vertical and horizontal lines (except for the winged genius/Aion), the composition is calm. The faces likewise carry solemn, almost aloof expressions. In contrast, the identical reliefs depicting the decursio are often described as being non‐classical or as simply different from the apotheosis (Kleiner 1992, 285). While the figures are carved against a plain background, they are pitched in high relief, creating deep pockets of shadow. The scene is depicted with two simultaneous view­ points—the men in the central portion are seen head on, and those on horseback are seen uneasily in a tilted perspective. Yet the latter group occupies several horizontally placed turf segments, forcing viewers to read the cavalrymen both head on and as if from above. The horses and bodies are put into motion with the use of diagonal lines. One could also point out that the men appear disproportionately large for the horses and are of relatively solid or sturdy proportions.

Figure 11.1 Apotheosis of Antoninus Pius and Faustina, from the base of the , 161 CE. , , Cortile delle Corazze. Photo: Scala/Art Resource, NY – ART45685. 216 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Figure 11.2 Parade of soldiers, from the base of the Column of Antoninus Pius, 161 CE. Rome, Vatican Museums, Cortile delle Corazze. Photo: Scala/Art Resource, NY – ART 22011.

How we describe objects reveals our values and priorities. To describe the decursio reliefs as unclassical reifies a bias toward more classically rendered artistic forms, which is to say that the decursio reliefs are typically put up against the normalized standard as depicted on the apothe­ osis relief, whether explicitly or implicitly. Despite many recent and outstanding attempts to question the primacy of classically rendered images (namely, imperial images), dualisms are alive and strong in the study of Roman art. This essay briefly summarizes some of the assump­ tions that seem to lie behind these dualisms, with an eye toward understanding the circum­ stances leading to Ranuccio Bianchi Bandinelli’s influential theory of the plebeian tradition (arte plebea) in Roman art and its aftermath. It concludes with some recent contextual and social approaches that attempt to integrate the seemingly unwieldy corpus of Roman art objects into the canon, while pointing to some strategies that we might consider in describing Roman art and in narrating its multipronged histories (cf. Kampen 1995 and 2003).

A History of Roman Art History

Most surveys of Roman art tend to present a narrative that is biased toward the capital city of Rome, thereby privileging monuments produced by and for the emperors and the imperial retinue (there are exceptions, to be sure: e.g., D’Ambra 1998; Elsner 1998b; to some extent Kleiner 2010; Knapp 2011). Indeed, the city of Rome was a city defined by its emperors (Hope 2000). It is no coincidence that if surveys of Roman art focus on the capital city, they will thus necessarily construct a history that follows the lives of the emperors, thereby “erasing”­ “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 217 from history what does survive of those individuals of ordinary means in Rome; namely, the large numbers of tombs and their artifacts. Beyond these funerary monuments, however, Rome preserves precious little of the non‐elite inhabitants of the city. For this material, one needs to look outside Rome, to urban centers and communities within and beyond. This evidence can be overwhelmingly voluminous, nevertheless. The territories of the were vast and complex, but fixedly on the margins of the capital city and thus in scholarly­ thought— until recently. Moreover, the somewhat pejorative terms that historians invoke to explore the patronage of art produced by and for those outside elite circles—non‐elite, sub‐elite, plebeian, subaltern, and so on—reveal a clear bias toward the elite. These artistic commissions tend to be defined monolithically by what they are not (i.e., non‐elite), in part because their histories do not readily fit into the narrative constructed for Roman art, which emphasizes the artistic patronage of and for the emperors. All of these biases aside, what the early imperial dynasties produced was an artistic vocab­ ulary that largely looked to the Hellenic world for its inspiration, and scholars have long recognized the rich legacy that the Romans inherited from the (e.g., Beard and Henderson 2001; Gazda 2002; Marvin 2008). For example, ’ (9 BC; Figures 10.4–10.5) is often referred to as reviving fifth‐century BCE ideals of , whereas the interior relief panels of the of (81 CE) looked more to Hellenistic models, with their dramatically deep carving and depiction of lively movement. However, as we know, not all Roman art imperial forms took their cues from the Greek visual tradition, such as the previously mentioned decursio reliefs of the column base of Antoninus Pius. Recognizing that artistic production of the later imperial period (post 150 CE) looks differ­ ent from its early imperial counterpar­ ts, art historians of the first half of the twentieth century sought to explain the motivations behind and the sources of the fundamental stylistic change—what is called the Stilwandel—citing it as a late antique style that was deliberately unclassical (and non‐Hellenic), with its rigid frontality and comparatively unnaturalistic ­figural proportions. (It was a style that scholars would eventually link to ­non‐elite artistic production; see Brendel 1979 and Clarke 2003, 2–3, for a historiography of ­attitudes to Roman art.) Implicit in discussions of the Stilwandel is the scholarly desire to locate Roman art within theories of stylistic development that could be mapped out in a way somewhat analogous to the perceived trajectory of Greek art, which was accepted as the norm, thus permitting Roman art to “fit” into larger art‐historical­ narratives. As late as the mid‐twentieth century, Bernard Berenson’s (in)famous attack on the (315 CE) reveals that biases that favored Greek‐inspired form persisted in no uncertain terms; he could find no justification for the seemingly barbarous departure from Greek models in the art of Constantine. He refers to the Constantinian figures in the arch’s friezes as grossly ill proportioned, stumpy, and “gelatinous,” and the arch itself as unoriginal (Figure 7.2; Berenson 1954, 28; on which see Elsner 1998a). Moreover, Berenson posits that this “decline of form” heralded a dark age in artistic production (the beginning of the Middle Ages). Although written some decades ago, and seeming a bit old‐fashioned now, Berenson has had a more recent impact. Nigel Spivey, in a 1995 article, sides with him, noting that the figures’ lack of classically rendered proportions—that is, their “stumpiness”—is “demonstra­ tive of a native ‘plebeian’ style” (Spivey 1995, 22). Spivey views this unclassical style as not so much a herald of a decline of form, but as one that had been long in existence, albeit not the preferable style; it belonged to those who seemed incapable of commissioning anything of higher aesthetic value. Spivey appears to be following in the footsteps of Gerhart Rodenwaldt, who, already in 1939, identified these dual aspects in Roman art by putting “great” state art up against “popular art,” the latter of which he describes as containing “something of the untamed quality but also the strength of the barbarian. One might almost call it a provincial art within Rome itself” (Rodenwaldt 1939, 547). 218 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Arte Plebea in Roman Art

As we have already witnessed with the decursio reliefs, some of the visual traits that Berenson derides in the Arch of Constantine appear much earlier in the corpus of Roman art than he suggests. In fact, one could look to art of the late Republic and early Imperial period to find some of these non‐classical formal characteristics that were already part of Rome’s visual culture. By taking a priori the dichotomy of Greek and non‐classically rendered forms in Roman art, Bianchi Bandinelli was among the first to expound on the link between artistic production and social history. He attempted to explain the visual characteristics of Roman art as less dependent on theories of an inevitable stylistic development, but as tied explicitly to class concerns, especially in the media of relief and portraiture. Specifically, he identified two traditions in Roman art—the and the plebeian traditions (Bianchi Bandinelli 1967; 1970, 51–105; 1971, esp. 23–38). The patrician tradition (arte aulica) is tied to the elites in the capital Rome and is indebted to Hellenic artistic traditions, whereas the plebeian tradition—arte plebea—emerges in municipalities throughout Italy and is characterized by non‐naturalistic,­ or symbolic, proportions, frontal views of figures, an overall lack of pictorial perspective, and expressive qualities. The plebeian trend, he proposes, is tied to the artistic patronage of lower‐level office holders, soldiers, freedmen, and colonists and belongs to the realm of historical narratives and relief (Bianchi Bandinelli 1967, 17). With this paradigm, Bianchi Bandinelli is able to demonstrate that many of the visual qualities that had been iden­ tified as part of the Stilwandel appear centuries before the later imperial period, which is to say that patrician (classical) art forms appear alongside plebeian (unclassical) art forms throughout the early and late history of the Roman Empire (a notion that roughly parallels Rodenwaldt’s but without the punitive judgments). Moreover, he seems to want to believe that one style is not necessarily of higher aesthetic value than the other; rather, each is determined primarily by class interests. Dualisms thus become entrenched in Bianchi Bandinelli’s theory—classical/ unclassical and patrician/plebeian—although he does make an allowance for overlap and ­borrowings from each other (Bianchi Bandinelli 1970, 64). This step is a tremendous one, albeit not without some problems. It brings to the fore the notion that two competing styles could coexist in Roman art (rather than one style developing internally into another). Moreover, it is indebted to Marxist theories of class struggle and, as such, Bianchi Bandinelli posits that the change in appearance of Roman art in the later imperial period (the Stilwandel) roughly coincides with the increasing political power of the plebs. By highlighting the centrality of artistic commissions of those outside elite circles and outside the city of Rome, Bianchi Bandinelli changes dramatically the narrative possibilities for the history of Roman art. Artistic forms become inextricably linked to class, with an outcome very differ­ ent from Berenson’s. Whereas Berenson held Greek art as the “natural” standard and thus saw a pitiful decline in form and in the quality of artistic production in the art of Constantine, Bianchi Bandinelli presumed an outcome with more positive connotations—the rise of the plebs and their “self‐assertion” in artistic production, and the concomitant incorporation of their visual vocabulary into the art commissioned by the elites in the later imperial period. The visual language of the plebs, it would seem, could most expressively articulate Rome’s dramatic social changes of the last centuries (Bianchi Bandinelli 1971, 23–38). One limitation with Bianchi Bandinelli’s theory, despite its attempt to overcome the tradi­ tional hierarchy of art forms, is that it is still rooted within the old paradigms of classical versus non‐classical art; plebeian art is defined as not classically rendered. Furthermore, Bianchi Bandinelli’s theory is by and large essentialist, pre‐determined, and reductive. It suggests an unconditional linking of unclassically rendered forms with plebeian artistic commissions, as if art commissioned by was necessarily bound to this way of artistic representation. Of course, part of his theory stems from his own Marxist agenda, but, as a historian of Roman art “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 219 and archaeology, he also inherits a literary tradition, one that neatly allows for his own political leanings—epitomized by Trimalchio, the classic up‐from‐under fictional character of antiquity. Trimalchio is an outrageously wealthy but boorish ex‐slave, who features in one chapter of ’ famous mid‐first‐century novel, the Satyricon (on the following, Petersen 2006, 1–12; all translations of the Satyricon are taken from Arrowsmith 1987).

Arte Plebea and Trimalchio

Petronius’ Trimalchio is a Roman freed slave, a plebeian to be sure. While not a historical figure, his character is likely of the general type that Romans encountered in life, if manifestly exaggerated. In the Satyricon, Trimalchio hosts a lavish dinner party with an army of slaves serving up extravagant dishes (26–79). In the course of his dinner party, Trimalchio explains that he came from Asia as a youth to his owner’s house and was freed on his owner’s death, at which time he inherited a tremendous fortune (Satyricon, 75–76). He also amassed wealth through various business dealings, the type of which the ultra‐elite scorned, and became increasingly visible in Roman society (Petersen 2006, 17–18, 57–83, 114–117). Through his newly won citizen status and wealth, Trimalchio was able to rise from the most miserable of conditions to a life of relative luxury and comfort (“from mouse to millionaire,” Satyricon, 77). Notwithstanding the exaggeration present in the satire, Bianchi Bandinelli seems to view this biographical trajectory as one that the plebs of Roman society could embrace and even cele­ brate in their monumental commissions. More specifically, he connects the plebeian style in art with Trimalchio’s attitude and artistic commissions, such as his frescoes and his fictitious tomb commission (Satyricon, 29 [frescoes], 71 [tomb]). With Trimalchio at hand, Bianchi Bandinelli could justify many of his observations about Roman art produced by those outside elite circles. For example, in his discussion of the funerary monument of the former slave Lusius Storax in Teate (Chieti), he writes:

Clearly, this urge for self‐assertion was particularly strong among ex‐slaves. Once freed, by enfran­ chisement, from their wretched status, the freedmen (liberti) soon found openings in trade, and frequently amassed considerable fortunes. From here they could aspire to certain minor magistra­ cies some of which (e.g. the sevirate) were purely honorific.… The Satiricon of Petronius, a picaresque novel probably composed in ’s reign, strikingly illus­ trates the mentality behind these manifestations. One celebrated chapter introduces a wealthy freed­ man—and sevir—named Trimalchio … [whose] instructions … on how his tomb is to be built and decorated find their precise fulfillment in a number of funerary monuments from the municipia. Perhaps the closest illustration of this passage from Trimalchio’s Feast is to be found in the tomb of a sevir from Teate.(Bianchi Bandinelli 1970, 60)

Bianchi Bandinelli continues by describing the styles of the reliefs of the tomb from Teate, oth­ erwise known as the Tomb of Lusius Storax. As is typical of Roman art, the tomb reliefs are eclectic, coming from two artistic traditions, perhaps indicative of Storax’s own rise from slavery to local prominence. Bianchi Bandinelli identifies the gladiatorial reliefs (Figure 27.5, below) as of “sophisticated ” and “Hellenistic in origin,” whereas he describes the image of Lusius Storax seated on a dias and surrounded by magistrates (Figure 11.3) as ­“completely Roman,” by which he means belonging to the plebeian tradition (Bianchi Bandinelli 1970, 60). What Bianchi Bandinelli suggests in this passage and elsewhere is that the fictional character of Trimalchio and his artistic commissions were bound to his class interests, just as were those of the historical plebs. Put another way, Trimalchio provides Bianchi Bandinelli, among others, with a means to understanding some of the motives of individuals who left very 220 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Figure 11.3 Funerary monument of Lusius Storax, detail of reliefs, first century CE. Chieti, Museo Archeologico Nazionale. Photo: Hutzel, Neg. D‐DAI‐Rom 1962.1069.

­little by way of historical documents, save their monuments—a scholarly approach that I have elsewhere called Trimalchio Vision (Petersen 2003, 238–240 and 2006, 6–10). Trimalchio Vision is problematic because it allows Trimalchio, a fictional figure of hyperbolic proportions, to represent historical reality, thereby tacitly permitting reductive comments about the artistic commissions of those outside elite circles; moreover, it can severely limit our appreciation of Rome’s complex past as told through the visual record. Telling is Bianchi Bandinelli’s assessment of the reliefs of Lusius Storax—sophistication is linked with the Hellenic tradition, and, by implication, its opposite with the plebeian trend. Perhaps unwittingly, Bianchi Bandinelli has reified the dualism that prioritizes Hellenic‐looking art, despite his magisterial effort in bring­ ing overdue attention to numerous and multifarious artistic commissions by Romans of moderate means and accomplishments. It should be noted that one of the earliest opponents to Bianchi Bandinelli’s new paradigm was Bianca Maria Felletti Maj (1977). Instead of linking an artistic style to class interests, she posits that the unclassical style in Roman art belongs to an Italic tradition. In many respects, this notion is a welcome corrective to Bianchi Bandinelli’s theory, because it makes allowance for the so‐called plebeian style appearing on different monument types, including imperial commissions. For example, while the interior reliefs of the are indebted to a visual vocabulary of Hellenistic art, its exterior triumphal frieze is depicted in a style more akin to what Bianchi Bandinelli saw in the artistic commissions of the plebs. While Felletti Maj’s theory allows for some greater flexibility, it should be borne in mind that it, too, is reductive and essentializing, in part because it reinforces the dualism of Hellenic and native Italic (non‐Hellenic). Bianchi Bandinelli’s identification of arte plebea focused almost exclusively on sculpted images—reliefs and portraits. This is not surprising given that much of the artistic legacy of the Roman world is crafted from stone and, perhaps more importantly, this medium permits us to connect artistic commissions with actual Romans. Many monuments that Bianchi Bandinelli considers come from the funerary or public/honorific realms, and, as such, most , whether portraits or relief, were accompanied with some type of inscription that reveals something about the individual(s) portrayed. For example, the altar of the four “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 221

Figure 11.4 Altar of the vicomagistri of the vicus Aesculeti, c. 2 CE. Rome, Capitoline Museum, Centrale Montemartini, inv. 855. Photo: Koppermann, Neg. D‐DAI‐Rom 1960.1472.

vicomagistri­ from a neighborhood (vicus Aesculeti) in Rome (2 CE) contains a relief depict­ ing the four local, lower‐level magistrates performing a at an altar (Figure 11.4; Lott 2004, 142–144, 199–200; cf. Clarke 2003, 81–85). Behind them stand a tibia (pipe) player and a , the latter holding the fasces, while the bare‐chested attendants and two sacrificial victims occupy the foreground. The inscriptions on two of the four sides of the monument provide us with the names of two of the magistrates, who happen to be former slaves. The bodies of the magistrates are rendered in proportions that approximate nature, although the arms and hands of each seem to receive special treatment, as if to draw attention to the act of sacrifice and hence the virtue of piety. What renders this commission as an example of arte plebea, besides the social standing of those who paid for the altar, are the proportions of the figures in the foreground in relation to the magistrates. Both the animals and victimarii (animal attendants) are of diminutive scale; their presence is largely symbolic. Their scale indicates their relative (un)importance compared to the local magis­ trates, while displaying the necessities of a sacrifice, and marking it as a public one, without encroaching on the space of the vicomagistri. With Bianchi Bandinelli’s efforts to bring monuments, such as this altar, into the fold of Roman art history, scholars have since been able to reveal the significance of the artistic patronage of sub‐elite individuals in civic, imperial, and religious contexts (esp. Clarke 2003; Lott 2004; D’Ambra and Métraux 2006; Mayer 2012). 222 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Volkstümliche Kunst and Painting

Yet to be addressed is the enormous quantity of frescoes that the Roman world has left behind. For this material, historians move outside Rome and to the Bay of Naples. Coincidently, this area preserves much of what we can glean about non‐elite lives and art within the Italian pen­ insula from the late Republican and early Imperial periods. Relatively little of the direct imperial imprints that we witness in Rome survives in these municipalities. Instead, what is preserved in Campania is the flip‐side of the grand imperial monuments that were allowed to remain in the capital city—namely, houses and workspaces (the dwellings of nearly all the ancient inhabitants of Rome have long ago disappeared from the cityscape). When it comes to frescoes, however, it had been commonplace for historians to privilege those Roman walls with mythological that have antecedents in Greek art, in terms of both subject and style. Put another way, these types of paintings fall into the general style designation of “high art,” which finds its sculpted parallels in Rome. Hence, surveys of Roman art tend to include this Campanian material by simply inserting it into the imperially driven narratives of Roman art. This tendency is also one that modern scholarship, by and large, inherited from the early dis­ covery of such paintings within communities around Mt. Vesuvius. When mythological paint­ ings were found during excavations, they were cut from the walls and transported to Naples, where most continue to be on display in the National Archaeological Museum (e.g., Beard and Henderson 2001, 11–63). The walls from which the paintings came were allowed to remain in situ, along with paintings whose iconography and style did not belong in the stylistic category of “high art” (read Hellenic art). Indeed, until recently, the scholarly propensity has been to trace individual mythological paintings to lost Greek originals (e.g., von Blanckenhagen 1968; Bruno 1969; Lehmann 1979; Leach 1981). That has changed, of course, with the excellent work of John R. Clarke, Andrew Wallace‐Hadrill, and Bettina Bergmann, for example, whose individual studies have been instrumental in shaping the current trends in scholarship; that is, of considering painting as part of wholly integrated wall, , and architectural ensembles (esp. Clarke 1991; Wallace‐Hadrill 1994; Bergmann 1994, 1995, and 2002; cf. Trimble 2002). In addition, much recent work has focused on how Roman domestic interiors helped to articulate the owner’s social identity, from the local elites to the working denizens of moderate means (most notably, Clarke 1991 and 2003, 223–268; Wallace‐Hadrill 1994; Zanker 1998, 135–203; Hales 2003). In these studies, however, Trimalchio also looms large, especially in discussions of those houses whose ensembles seem to imitate (naively) those of lavish villas, which themselves took much of their inspiration from the Greek world. This is an easy target, as in an urban setting, such as at , cannot compare to the extended villas in the countryside. Nonetheless, scholars tend to view Pompeian dwellings as (over)crowded with references to elite culture; the well‐known (VI.15.1) and House of Octavius Quartio (II.2.2) are the quintessential houses that scholars delight in deriding for what they are not, rather than for what they are (Clarke 1991, 193–235, and 2003, 98–105; Zanker 1998, 145–156 and 184–192). This tendency is persistent, making Pompeii seem as if it were inhabited by thousands and thousands of Trimalchios who did not understand the language of Roman interiors as they strove to articulate (or overstate) their standing in society. This para­ digm of a trickle‐down aesthetic (the opposite of what Bianchi Bandinelli had proposed with his theory of arte plebea) affirms the dualism of elite villa culture and non‐elite domestic inte­ riors, and the privileging of elite art. Recent challenges to this paradigm offer new approaches to how we talk about non‐elites in the domestic sphere. For example, rather than isolating non‐elite domestic interiors as distinct from elite villas, some scholars demonstrate how domestic ensembles—elite and non‐elite alike—participated in a shared visual culture and its values (e.g., Dickmann 1999; Hales 2003; Petersen 2006, 123–183; Mayer 2012). “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 223

Among scholars working primarily with the genre of Roman painting (a medium largely overlooked by Bianchi Bandinelli), Thomas Fröhlich’s study of the paintings of lararia (domestic shrines) and building façades perhaps provides the closest parallel to Bianchi Bandinelli’s work (Fröhlich 1991). Fröhlich’s work has become a standard source and deserves mention here, given its debt to Bianchi Bandinelli’s. Although Fröhlich does not embrace Bianchi Bandinelli’s Marxist agenda, he characterizes paintings within lararia or on street façades as volkstümlich, or “popular,” especially those whose subject and style deviate from classical norms; meanwhile, those paintings that adhere to Hellenic ideals belong to the cate­ gory of Hochkunst (“high art,” which is analogous to Bianchi Bandinelli’s arte aulica), of which there are only a few surviving examples. Despite the parallels that can be drawn between the dualisms arte plebea/arte aulica and volkstümliche Kunst/Hochkunst, Fröhlich resists linking the popular style in painting and its origins to a particular social group. Rather, he views this style as transcending social groups—from slaves to the elite—and thus functioning as an authentic expression of popular art (Fröhlich 1991, 189–210; for rebuttals, see Tybout 1996; Giacobello 2008). In addition, Fröhlich offers a rather mundane but plausible explanation for the typically unclassically rendered compositions of lararia and of paintings on street façades; namely, that they derive from the historical relief style so as to convey their messages as clearly as possible. Visibility and legibility were thus the primary aims of the “popular” style in painting. This notion seems as though it should be especially true for façade paintings, most of which functioned as advertisements of sorts for the shops behind, according to Fröhlich, among others. The façade painting for the Shop of Verecundus at Pompeii (IX.7.7) provides an excel­ lent and thought‐provoking example (Figure 11.5; cf. Fröhlich 1991, 333–335; Clarke 2003, 105–112; Potts 2009). Although depicted in paint, the façade painting is organized as if it were a relief. It is composed of two registers. The tallest register is reserved for the world of the gods: Pompeiana in the center, mounted on a chariot driven by four elephants; with her rudder and at left; and at right a Genius, who holds a cornucopia in his left hand and a in his right. Hierarchy of scale places the gods (literally) above humans; and within the sphere of the gods, Venus, as the patron deity of Pompeii, reigns supreme. While all of the figures are depicted as if standing on a single‐ground plane, the background is left relatively blank, with swags of garland framing the trio of gods. Below, of a more quotidian nature is the depiction of activities that presumably took place within Verecundus’ workshop. At the center of the composition stand four nearly nude workers; they are making felt. Filling out the pictorial field are three wool combers, working as they sit at tables. At far right stands a man identified as Verecundus, the supposed proprietor of this enterprise, who displays a piece of cloth (this figure is labeled “Verecundus” under his feet). As with the deities above, the workers and Verecundus are depicted in strict frontality (there are no three‐quarter views) and with an imageless background. Yet, the perspective of the tables extending from the furnace (in the center) is rendered with a bird’s‐eye view, perhaps to enhance visibility and identification of this apparatus as one used for making felt. While the figures themselves may be rendered in more or less classically inspired proportions and with highlights and shading to suggest volume, the compositions themselves retain qualities that Bianchi Bandinelli identified as belonging to the arte plebea trend, which tends to be grounded in historical narrative. In this regard, it is typical for scholars to read this façade painting, and others like it, as a type of historical document taken from daily life—as illustrating the cloth‐production ­process—and as an example of promotion—of the wares sold and of the owner of this pre­ sumably successful business and, in this case, his connection with the gods (Fröhlich 1991, 169–188; Clarke 2003, 95–129). These types of readings, however, smack of the that most likely reveals scholars’ continued dependency on the legacy left by Petronius’ portrayal of Trimalchio. With Trimalchio looming large in scholarship, whether explicitly or implicitly, 224 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Figure 11.5 Venus Pompeiana and clothworkers, from the shop of Verecundus, , first century CE. Pompeii. Photo: SAP‐AFS 80887, su concessione del Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali – Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Pompei. historians emphasize how this fresco celebrates work unabashedly and suggests that Vere­ cundus, the owner of a cloth‐working enterprise, is, perhaps undeservedly, the recipient of the gods’ good will (cf. Satyricon, 29, and the aforementioned passage 75–76). Put another way, because the image lacks any close connection with the Hellenic tradition, in terms of subject matter and general style, the default position is to fix images such as this in the mindset of the plebs, a mindset that is gleaned primarily from the unforgettable, albeit exaggerated, character of Trimalchio. The fact that the figure of Verecundus is labeled invites scholars to “know” something of the motivations of the patron of this fresco, in part because of the frustrating silence of non‐elite individuals, save their artistic commissions. Clarke’s recent assessment makes clear this type of problem:

At the right—directly below the figure of his Genius in the big painting—stands the proud owner of the establishment. To make sure that everyone understood that this was the owner, the artist wrote “Verecundus” in small letters under the figure’s feet. He depicted Verecundus in a frontal pose, proudly holding up one of his offerings: a brown cloth adorned with purple stripes. Verecundus also seems to be modeling some of the clothing made and sold in his shop. (Clarke 2003, 108–109)

Such a reading—and Clarke is not alone—depends in part on the assumption that Verecundus’ shop lies behind this fresco, which may or may not be the case, as the area behind has yet to be “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 225 excavated, and that the individual shown is a proud Verecundus (analogous to the proud and boastful Trimalchio). However, what if things are not as they seem? As we know, life on Roman streets was anything but static. The spaces of walls were in a constant state of flux, with graffiti and electoral slogans appearing and disappearing, just as elections and local gossip came and went (Franklin 1991; Kellum 1999; Hartnett 2003). Telling is the electoral programmata occupying the top portion of the pictorial field depicting the workshop setting. The electoral slogan reads: the felt workers want Vettius Firmus for (Vettium Firmum aed quactiliar rog: CIL 4.7838; Franklin 1980, Table 6). What would happen to our reading if we considered the possibility that some passer‐by added Verecundus’ name at the feet of the figure holding a garment, much like the graffiti/ electoral programmata that adorn the top of this entire image, as some sort of jibe, about what we may never know? What if the individual holding the cloth is not the proprietor, but a worker or merchant? If this is the case, one could argue that what is depicted here has less to do with Verecundus and his “self‐assertion” and more to do with showing a successful business enterprise and its vertical integration (Silver 2009), as well as saying something about how Romans may have “interacted” with the image. We strive to know and fix something of the everyday lives of Romans, but many times their artistic commissions open the door to many more questions than answers, if we allow ourselves to ask questions outside of our preconceived notions, especially those that engage dualisms; these dualisms risk limiting our interpretations of the visual record in part because they tend to privilege elite or elite‐looking art forms.

Future Directions

So where do we go from here? There is much to be gained from Clarke’s groundbreaking work, in which he ardently approaches artistic commissions from the viewpoint of those who paid for and/or viewed the works of art, rather than from the perspective of the omniscient scholar, who has inherited a stubborn tradition that favors Hellenic‐looking/elite art. As Clarke reminds us, context is everything, in terms of artistic patronage and viewing among ordinary Romans (Clarke 2003, 1–13). As such, some images in non‐elite contexts may ­actually poke fun at elite, highbrow culture (Clarke 2003, 160–180, 227–239). Moreover, as I have argued elsewhere, one course of action is to look anew at the evidence—that is, from a perspec­ tive in which Trimalchio does not analyses of non‐elite art—and see what else it might tell us (Petersen 2006). And finally, we would do well to think outside the dictates of styles and their attendant dualisms as we continue to explore the world of Roman art through the lens of social history. A funerary monument will serve as a case study of the types of questions and readings we might bring to an examination of Roman art; it presents a world in which boundaries could be blurred, making images seem not quite as easy to categorize as they might at first appear (Petersen 2009). The stele of Longidienus comes from the port city of Classis (modern‐day ) and dates to the Augustan period (Figure 11.6). As is typical of Roman funerary stelai, it contains both text and image. The composition is divided into three registers: at the top are typical portrait busts, in relief, of a husband and wife; the middle section displays the busts of two male citizens dressed in (only Roman citizens could wear the ); and below is an image of a worker, dressed in a tunic, building a ship. The portraits and image of work both belong to the world of the plebs, according to Bianchi Bandinelli’s theory (1970, 86–88). Of the portraits depicted on this stele and others like it, he writes:

The old patrician‐style portrait, austere and disdainful, no longer found favor with a society [among elites in the Augustan age] bent on proving itself more cultured and adaptable than its 226 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Figure 11.6 Stele of Longidienus, early first century CE. Ravenna, National Museum, inv. 7. Photo: Koppermann, Neg. D‐DAI‐Rom 1962.2149.

predecessors, and dazzled by Hellenistic elegance. Yet the type of portrait developed in ’s day [late Republic] went on for some time; it turns up, much later, on the gravestones of freedmen and small tradespeople. … These were the funerary monuments of ordinary lower‐class people, who had themselves commemorated in the same style as the grands seigneurs once used to do. (1970, 86)

This reading is somewhat fraught, as it categorizes the stele as a plebeian commission; that is not an issue in itself, but such a reading puts the monument in a stylistic container and does little else. In addition, it assumes the primacy of Greek art and, oddly, an insidious trickle‐down aesthetic, one that Bianchi Bandinelli otherwise opposes. As a whole, the images carved on the stele could be read hierarchically as depicting a married couple and their family below, with the husband as the owner/overseer of a shipbuilding enterprise, which is depicted at the bottom with one of its workers or slaves. Moreover, the owner of this monument could be viewed as having contributed to the economic life of Classis and beyond, since it was not only a port city that saw an influx of goods, including luxury items, from across the Mediterranean, but one that also functioned as a base for the (Clarke 2003, 118–121). Once the inscriptions are read in conjunction with the imagery, however, the picture becomes a little more complicated. The portrait of the husband and wife is accompanied by an inscription that identifies Longidienus as a freeborn Roman citizen, a shipbuilder, and as the patron of this stele that he commissioned for himself and his wife, who was a slave and whom he freed. It reads: Publius Longidienus, son of Publius, of the Camilia tribe, shipbuilder, built this monument, while living, for himself and for Longidiena Stactinia, “Arte Plebea” and Non‐elite Roman Art 227 freedwoman of Publius (P. Longidienus P. f. Cam[ilia tribu]) / faber navalis se vivo constit / uit et Longidienae P. l. Stactini[ae]; CIL 11.139). The inscription below the two togate figures provides some fascinating details; namely, that both, too, are former slaves of Longidienus, and that each contributed to the cost of the stele. It reads: Publius Longidienus Rufus, of Publius, and Publius Longidienus Piladespotus, freedman of Publius, paid the cost to their patronus (P. Longidienus P. l. Rufio / P. Longidienus P. l. Philadespous / inpensam patrono dede- runt). And, most interestingly, the inscription that appears in the diminutive plaque next to the shipbuilder reads: Publius Longidienus, son of Publius, busy at work (P. Longidienus / P. f. ad onus / properat). Longidienus is identified twice as a Roman citizen by birth (he is identified by his filiation, son of Publius, and his voting tribe) and was likely an individual of fairly secure means. Yet he also depicts himself, both visually and verbally, as hard at work in casual tunic attire in the bottom register; that is, not only as the overseer of his business enterprise, but as actively engaged in it, even though, as was noted, this figure could be mistaken for a slave working for Longidienus, save the relatively inconspicuous inscription. In any case, Longidienus and his family present themselves as propertied, freeborn and freed, and as active members of their community’s workforce and contributors to the economy. While Longidienus most defi­ nitely belongs to the world of the plebs, or of ordinary (non‐elite) Romans, his stele is more complex than that stylistic designation might suggest. The style of the letters and content of the inscriptions, for example, seem more at home in the world of well‐to‐do citizens. We would do well, I think, to consider this stele and its patrons’ social standings (there are three men who contributed to the cost of the stele) as relative to each other and within the community at large, rather than in rigid juxtaposition to their elite counterparts in the city of Rome. This stele is rather typical of funerary monuments discovered within Italy and throughout the empire. Museums and their storage areas are filled with such objects, but, paradoxically, very few find their way into surveys of Roman art. Plebeian or non‐elite art is everywhere, albeit maybe not as conspicuous or grand as the imperial art forms in Rome and its Empire. This is a point that cannot be overlooked. However, until we question some of the biases that drive the elite/non‐elite dualism (namely an unqualified valuation of Hellenic‐looking art), and ask new questions of plebian art (rather than putting it in a self‐evident stylistic container), we will continue to construct a history of Roman art that places on the margins that which was omnipresent and which actually tells us a great deal about the Romans. Plebeian art should be integral to the study of Roman art and discussed positively for what it reveals. To test just how entrenched the values are that scholars have brought to the narrative of Roman art, I ask this rhetorical question: Could we ever imagine categorizing the Ara Pacis as unplebeian? Probably not, and I am not proposing that we do so. Rather, it is a question that invites us to think about the assumptions that lie behind stylistic designations based on dualisms, in which one side of the dichotomy is viewed positively (classical/elite) and the other side is viewed negatively, in terms of what it is not (unclassical/non‐elite or plebeian). We also need to be forthright in acknowledging the limitations of such a paradigm. Roman art demands this of us.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Much ground has been covered in recent work that addresses the meanings of art in Roman society, as a reflection both of cultural values and of the identities of those who commissioned it. For a good synopsis of the diverse approaches to a social history of Roman art, most of which consider art of the non‐elite, see Stewart (2008, 1–9, 39–76). These methods have yet to be fully integrated into surveys of Roman art, however. An edited volume on the specific topic of plebeian art has recently been published (de Angelis et al. 2012). In particular, Tonio Hölscher’s contribution, “‘Präsentativer Stil’ im System der römischen 228 Lauren Hackworth Petersen

Kunst,” provides a thorough and perceptive analysis of Bianchi Bandinelli’s term arte plebea, along with the scholarship that developed from his theory, while positing a place for the “präsentativer Stil” in the language of Roman art. See also the recent studies on freed slaves and sub‐elites (esp. Bell and Ramsby 2012; D’Ambra and Métraux 2006; Mayer 2012). One should also consider Roman society’s rich material culture, which typically falls outside such studies but can be just as illuminating. For example, Penelope Allison’s work (2004) in Pompeii can point us in directions regarding how domestic spaces might have been used and thus something of the viewing contexts of art. And finally, this chapter is deeply indebted to Clarke’s scholarship (1998 and 2003), which has judiciously challenged traditional ways of thinking about and narrating the history of Roman art. For example, in his 1998 book, Clarke offers rewarding readings of images of love‐making that dismantle many stereotypical interpretations that have traditionally been made of them. In the process, Clarke rightly considers roles of non‐elite women, as viewers of art, and their possible readings of various types of images. Due to limits of space, this chapter cannot do justice to the roles that non‐elite women also played in commissioning art—from the freed slave Naevoleia , who built a funerary monument for her husband and herself at Pompeii, to the many reliefs of women as workers—slave and free alike—discovered throughout the empire. On Naevoleia Tyche, see Clarke (2003, 184–187) with bibliography; on the reliefs of women as workers, see especially Kampen (1981), which remains the fundamental study on the subject.

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