Monday, April 4, 2016

Details of the Chimera of Arezzo


The Chimera of Arezzo is a well-known sculpture and images of it are easy to find more or less everywhere on the web. Images, of course, are not the same thing as seeing the original, presently kept at the museum of archeology in Florence, in Italy. As a vicarious experience to the real thing, I am presenting here a number of images of details of the sculpture taking from the reproduction owned by the "Galleria Frilli" in Florence, with their kind permission. This reproduction, as all reproduction, is not perfect, but it is of very good quality and it can be said to be as faithful to the original as possible.

In the images below, we see the Chimera of Arezzo from some unusual directions and showing details that are not always easy to appreciate.























Friday, April 1, 2016

The Chimera and the dragons

A chimeric story by  Krav Maga et Philosophie
La Chimère et les dragons

La Chimère était apparue en même temps que la Cité. C'était un animal prodigieux avec un immense corps de lion et trois têtes : une tête de serpent, une tête de lion et une tête de chèvre.

La Chimère crachait du feu, ce qui en faisait une créature terrifiante et redoutée. Mais en même temps qu'elle crachait du feu, elle exhalait aussi, par un processus alchimique mystérieux, un nuage de poudre d'or.

Les habitants de la cité redoutaient la Chimère qui dévastait la cité et dévorait les habitants. Mais en même temps, ils voulaient qu'elle reste à proximité pour récolter facilement l'or miroitant abandonné sur son passage.

Ainsi la Chimère rodait en permanence près de la cité suite à un accord tacite entre les habitants de la Cité : chacun espérant tirer le bénéfice de sa présence et laisser à autrui les problèmes...

Quelquefois, néanmoins, sa présence devenait tellement envahissante, qu'elle finissait par bloquer les activités de la cité. Alors, la Cité envoyait son armée pour l'affronter. Cette armée finissait toujours dévorée. Mais, pour un temps, la Chimère, repue, s'éloignait avant de revenir encore plus puissante. Le destin tragique de la Cité oppressait tous les habitants, mais personne ne voulait renoncer au souffle doré de la Chimère.

Un enfant cru avoir trouvé la solution. En effet, avec l'aide d'un notable de la cité, Il avait découvert, sur une montagne lointaine, un autre animal prodigieux : un pégase. L'enfant montât aussitôt sur le pégase pour aller combattre la Chimère. Malheureusement le pégase était rétif et trop lent pour pouvoir s'approcher de la Chimère en évitant le souffle enflammé : Monture et cavalier périrent carbonisés.

Un homme et une femme partirent alors en quête sur la montagne lointaine après avoir étudié la Chimère et les animaux prodigieux. Ils revinrent avec deux dragons. L'homme et la femme apprirent à évoluer sur leur dragon à pleine vitesse. En effet, les dragons, convenablement guidés, pouvaient devenir rapides et agiles jusqu'à pouvoir éviter les attaques de la Chimère. Et, tout en tournoyant habilement dans les airs, les dragons parvenaient également cracher un feu. Celui-ci, plus faible que celui de la Chimère, était néanmoins une menace pour elle.

A force d'affrontements, L'homme et la femme, chevauchant leur dragon, réussirent à faire fuir la Chimère. Elle partit vivre loin de la cité, dans un désert.
Dans ce désert, elle commença à s'affaiblir et à s'étioler. Mais, un jour, ses forces revinrent et sa croissance reprit .

L'homme et la femme réunirent les habitants de la cité dans l'Agora et parlèrent:
"La Chimère grandit à nouveau alors qu'elle est dans un désert. Nous en connaissons tous la cause : quelques citoyens la nourrissent pour profiter de l'or que l'on trouve autour d'elle. Si cela continue, la Cité est condamnée : La Chimère sera un jour tellement puissante que nous n'aurons plus la capacité d'empêcher son retour"

Les citoyens jurèrent que, dorénavant, plus personne ne nourrirait la Chimère et que les citoyens compteraient uniquement sur leur propre ressource et sur leur propre travail pour acquérir une quelconque richesse.

La Chimère s'arrêta de grandir durant un temps puis sa croissance reprit, à un rythme plus rapide que précédemment.

L'homme et la femme réunirent une nouvelle fois tous les habitants et réitérèrent leur mise en garde.

La population se mit en colère contre l'homme et la femme. Certains orateurs dans la foule rappelèrent qu'il y avait eu le serment collectif de ne pas nourrir la Chimère et qu'il n'y avaient donc plus nécessité de débattre de la question. Ces orateurs furent applaudis par beaucoup des habitants.

La Chimère continua de grandir à un rythme de plus en plus rapide. Ses hurlements de faim, de plus en plus puissants, étaient entendus de plus en plus distinctement et de plus en plus en plus souvent par les habitants de la Cité.

L'homme et la femme voulurent réunir une nouvelle fois tous les habitants de la cité. Mais seuls quelques uns vinrent à l'Agora. L'homme et la femme répétèrent leur mise en garde mais ajoutèrent qu'ils ne comptaient pas mourir dans un combat suicidaire ou laisser, après leur mort, leurs proches à la merci de la Chimère.

Rien ne vint limiter la croissance de la Chimère et son pouvoir de destruction se trouva décuplé au fil du temps. D'une taille gigantesque, affamée en permanence, elle décida un jour de s'approcher de la Cité.

Alertés, les habitants de la Cité coururent chercher l'homme et la femme pour qu'ils montent sur leur dragon afin de défendre la cité.
Ils découvrirent alors que ceux-ci, ainsi que leurs proches, avaient quitté la Cité.

La Cité fut détruite par la Chimère.

La Chimère mourut peu après.
La Chimère et les dragons

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Antonio Bardi, Florentine painter (1862-1924)





This page is dedicated to Antonio Bardi, Florentine painter (1862-1924). It was created in 1998 by his great-grandson Ugo Bardi. It is republished on the blog "Chimeras" in March 2016. The portrait above may be dated circa 1910.


Antonio Bardi worked as a painter for most of his life but after his death in 1924 his work and his story have been almost totally lost. Over his career, he must have painted hundreds of paintings. Of these, just a few are still kept by his heirs. Where the rest of his paintings have gone, it is impossible to say, but it appears likely that several were "re-signed" as the work of some more famous painter and sold as such. If you happen to have a painting that you imagine could be Antonio Bardi, please contact me, his great-grandson, with a comment on this blog



About Antonio Bardi's life

Antonio Bardi was born in 1862, son of Ferdinando Bardi and Caterina Setti. Both Florentines, both of modest conditions and living in the "S. Frediano" quarter on the south side of the river Arno. Ferdinando's occupation is reported in the acts of the city hall to have been "torcitore di seta" (silk worker) and also "carbonaio" (coal delivery man). The main event of Ferdinando's life was to join Garibaldi's "thousand" volunteers in the Italian revolution of 1860. From that war, he returned with four silver medals of which the ribbons are still conserved by his heirs. The medals themselves were lost in the 1940s, when they were donated to "the country" in support of the war effort, but they can still be seen in Ferdinando's portrait made by his son. From the records still kept we also know that Ferdinando was born in Firenze on August 22nd 1822, that his father was Antonio Bardi, "pentolaio" (tinker) in S. Frediano and his mother Caterina (born Guidi), weaver.

How Antonio Bardi became a painter is told in an article (see below) published in a 19th century newspaper. The clip is still conserved by Antonio's heirs, unfortunately the title, date and the name of the newspaper are missing. From what's left, the date should be the first half of March 1877. The author of these notes has searched for that article in the three newspapers published in Firenze around the right time in "Archivio di stato", but could not find it. Anyway, we can read that a famous Brazilian painter, one Pedro Americo, was taking a walk near the Uffizi gallery in Florence and he spotted a young boy drawing the head of a warrior on the street with a piece of chalk. Somehow, that Brazilian gentleman decided that the boy had talent, so he took him as his apprentice in his studio and helped him to get an education at the Art Academy in Firenze. He also helped the boy's family which, we are told, "versed in dire poverty". This story appears in the newspaper just before a report on the visit to Firenze of Pedro II, emperor of Brazil. The two stories may have been related, and the good deed of the Brazilian painter Pedro Americo may have had the main purpose of improving the public image of the emperor. Apparently even at that time the concept of "public relations" was not unknown in politics.

The boy, Antonio Bardi, finished his studies and became a full-time painter. He married Emma Ardinghi, a florentine woman, and had two sons, Bardo and Raffaello. Very little is known about Antonio's career: it seems that he remained based in Firenze for most of his life. However, it seems also that he visited Spain. For sure he maintained some contacts with his Brazilian benefactors and it is remembered that he was acquainted with the ambassador of Brazil since he made a portrait of him.

Antonio worked as a painter until an illness to the eyes (maybe he was 45?) forced him to reduce his artistic activities and take a job as a guardsman in the "Sant'Ambrogio" produce market in Firenze. He died at 62, (in 1924) of a throat cancer. Apparently he had been a convinced smoker all his life. His wife Emma survived him of a few years, dying one snowy day, on February 10th 1929. It is remembered that before dying she expressed the wish that nobody of the family should come to her funeral, so the priest had the funeral passing under the windows of the house, then in via Pisana. Her daughter in law (Rita), was at that time pregnant with her last son (Antonio).

Of Antonio Bardi's life, there remain the recollections of those who have known him personally, in particular his grand-daughter Renza, aunt of the author. At the time when these notes were written Renza was 81, but she still remembered her grandfather well. According to her, Antonio was a stern man. Renza remembers how once she met him on the stairs of their house in Via Pisana after she had just bought a chocolate sweet. Antonio took her back to the shop and ordered her to give back the sweet saying to the salesman "It is not right to sell things to children". This hardness of character is not so typical of the Bardi family as it appears nowadays, but those were harder times and Antonio Bardi's life was surely not easy.

Finding a benefactor in the person of the Brazilian painter Pedro Amerigo was a stroke of luck for Antonio Bardi that gave him a chance to escape the destiny of his father, a humble worker. Nevertheless, at his time just as today, life was not easy for someone who wanted to make a living out of painting. Antonio had to survive spending a lot of time in activities that today we would not think as very noble for a painter. He made and sold portraits, and the kind of realistic portraits that people would buy; not fancy "artistic" ones. In an age when photography was still something exotic and rare he owned a few cameras himself (still conserved), probably used for a quick snapshot of the subject; to be elaborated on canvas later on. Antonio also made, and sold, reproductions of the masterpieces conserved in the Florentine major galleries, from Raphael to Masaccio and Michelangelo. This activity, too, was something that could produce a modest revenue. As color photography did not exist yet, the visitors of the time (rather cultured ones in comparison to the present lot) would appreciate reproductions painted "from the original", as it would be stamped and sanctioned on the canvas by a museum officer. Finally, Antonio also painted and sold religious images: saints, madonnas, and so on. It is not clear today how he regarded these activities and if he would rather have liked to conduct a life more appropriate to an artist, painting only when and as inspiration dictated.

Over his career as a painter, Antonio must have painted hundreds of paintings. Of these, only a few remains in the hands of his heirs. We have two portraits of his wife Emma and one of his father Ferdinando with his medals. Two paintings showing the artist's father are kept by an old friend of the family who lives now in another town, but we lost contact with her and we have no idea of where those paintings could have ended up. We also have several sketches and unfinished paintings, and some copies of ancient masterpieces. One of these is a reproduction of the "Madonna della seggiola"" by Raffaello (the original is presently at the Uffizi museum in Firenze). Several of Antonio's drawings while he was in school also remain, as well as a fragment of the portrait of a Japanese woman wearing a kimono. He also made and restored a "tabernacolo" fresco in via Palazzo dei Diavoli which was recently (1984?) torn down in building the large avenue named viale Talenti. A Florentine antiquarian, Mr. Antonio Parronchi, told to the author that he has seen paintings signed A. Bardi, but it has been impossible to find them.

Artists are supposed to use their skills to express concepts and ideas, not just to reproduce reality. But for Antonio Bardi we can't say much in this respect. So few of his paintings are left, and these few are just those which, presumably, had no market value: portraits of members of Antonio's family and juvenile sketches. We can only say that, undoubtedly, he was skilled with his brush, and that he could paint fine portraits. His watercolor reproduction of Raffaello's "Madonna della Seggiola" is a small masterpiece of technical skills but, of course, it is not what we would call nowadays a "work of art". If Antonio had the inclination and the possibility to do more than that, it is difficult today to tell. We can only, maybe, try to give a meaning to some of the works he left. His portraits of his wife Emma are, no doubt, impressive, and not just from a technical viewpoint. The young Emma looks at us from the canvas with her large dark eyes. The warm red of the dress, the large black ribbon, the hint of hair collected in a bun, are al elements that give us an idea of a constrained vitality. As a mature woman, Emma looks stern and energetic, reminding to the author the figure of his grandmother Rita: the same stern expression, the same hair style. It is known that men tend to marry women who look like their mothers, that's maybe what Antonio's son Raffaello did when he chose Rita for his wife.

Also, the portraits of Antonio's father Ferdinando may tell us something. First, Antonio showed him as a vigorous bemedaled hero. Then, in a later painting we see again Ferdinando Bardi, this time as an aged man. Seated at a old and probably shaky table, with only a bowl of soup and some bread as dinner, Ferdinando's expression somehow conveys the idea of a life that was hard for everyone, and in particular for an old man who had lost all of his teeth and had to content himself with such a meager meal. Little consolation he had that he had been a glorious hero in his youth, now he had only three flasks of wine left. But decline is everyone's destiny, not just of heroes, and perhaps when Antonio Bardi painted his father in such way was also thinking to his own brief moment of notoriety, when he had met the Brazilian painter Pedro Americo.
Also for Antonio, life was to become harder in old age.

We don't know if Antonio thought that his life as a painter was a success or a failure. But the fact that eventually he had to stop painting, officially because of eyes problem, seems to tell us something. For painters, Antonio's time was one of experimentation and of novelty. It was the age of the French "impressionistes" and of other schools which aimed at bringing true colors and light to previously dull and dark canvases. It was the time of Renoir, of Van Gogh, of Monet, of Gauguin, a time when all the great painters of the world seemed to have congregated in Paris. Of all this movement, of all this excitation, there is little or no trace in Antonio Bardi's paintings. In all what we have of him, he was a "classic" painter, one of the old school, surely a heavy imprint of his academic studies. If he did experiment with the new techniques it is probable that he had no success in a sleepy provincial town as Firenze was at that time.

Far away from Paris, always in financial trouble, Antonio must have seen the world passing him by, with younger Italian painters gaining national and international renown. For example, Filadelfio Simi (1849-1922) was 13 years older than Antonio and had a remarkably similar story. Born in a poor family, he was noted by an older benefactor, this time an Italian painter named Vegni. Unlike Antonio, however, Filadelfio Simi is still well remembered, most likely because he had the luck that his master sent him to study in Paris, where he gained an international reputation even though his style always remained classic, without ever a hint of being influenced by the Parisian impressionists. Another still known Florentine painter of that period is Galileo Chini (1873 - 1956), about a decade younger than Antonio, he lived in another age of international contacts and "Art-Nouveau" influences. Among other things, Chini had the luck to be invited by the King of Siam and to spend 5 years in Bangkok in the fascination of the orient: glamor, exotism, bright colors, and lights.

We don't know if Antonio tried to gain an international reputation and to follow the glamorous careers of some of his contemporaries. His granddaughter Renza says that he visited Spain and that he made a portrait of the Spanish and the Brazilian ambassadors in Italy. But, eventually, Antonio remained an obscure painter in Firenze, painting saints and Madonnas and reproductions of ancient masterpieces. It is difficult to say how serious was Antonio's eye sickness, and if it really was what caused him to stop painting at 45. It may not have been actually an excuse but, maybe, after so much hope at the beginning, the old painter was tired and, in the end, he gave up. We may imagine him during the last years of his life, stern, dressed in his rather formal clothes that we see on on his black and white picture, sitting in his armchair, smoking his cigarette, and never saying much; a trait that the family seems to have maintained up to the present times.

Antonio Bardi's heirs
 
   As a last note about Antonio Bardi, it may be worth remarking that his life and personality had a profound impact over his heirs. His sons (Raffaello and Bardo) were not painters but they could enjoy a relatively well to do life. Of the two, Bardo died young of the Spanish flu, just after the end of the first world war, a few years after marrying. Raffaello, instead, led a long life (he died at 84) and for most of it he worked as an employee of a Swiss company which owned a factory of straw hats in Firenze. In comparison with the average worker of the time, Raffaello was a cultured man. He could read and write, and speak at least a few words of German and Spanish, something clearly useful for him to work in an international company.

The effect of Antonio's career as a painter was most evident with the second generation of children. Raffaello had two daughters (Anna and Renza) and two sons (Giuliano and Antonio). All of them pursued careers which had some artistic components. The sons became both architects, and both daughters dabbled in painting. Renza followed her grandfather in painting reproductions of masterpieces and became specialized in that (there are still many of these reproductions in the family house). Later, however, she moved to a non-artistic career with the straw hat company which also employed her father. Anna painted all of her life, following a path that we may imagine as somewhat similar to that of her grandfather, although temporally inverted. She started from very humble pursuit, selling portraits and painting trinkets for tourists. Only during the last years of her life (she died in 1987) she could finally become a full-time artist, painting what she liked and when she liked. The skill of painting seems to have disappeared from the subsequent generation of heirs of Antonio (which includes the author of the present notes). There is one more generation coming up, though, and time will tell if the genetic imprint of the old painter will resurface.


Antonio Bardi: Gallery of paintings



Untitled, circa 1890: Antonio Bardi's father (Ferdinando) sitting at a table
 


Untitled, circa 1890. The man dressed in black is Antonio Bardi's father, Ferdinando.






Portrait of Ferdinando Bardi (Antonio's father) as a war hero. Circa 1880.




Portraits of Antonio Bardi's wife, Emma Ardinghi:



Emma as a young woman



Emma as a mature woman



Photographic portrait of Emma in late life.

 ___________________________________________

Text of the 1877 newspaper article about Antonio Bardi


Questo brano è tratto da un giornale fiorentino del Marzo 1877. La data è desunta da alcune notizie riportate in vari articoli, dovrebbe essere dell'inizio di Marzo, dato che si menziona la Gazzetta Ufficiale del 2 Marzo. Alcune parti sono mancanti, e non è stato possibile capire esattamente di quale dei tre quotidiani che si pubblicavano a quell'epoca a Firenze si tratti, e neppure il nome dell'autore. L'articolo immediatamente successivo a quello qui riportato descrive la visita dell'Imperatore Pedro II del Brasile a Firenze che avveniva in quei giorni a Firenze


Cronaca Cittadina

Antonio Bardi

Le mie gentili lettrici si ricorderanno certamente di aver veduto circa un anno fa un ragazzetto sui dieci anni di volto franco,ilare, vivace, vestito di logori panni che coraggiosamente scarabocchiava disegni di uomini e di donne sui marciapiedi delle strade con un pezzo di carbone o di gesso, non avendo mezzi per comperarsi......

..... [ la sorte ] si mostrava sorridente e gli inviava un generoso protettore nel Comm. Pedro Americo.
   
L'illustre artista straniero, passava un giorno sotto la Loggia degli Uffizi quando la sua attenzione fu rivolta a un gruppo di persone, che facevano cerchio al nostro piccolo artista, il quale stava ultimando la testa di un guerriero. Pedro Americo esaminò attentamente il disegnoe gli parve maraviglia per essere fatto da un povero ragazzetto, senza istruzione, senza alcun principio d'arte. Chiese alcune informazioni su di lui e seppe che si chiamava Antonio Bardi, che era privo di ogni mezzo di sussistenza, giacchè la sua famiglia lottava nella miseria. Il celebre artista brasiliano si interessò allora con cal;ore della sorte del fanciullo e provvedutolo di quanto poteva occorrergli, seco lo volle nel suo studio. Immaginatevi il giubilo che dovette provare il piccolo Antonio nel veder adempiuto il suo ardentissimo desiderio e la sua gratitudine verso il generoso protettore straniero.

      Pedro Americo, con quella pazienza e costanza, che è uno dei distintivi dei caratteri nobili, cercò in quell'intelligenza tuttora debole, tuttora incerta, il principio della vita, sforzandosi di dirigere l'attenzione del fanciullo ad un fine determinato con ordine e perseveranza, consultando e fecondando le inclinazioni della natura. Sotto la sua scorta, col suo aiuto generoso, l'ingegno di Antonio si sviluppò in modo veramente straordinario.

      Ben presto sotto i disegni corretti, disparvero gli scarabocchi; ed il fanciullo potè empire la sua cartella di schizzi perfetti.

      Io ho veduto per ben due volte i disegni eseguiti dal piccolo Artista; ossia teste copiate dal gesso, busti, ed alcuni ritratti tolti dalle litografie, fra i quali quello del commendator Peruzzi; e tutti questi disegni mi dimostrano il buon volere e il progresso del fanciullo e com'egli non deluda le aspettative del suo generoso maestro, ma coraggioso e fortunato proceda sulla via spinosa dell'arte.

      Però la beneficienza dell'illustre pittore brasiliano verso il suo piccolo scolare Fiorentino qui non si arresta. Volendo soccorrere altresì con lui la sua famiglia che, come già dissi, versa nella miseria, il dott. Americo pensò di santificare lo scopo di una festa artistica, con un'opera generosa.

     Durante alcuni giorni dell'esposizione.......


Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Are there two different species of humans? On the curious cultic behavior of earthlings



Two cultic images staying near each other in a church in the small Italian town of Bibbiena, in Tuscany. 
(h/t Paolo and Luciana) 


Just a few days ago, I was visiting a small church in an Italian village and I saw myself as an alien just landed on this planet. What was going on in there?

Earthlings have this curious habit of kneeling in front of images of non-existing beings. But what I noted in that church is how different these beings can appear. On a side, there was an idol in the shape of a human male, obviously in great pain having been nailed to two crossed planks of wood and wounded in the chest. Nearby, there was a completely different image; a smiling human female nurturing a small child. Granted; the behavior of earthlings is often difficult to understand, but, here, it is truly puzzling: how can two such different deities cohabit the same cultic place?

The solution came from a book written by an earthling named George Lakoff, "Don't think of an elephant." Apparently, there are two kinds of earthlings; at least according to Lakoff. The "nurturant" ones (the left, the liberals, the US democrats) and the "patriarchal" ones (the right, the conservatives, the US republicans). In this subdivision, Lakoff perfectly explained what I had been seeing in that small church. Let me leave the description to him  (p. 148-149).
Conservative Christianity is a strict father religion ... First, God is understood as punitive - that is, if you sin you are going to go to hell and if you don't sin, you are going to be rewarded and go to heaven. But since people tend to sin at one point or another in their lives, how is it possible for them to ever get to heaven? The answer in conservative Christianity is Christ. What Jesus does is offer conservative Christians a chance to get to heaven. The idea is this; Christ suffered on the cross so much that he built up moral credit sufficient for all people, forever. .... If you accept Jesus as your savior, that is, as your moral authority, and agree to follow the moral authority of your minister and your church, then you can get to heaven. But that is going to require discipline, You need to be disciplined enough to follow the rules, and if you don't, then you are going to go to hell. ...
Liberal Christianity is very, very different. Liberal Christianity sees God as essentially beneficent, as wanting to help people, The central idea in liberal Christianity is grace, where grace is understood as a kind of metaphorical nurturance. In liberal Christianity, you can't earn grace - you are given grace unconditionally by God. But you have to accept grace, you have to be near God to get his grace, you can be filled by grace, you can be healed by grace, and you are made into a moral person through God's grace. In other words, grace is metaphorical nurturance ... In a nurturant form of religion, your spiritual experience has to do with your connection with other people and the world and your spiritual practice has to do with your service to other people and to your community. 

Seems clear: the two idols in that church are different deities worshiped by two different categories of humans. The nurturant humans worship the virgin Mary, the mother of God; the patriarchal humans worship Jesus, the son of God who suffered on the cross.

So, are there two species of humans? Could be; surely these two categories of humans look so different from each other that any good alien should wonder if they can even interbreed with each other. Apparently, indeed, some data indicate that they rarely do. Earthlings are, indeed, curious creatures.





Monday, March 21, 2016

Book of the Beast: Ugo Bardi's Il Libro della Chimera



"We are all Chimeras" -- Ugo Bardi


by Linda Lappin


Not too long ago, I made a trip to Florence to visit an old friend who has dwelled in my unconscious for a very long time, ever since I first laid eyes on her at the Archaeological Museum: the Chimera. This bronze statue, cast in one piece, depicting a three-headed beast composed of a lion, a goat, and a snake is considered by many art historians to be among the major masterpieces not only of Etruscan sculpture, but of all ancient religious art that has come down to us from anywhere the world over. After years of absence, she does not disappoint, radiating electrifying power and intensity.

The sculpture, eighty centimeters tall, shows a regal beast on the defense, with a jagged mane of spikes, its sinuous body tensed to pounce, ribs protruding from its sleek, gaunt sides, suggesting hunger. Its open jaws roar in pain and fury. The extremely realistic, flat-eared goat head sprouting from its spine leans downwards, shedding drops of blood on the base of its neck. Soulful eyes gaze out helplessly as a vicious serpent, which is the Chimera’s own tail, stretches out to strike, seizing the goat’s horn in its jaws.

The Chimera, as notes Ugo Bardi distinguished chemistry professor at the University of Florence, environmental blogger, and author of a study on the beast, Il Libro Della Chimera, (edizioni Polistampa, Florence, 2008,) is portrayed in a moment of suffering. She is a fighter, but she is losing. Bardi goes on to say that the Etruscan artist who made this Chimera, roughly in about 400 B.C. may have wanted to express the fate of his people who at that time were gradually being overcome by the Romans. Or perhaps he wished to express his own destiny, that of all human beings, who will eventually be overcome in a final, individual battle. “We are all chimeras,” Bardi suggests.

Once face to face alone with this astonishing creature your first desire is to reach out and caress its smooth sides and haunches, then to run your hand across the cold bronze spikes of its mane and hackles and test the sharpness of the claws. But your next immediate response will be a question: But what does it mean? for this curious three-headed combo must mean something. What Ugo Bardi sets out to do in his thought-provoking study is to illuminate that meaning on many levels.

First, he provides us with a historical account of its discovery unearthed by workers digging outside the Arezzo city walls in 1553, her transferal to Florence where she captivated Cosimo I De Medici, and soon became a symbol of Tuscan cultural and political identity. He describes the vogue for Etruscan culture to which she contributed, as scholars tried to link the undeciphered Etruscan language to Hebrew and sought traces of the mysterious race who were the forefathers of the Renaissance Tuscans, rivals to the Renaissance Romans. He explains why indeed she is not a fake, as some have claimed. He investigates her mythic background as a fire-breathing female creature who laid waste the land of Lycia until she was slain by the hero Bellerophon, riding on Pegasus. To kill the Chimera, Bellerophon shot a wedge of lead to the animal’s throat, where it melted on contact with her fiery breath, causing her to die of suffocation. Bardi reminds us that the Chimera was no monster but a goddess. Later accounts attempted to rationalize the myth, by claiming that she represented a volcano.

Readers will find all this and more in Bardi’s exhaustive study which includes a fascinating essay on the origins of the myth of the Chimera and the female archetype it represents, akin to both the Sphinx and the Great Mother. Citing both Freud and Joseph Campbell, he traces the recurrence of this archetype in religion and art from Mesopotamia to the present day, offering a psychoanalytical interpretation for the myth as an Oedipal rite of passage.

Thus far, we might say that in the Libro Della Chimera Bardi has assembled all the known facts and lore about this mystifying beast, along with a beautiful selection of photographs and drawings, but he goes even further, to make a momentous discovery of his own which may indeed lead us to solve the enigma of her essential meaning.

When the Chimera was pulled out of the earth, she was found to have a word engraved on her right foreleg TINSEVIL, which over the centuries has been interpreted in dozens of ways, related to the Etruscan god of thunder, Tin. Bardi conducts his own linguistic research on this term and finds connection with one of Europe’s most ancient and mysterious languages: Basque. From this he derives an extraordinary theory as to the Chimera’s true meaning and identity.

In many cultures letters and words are sacred, not mere abstract symbols of sounds, but seeds from which may germinate emotions, visions, entire universes. When spoken aloud or merely formulated in the mind, words can conjure gods and demons, materialize blessings or curses, shatter a brick wall into fragments or even make the limbs of a statue shudder to life. Such power may lie dormant in the word TINSEVIL, for it has also inspired Bardi’s newest literary project, a novel, about which soon I hope the world will have news.

Il Libro della Chimera is at present only available in Italian but much of the material can be found in English on his wonderful website Ugo Bardi Chimera Site 

The book in Italian may be purchased here
www.polistampa.com/asp/sl.asp?id=4441

Ugo Bardi, one of the most followed environmental bloggers in Italy, writes beautifully in English on some very scary topics about which he is expert: collapsing systems and planet plundering. Follow him here
www.cassandralegacy.blogspot.it

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

The war of the sexes: the origins of gender inequality


 The story of Scheherazade of the 1001 Arabian Nights is the quintessence of the "war of the sexes" and of how women tend to lose it. It is said that King Shahryar would have a new lover every night and every morning he would have her killed. He stopped only when Scheherazade started telling him stories. It shows, among other things, that males behave much better when they listen to females. Picture: Scheherazade and Shahryār by Ferdinand Keller, 1880


Some time ago, I was chatting at home with a friend who is a researcher specialized in "gender inequality". I asked her what were the ultimate origins of this inequality but we couldn't arrive at a conclusion. So, I happened to have in a shelf nearby a copy of the "Malleus Maleficarum", the book that Kramer and Sprenger wrote in the 16th century on the evils of witchcraft. I took it out and I opened it to the page where the authors dedicate several paragraphs to describe how evil women are. I read a few of these paragraphs aloud and my friend was so enraged that she left the room, without saying a word. Later on, she told me that she had done that to avoid telling me what she thought I deserved to be told just for keeping that book in my shelves. Maybe she was right, but the question of the origins of gender inequality remained unanswered (BTW, later on, we became friends again). 

Why are women so commonly discriminated in almost all cultures, modern and ancient? Of course, there are plenty of studies attempting to explain the reasons. It is an interdisciplinary field that mixes history, anthropology, psychology, social studies, and even more; you can spend your whole life studying it. So, I don't even remotely pretend to be saying something definitive or even deep on this subject. It is just that, after much thinking on this matter, I thought that I could share with you some of my conclusions. So, here is a narrative of how gender inequality developed over the centuries in Europe and in the Mediterranean world. I hope you'll find in it something worth pondering.

So, let's go back in time, way back; when does the phenomenon that we call "gender inequality" starts? You probably know that Marija Gimbutas has been arguing for a long time that the pre-literate ages in Europe were characterized by a form of matriarchy and by the predominance of the cult of a female goddess (or goddesses). That is, of course, debatable and it is hotly debated; there is very little that we have from those ancient times that can tell us how men and women related to each other. However, when we move to the first examples of literature we have, then we see at least hints of a different world that involved some kind - perhaps - if not female dominance at least a more assertive role of women. Indeed, the first text for which we know the name of the author was written by the Sumerian priestess Enheduanna at some moment during the second half of the third millennium BCE. From these ancient times, there comes a very strong voice: the voice of a woman asserting the rule of the Goddess Inanna over the pantheon of male Gods of her times, hinting at an even larger role of female goddesses in even more ancient times.

If we follow the millennia as they move onward, it seems that the voice of women becomes fainter and fainter. In Greece, we have Sappho of Lesbos, renown for her poetry, but she comes from a very early age; the seventh century BCE. As the Greek civilization grew and was absorbed into the Roman one, woman literates seem to dwindle. Of the whole span of the Western Roman civilization, we know of a modest number of literate women and there are only two Roman female poets whose works have survived to us. Both go with the name of Sulpicia and you probably never heard of them. As poetry goes, the first Sulpicia, who lived at the times of August, may be interesting to look at. The second one, living in later times, has survived in a few lines only because they are explicitly erotic. But but the point is that it is so little in comparison with so much Greek and Latin literature we still have. Women of those times may not have been really silent but, in literary terms, we just don't hear their voices.

On the other side of the sexual barrier, note how the "Malleus Maleficarum" bases its several pages of insult to women largely on classical authors, for instance, Cicero, Lactantius, Terence, and others; as well as on the early Christian fathers. It is not surprising for us to discover that, from the early imperial times to the early Middle Ages, most writers were woman-haters. They thought that sex was, at best, a necessary evil that one had to stand in order to ensure the perpetuation of humankind; but no more than that. Chastity, if one could attain it, was by far the best condition for man and woman alike and, for sure, sex with a woman was only a source of perversity and of debasement. An early Christian father, Origen (3rd century CE) is reported to have taken the matter to the extreme and castrated himself, although that's not certain and surely it never became popular.

With the decline and fall of the Western Roman Empire, there appeared something that had never existed before: the monastic orders. Never before so many men and women had decided that they wanted to live in complete separation from the members of the other sex. Read a book such as the "pratum spirituale" by 6th century CE the Byzantine monk John Moschos, and you get the impression that everyone at that time, males and females, were obsessed by sex; how to avoid it, that is. Chastity had never been considered a virtue before and, yet, now it had become the paramount one. At least, however, it seems that women had gained a certain degree of independence, seeking for chastity in their own ways and with a dignity of their own. Reading documents from that age, you get the well-defined impression that men and women had somehow decided that they wanted to avoid each other for a while. It was a pause that lasted several centuries. But why did that happen?

I think there are reasons, but to understand them we must go back to Roman times and try to understand what was the relationship between men and women at that age. And we may find that it was deeply poisoned by a sickness that pervaded the society of those times: social inequality and, in particular, the institution of slavery.

It is well known that the Roman Empire heavily based its wealth on the work of slaves. Their number is variously estimated as around 10% of the population, but it was larger in the richest regions of the empire. Probably, during the 1st century CE, some 30%-40% of the population of Italy was composed of slaves (1). Slavery was an integral part of the Roman economy and one of the main aims of the Roman military conquests was capturing of large numbers of foreigners, who then were turned into slaves.

Now, most slaves were male and were used for heavy or menial work, in agriculture, for instance. But many of them were female, and, obviously, young and attractive slaves, both male and female, were used as sex objects. Slaves were not considered as having rights. They simply were property. Caroline Osiek writes that (2).

To the female slave, therefore, honor, whether of character or of behavior, cannot be ascribed. The female slave can lay no claim to chastity or shame, which have no meaning. In the official view, she cannot have sensitivity toward chastity. Her honor cannot be violated because it does not exist. .. No legal recognition is granted to the sexual privacy of a female slave.

To have a better idea of how female slaves were considered in Roman times, we may turn to a late Roman poet, Ausonius (4th century CE) who had gained a certain notoriety in his times. He was not only a poet but an accomplished politician who had a chance to accompany Emperor Gratian in a military raid in Germania. From there, he returned with a Germanic slave girl named Bissula. He wrote a poem in her honor that says, among other things,

Delicium, blanditiae, ludus, amor, voluptas,barbara, sed quae Latias vincis alumna pupas,Bissula, nomen tenerae rusticulum puellae,horridulum non solitis, sed domino venustum.

that we can translate as

Delice, blandishment, play, love, desire,barbarian, but you baby beat the Latin girlsBissula, a tender name, a little rustic for a girla little rough for those not used to it, but a grace for your master

It is clear that Ausonius likes Bissula; we could even say that he is fond of her. But it is the same kind of attitude that we may have toward a domestic animal; a cat or a dog that we may like a lot, but that we don't consider our equal. Bissula was no more than a pet in terms of rights. It is true that her master was not supposed to mistreat her, and we have no evidence that he ever did. But she had strictly no choice in terms of satisfying him sexually. In this sense, she had no more rights than those pertaining to a rubber doll in our times. In modern terms, we can say that she was being legally raped. And nobody seemed to find this strange; so much that Ausonius' poem that described this legal rape was considered wholly normal and it was appreciated.

If we can still hear Ausonius' voice, we cannot hear that of Bissula. Probably, she couldn't read and write, to say nothing about doing that in proper Latin. So, what she thought of her master is anyone's guess. Was she happy that she was getting at least food and shelter from him? Or did she hate him for having been one of those who had, perhaps, exterminated her family and her parents? Did she ever dream of sticking a hairpin into Ausonius' eye? Perhaps; but we have no evidence that she ever did. If she had done something like that, by the way, she would have condemned to death all the slaves of Ausonius' household. The Roman law practiced a strict interpretation of the principle of common intention and when it happened that a slave killed his/her master, it required that all the slaves of that master were to be executed. And we know that this law was put into practice in several occasions.

So, we cannot hear Bissula's voice, just as we can't hear the voice of the millions of sex slaves that crossed the trajectory of the Roman Empire, from its foundation to its end in the 5th century CE. Exploited, without rights, probably turned to menial work whenever they got older and their masters lost interest in them, their voice is lost in the abyss of time and we can only imagine their plea. But, perhaps, we can get a glimpse of their feelings from their reflection on the other side; that of their masters who, in Imperial times, dedicated pages and pages of their writings at insulting women. Yes, because the silent side, that of the slaves, was not without weapons in the war that the masters were waging against them. The masters may have expected gratitude from them, perhaps even love. But they got only hatred and despise. Imagine yourself as Bissula. Do you imagine she could have loved Ausonius? And can you imagine how could she have taken some revenge on him? I am sure there were ways, even though we can't say whether Bissula ever put them into practice. No wonder that so many men in these times accused women of treachery. In the war of the sexes, the women had to use guerrilla tactics, and apparently they were doing that with some success.

If slavery turned woman slaves into sex objects, the resulting war of the sexes must have had negative effect also on free women. They were not supposed to be legally raped as the slaves, but surely they could not ignore what their husbands were doing (and, by the way, free Roman women were not supposed to rape their male slaves and, if they did, they were not supposed to write poems about how cute their male sex dolls were). Very likely, this situation poisoned the male/female relations of generations of Roman citizens. Thinking of that, we cannot be surprised of the avalanche of insults that Roman male writers poured on women (want an example? Seneca in his tragedies [11 (117)]: "when a woman thinks alone, she thinks evil")

That kind of poisoned relationship continued for a long time but, at a certain moment, not much later than Ausonius' times, the Empire ceased to be able to raid slaves from anywhere, and then it disappeared. Slavery didn't disappear with the Empire: we had to wait for the 19th century to see it disappear for good. But, surely, the whole situation changed and slaves were not any more so common. The Christian church took a lot of time before arriving to a clear condemnation of slavery, but turning people into sex toys was not seen any more as the obvious things to do. So, things changed a lot and we may understand how during Middle Ages men and women were taking that "pause." It was as if they were looking at each other, thinking "who should make the first move?" A shyness that lasted for centuries.

And then, things changed again. It was an impetuous movement, a reversal of the time of hatred between men and women: it was the time of courtly love. With the turning of the millennium, the amour courtois started to appear in Europe and it became all the rage. Men and women were looking again at each other; and they were looking at each other in romantic terms: they loved each other. The love between man and woman became a noble thing, a way to obtain enlightenment - perhaps better than chastity. From the Northern Celtic tradition, the legend of two lovers, Tristan and Iseult, burst into the literary scene. And it was a dam that gave way. Lancelot and Guinevere, then Dante and Beatrice, Petrarca and Laura, Ibn Arabi and Nizham. West European and Mediterranean poets couldn't think of anything better to express themselves than to dedicate them to noble women whom they loved and respected.

And we hear again the voice of women: and what a voice! Think of Heloise, pupil and lover of Abelard, the philosopher in a tragic love story that took place during the early 12th century. Heloise  burst onto the scene with unforgettable words: "To her master, nay father, to her husband, nay brother; from his handmaid, nay daughter, his spouse, nay sister: to Abelard, from Heloise. And if the name of wife appears more sacred and more valid, sweeter to me is ever the word friend, or, if you be not ashamed, concubine or whore." What can you say about this? I can only say that my lower jaw falls down as I utter "Wow!!"

It was a long journey from Heloise to our times. Long and tormented, just think that not much later than Heloise, the French mystic Marguerite Porete wrote her book "The mirror of the simple souls" in a style and content that reminds the works of the Sumerian Enheduana, four thousand years before. And Marguerite Porete was burned at the stake for what she had written. And, some centuries later, the war against females continued with the various witch hunts, fueled by books such as "The Malleus Maleficarum" (1520). And think that it was only in the second half of the 20th century that women were generally considered smart enough that they were allowed to vote in general elections. But we have arrived somewhere, to an age in which "gender inequality" is considered something wholly negative, to be avoided at all costs. An age in which, at least in the West, the idea that women are equal to men is obvious, or should be. And an age in which using woman slaves as sex toys is (or should be) considered as an absolute evil.

And yet, if history moves forward, it also moves along a tortuous road and sometimes it goes in circles. The similarities of our times and Roman ones are many. Certainly, we don't have slaves any more, not officially, at least. But that may not be so much a social and ethical triumph but a consequence of the fact that our society is much more monetarized than the Roman one. The need for money can easily make a man or a woman the monetary equivalent of a slave of Roman times. We call "sex workers" those people who engage in sex for money; they are supposed to be free men and free women, but freedom can only be theoretical when, if you really want it, you have to pay for it by starvation. And while the armies of the globalized empire do not raid any more the neighboring countries to bring back male and female slaves, it is the global financial power that forces them to come to the West. They have little choice but to leave countries ravaged by wars, droughts, and poverty. In general, the social equality that the Western World had been constantly gaining after the industrial revolution, seems to have stopped its movement. Since the 1970s, we are going in reverse, social inequalities are on the increase. Are we going to re-legalize slavery? It is not an impossible thought if you think that it was still legal in the US up to 1865.

So, maybe the rich elites of our times would again turn women into sex objects? Maybe they are doing that already. Think of Italy's leader, Silvio Berlusconi. Enough has been diffused of his private life for us to understand that he behaved not unlike Ausonius with his female toys, except that, luckily for us, he has not imposed on us some bad poetry of his.

So, is the war of the sexes going to restart? Are we going to see again the relations between men and women souring because of the deep inequality that turns women into sex toys? And maybe we are going to see the monastic orders returning and, perhaps, in a far future, a new explosion of reciprocal love? It is, of course, impossible to say. What we can say is that the world empire that we call "globalization" is all based on fossil fuels and that it is going to have a short life; very likely much shorter than that of the Roman Empire. Maybe the cycle will not be restarting, maybe it will; we cannot say. Humankind is engaged in a travel toward the future that is taking us somewhere, but we don't know where. Wherever we are going, the path is something we create with our feet as we march onward.

h/t: Elisabetta Addis



1. Harper, Slavery in the Late Roman World, AD 275-425. Cambridge University Press, 2011,

2. Carolyn Osniek, Female Slaves, Porneia and the limits to obedience, in "Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue" David Balch and Carolyn Osniek eds. Wm. Eedermans publishing Co. Cambridge, 2003



Sunday, February 28, 2016

The shadow line of narrative: on the failure of historical novels



I don't know how it was that, over a few rainy days of February, I found myself reading this novel by Juilene Osborne-McKnight. But, as the task is accomplished, I thought I might write a note about the experience. It was - I must say - a little tiresome.

I don't mean to say that the author of "I am of Irelaunde" didn't make a considerable effort to understand what Ireland could have looked like at the time of St. Patrick. But the final result is just flat. The plot continuously bounces from Patrick's first person narration and the Ireland of the Fianna warriors of the Fenian cycle. The two parts never really match with each other and Patrick's character comes up petulant in his continuous worrying about losing his chastity. The whole novel moves on with the same ease of a steam engine chugging on along a steep upgrade,

Is this a problem with this specific novel or general of historical novels? I think it is a general problem. Can you name a modern historical novel that takes place in a remote time and that's really, really good? I can't think of one (*). I can only think of reasonably good novels - or, at least, entertaining ones - that don't try do describe times older than one-two centuries. Think of the civil war, some 150 years ago. I have in front of me Connie Wilson's novel "Lincoln Dreams" - a very good story that bounces up and down from our times to those of the Civil War. And I can think of "Gone with the Wind", surely an entertaining novel. Conversely, I tried once to put together a novel that would have taken place in Florence, during the Renaissance. I know the place, I know the language, and I would have been describing people who might have been my ancestors. But, working on it, it turned out to be too difficult - impossible. Five hundred years are too much to bridge for me. Had I tried, the results could have been as bad as another novel taking place in the Florence of the Renaissance: "Cupid and the Silent Goddess" by Alan Fisk. Perhaps humankind might not have survived the existence of another novel as bad as that one.

So, there seems to be a barrier that limits what a novelist can do. To describe it, I could borrow Joseph Conrad's title, "The Shadow Line" to define a barrier that separates the manageable from the unmanageable in literary terms. And I also think that there is a logic in that shadow line being placed somewhere between a hundred and two hundred years in the past. It is in the fact that, no matter how literate our society has become, we are still people who speak with each other (even though speech may be replaced by "texting" one day, but we are not there, yet). And if we speak to each other, a lot of our knowledge comes from oral sources. So, it may well be that the shadow line corresponds to the time that our grandmothers lived as young children. The barrier that separates stories about real people from stories about the mythical world of the "dreamtime" of aboriginal Australians, where heroes and gods live.

And that's the whole point: whatever story comes from before the shadow line can work only if it is transformed into mythical narrative plots, fantasy in short, without attempting to be realistic. We just can't revive historical characters, such as Patrick of Ireland, whom by now live in the Dreamtime. It is the shadow line of narrative, also the shadow line of history.




(*) all rules have exceptions. In this case, the exception is "Memoirs of Hadrian", by Marguerite Yourcenar, set some 1800 years before the time of the author. But this is the work of a literary genius who defies rules and classifications