Working on the iconography of music leads one not only to wonder what methods or strategies an artist specializing in the visual arts can employ to make sounds heard, but also to discuss the cultural skills of the viewer (Vendries 2021, 40–46). In other words, when it comes to “seeing music”, is the viewer supposed to ‘hear’ some sound suggested by the representation of a musical instrument in use? To be persuaded by Carolyn Lafferrière’s interpretations of artworks, one must accept that this was the intention of the artist. Unfortunately, this is not fully demonstrated, and consequently, the reader is often left wondering whether the author’s analysis reveals an ancient experience or the projection of a modern sensation. In the end, this indecision is not resolved, despite the author’s efforts to accompany the reader step by step. Nevertheless, the corpus gathered here is rich and relevant — we find some often neglected representations alongside very famous vases — and some of the author’s readings offer original perspectives.
The book is divided into five parts, with each focused on a type of image (mostly vases, but also reliefs) closely related to a certain musicking (or music-loving) divinity, with interpretations of the imagery in its context of use. We must indeed be grateful to the author for having taken this last aspect into account, even if the analysis does not always consider all parameters. Each chapter deals with the way the artist represents the sound interactions between the divinity and the characters who surround him, as well as the background decor. The approach is fully in line with the methodology of music iconography, archaeology of cult and sensory studies, but could have been strengthened by using scholarship from the anthropology of religions, which questions the representation of divine music in other cultures, especially how much the divine music might be a projection of human music. Indeed, Laferrière declares that the musical scenes involving gods must not be seen as “idealized extensions of human music-making” (p. 6). But this idea of a specificity of divine music becomes less clear, as the only differences between deities and human identified by the author are the following: the musical skills of deities are emphasized more than that of humans, and deities never have to be taught music, as if this knowledge were innate, for example, as expressed in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.
The first chapter is devoted to votive reliefs showing Pan playing the syrinx with choruses of nymphs inside a cave. The author is particularly interested in those dating from the 4th century BCE, some of which were discovered in the excavations of the Vari cave on the Hymettus hill in Attica. By studying the eye contact between the figures and their placement in the cave, the author tries to show that the choruses of Nymphs dance in response to the syrinx of the goat-god who, notably, is often represented in a smaller size. This interpretation, however, is problematic when Pan is depicted on the walls of the cave, like Acheloos, who evokes the presence of water there: we rather have the impression that Pan is integrated into the surrounding nature, with his herd. According to the author, the cave is an environment particularly appropriate to intense sensory experiences, as it provides the effect of a sound box and the visitors may have applied their own experience to the reliefs they were looking at. This is undoubtedly a very stimulating point, but although the author presents the archaeological context, she makes no reference to a crucial point, the lighting in the cave. Since the reliefs were in the dark, and stuck in the walls, we can hardly expect visitors to access the images and reconstruct easily their sonic atmosphere without adequate lightning (torches or lamps). Conversely, darkness makes sounds disturbing and favors the feeling of the presence of the divine, which the sculptors might have suggested by placing Pan on the wall. Therefore, it would have been relevant to address this issue of lighting/darkness. The chapter insists on the idea that on these reliefs Pan plays the role of intermediary between the divine and the viewers; the author applies this reading to another type of object, a marble naiskos of Cybele (Athens, NAM, inv. 3358), on the left anta of which Pan is depicted with a syrinx (p. 39). Considering that the female and male figures depicted at the foot of both antae are worshippers, she argues that the god’s music includes the viewer. However, a similar naiskos depicted on another relief (Athens, NAM, inv. 1554), where Pan is absent, proves that the two figures on the antae are Hermes Kadmilos and Hekate, not worshippers. Therefore, we wonder whether the image of Pan must systematically be interpreted as a musical performance involving the viewer or a symbol of the mysterious sounds of the cave and its wild environment.
In the second chapter, the author examines libation scenes involving Apollo, where he holds a stringed instrument (lyre or kithara) in his left hand and a phialē in his right. Relying on the work of Milette Gaifman (2018), Laferrière assumes that the wine poured from the phialē indicates a rhythm that can echo the divine music, particularly on vases used in banquets from which liquid actually flows: the lexical proximity of spondē (libation), spondee (rhythm composed of two longs) and spondeion (air accompanying libations) suggests that there is indeed a rhythmos in the libation, as the etymology rheō / rhythmos further underlines. On some vases, Apollo is touching the strings with his left hand and therefore one can admit that a sound escapes from them. This, however, cannot be equivalent to the playing with a plectrum, so we find it an overstatement to claim that the god is “actively playing” (p. 75). As the author indicates (p. 85), the meaning of such divine libation scenes has been widely discussed in scholarship: the phialē may symbolize the medium between human beings and gods; the scene may represent a mythical episode; the libation may be an affirmation of the divinity; the scene may evoke a particular link with human practice; the scene reflects the place of libations in the socio-cultural context of the 5th century BCE. These readings are not necessarily mutually exclusive. The idea of a visual rhythm, symbolized by the phialē and the instrument, is all the more justified since, when we have inscriptions accompanying an instrument, they are directed towards the ground, like wine poured on the earth. The author could have relied more on the so-called nonsense inscriptions (Chiarini 2018), depicted alongside musical instruments, to delve deeper into this type of strategy of imitating sounds that involves the viewer, since these inscriptions were to be read aloud (Perrot 2022). Elsewhere, other statements evoke skepticism, like the interpretation of the bell kratēr in London (BM, inv. E 502: Beazley Archive Pottery Database [BAPD] 215310), which depicts on one face Apollo holding the kithara in the left hand and pouring wine from a phialē in the right hand onto the Delphic omphalos, while face B shows three young men. To make a link between both representations, the author writes that “the image evokes for the viewer the sanctuary at Delphi, where the Athenians sent theōriai to perform musical hymns, often the paean, for the god as part of their veneration” (p. 89). However, this is an anachronism, since the paeans she refers to were performed in 128/127 BCE: we have no attestation of Athenian processions to Delphi in the 5th century BCE. Similarly, to support her thesis of a “particularly powerful engagement with its ancient viewer” on the Attic white-ground cup found at Delphi (BAPD 5522) with Apollo holding a lyre and a phialē, she writes that “so long as the libation remains suspended in the air and does not splash upon the earth, Apollo’s music will continue to resound” (p. 104–105), but the folded fingers suggest that the god has muffled the sound of the strings.
In the third chapter, which still deals with Apollo and his audience, the author focuses on qualities common to the theory of music and that of painting: rhythmos (and eurhythmeia), symmetria and harmonia, although the text lacks an in-depth discussion of the meaning of these terms. This chapter first presents some vases illustrating the relationships that Apollo maintains with other divinities, but also with non-human beings, since among the examples chosen are the Vatican hydria (inv. 16568: BAPD 201984) with Apollo seated on a tripod flying above the sea from which dolphins are jumping, and several others where a doe or stag is depicted (Athens, Agora Museum, inv. P9275: BAPD 7833), or a doe/stag and a panther (BM, inv. E 256: BAPD 201543); similarly, the author associates music with the growth of plants, particularly vine leaves and flowers (BM, inv. B681: BAPD 352297; New York, Met., inv. 98.8.13: BAPD 310427). The overall aim is to show the effect that Apollo’s music has on these beings, creating a space of peace and harmony. The author introduces vases depicting the birth of Athena into this series insofar as the goddess, springing from the head of Zeus fully armed, immediately becomes an audience for Apollo’s music. Such scenes may have a political significance, highlighting the link between Athena, Zeus, Apollo, and the city of Athens under the Peisistratids and later during the time of the Delian League. Music would then be an aspect of social unity. This chapter is the most convincing of all, despite some errors of detail.[1]
The fourth chapter aims to study the groups of Muses. This series poses a real difficulty: if there is no inscription (with the exception of those on the François vase, BAPD 300000), Muses cannot be distinguished from female groups comprised of mortals. In this respect, the author unfortunately gives in to an old, but persistent, tendency to interpret representations of female musicians as hetairai, even outside the sympotic framework. This overly sexual reading is also seen in her analysis of a pyxis (Athens, NAM, inv. 1241: BAPD 2097) where Apollo is seated holding his lyre on his thigh, taking it as a “phallic lyre” and an allusion to the sexual act (p. 174). In this chapter, the author relies significantly on Attic white-ground vases with some bibliographical gaps on this corpus (Kurtz 1975; Giudice 2015), especially on the question of patronage. Since the technique was fragile and more expensive, they were mostly commissioned works, and the purchaser may have given specific indications to the painter on what he wanted to be depicted: this would have been an opportunity to question the engagement with the viewer. The difficulty in distinguishing between mythical and historical figures is clearly seen on the Boston pyxis (MFA, inv. 98.887: BAPD: 209554), where scholars (including Laferrière) now recognize the encounter between Archilochus (previously interpreted as Hesiod) and the Muses.[2] But this pyxis shows the limits of the author’s approach: while it belongs to the funerary sphere, the author defends the idea that the lyre seen from the front would be an invitation to imagine the hymn performances in the sanctuary, without observing that the right hand of the Muse on the left is held immobile by the strap, which should be behind the instrument. One doubts the painter’s intention to make sounds heard, otherwise he would have been more vigilant; note that the aulos player has the reeds placed as if entering the nostrils.
The last chapter deals with Dionysiac scenes (some reference works are missing on this topic: Osborne 1997; Moraw 1998; Fahlbusch 2004), the particularity of which is that the god Dionysos is rarely represented playing music. There are only five occurrences (Castaldo 2003), including the famous kylix in the Cabinet des Médailles (inv. 576: BAPD 203913) showing Dionysos with a barbitos and two satyrs playing krotala. The author sees something “striking and puzzling” (p. 201) in the fact that such a music-loving god is rarely represented playing himself, but it has been shown that artists strictly divide the areas of expertise (music on the one hand, wine on the other hand) between Apollo and Dionysos (Restani 1989; Lissarrague 1996). She also highlights certain strategies in image composition to suggest that the god is not indifferent to music: for example, the instruments touch the god’s body on a vase in the Thorvaldsen Museum in Copenhagen (inv. H 572: BAPD 9955). She questions then the Dionysiac scenes in relation to the Apollonian scenes that she interpreted in terms of eurhythmeia and harmony: she insists that music has a much more pronounced effect on the bodies of those who listen to it. To support this idea, she refers to a peculiar plastic figurine: Dionysos holds a handled rhyton (BM, inv. E 785: BAPD 7870), which depicts Apollo with a kithara, Hermes, Artemis (?) playing the krotala, and Aphrodite holding a bird. According to her, they dance, “asserting through their movements their devotion to Dionysos” (p. 218). We may wonder whether this reading has always been adopted by the drinkers who used this vessel, since the upper part of the vase was broken at some point and repaired in a way that the heads of the deities have all disappeared, as has the top of the kithara. In general, the dynamism of Dionysiac scenes suggests a greater effect of music on the bodies to the point that Dionysos is sometimes represented as a dancer, but elsewhere seems indifferent, maintaining control. From this perspective, the Dionysiac scenes can be the occasion for the viewer to experience the transgressive upheaval of social boundaries.
In short, the book provides a significant effort to question the engagement of the ancient artefacts with their viewers, bringing together a relevant corpus, but despite the interesting remarks on details, the reader is often skeptical. Most of the author’s readings are based on the presupposition that the ancients saw the vases as we do today. Despite the author’s efforts to situate the artworks into their context of exhibition or use, the discussion fails to convince because certain aspects are not taken into account. In general, the author underestimates chronological evolutions, so that certain singularities highlighted by research do not appear, such as the disappearance of the figure of Apollo kitharoidos in the 5th century BCE. In sum, although some conclusions may need further discussion, the book provides a valuable attempt to a better understanding of classical Greek imagery concerning music.
Bibliography
Castaldo, D. (2003) “Dionysus and the Music: Notes on the Musical Iconography”, Journal of Intercultural and Interdisciplinary Archeology, I, n.p.
Chiarini, S. (2018) The So-called Nonsense Inscriptions on Ancient Greek Vases. Between Paideia and Paidiá, Leiden: Brill.
Fahlbusch, G. (2004) Die Frauen im Gefolge des Dionysos auf attischen Vasenbildern des 6. und 5 Jhs.v. Chr. als Spiegel des weiblichen Idealbildes, Oxford: Hedges.
Gaifman, M. (2018) The Art of Libation in Classical Athens, New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Giudice, E. (2015) Il tymbos, la stele, la barca di Caronte: l’immaginario della morte sulle lekythoi funerarie a fondo bianco, Rome: L’Herma di Bretschneider.
Kurtz, D. (1975) Athenian White Lekythoi. Patterns and Painters, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Lissarrague, F. (1996) “Dionysos mousicos: une note”, in Trent’anni di richerche musicologiche. Studi in onore di F. Alberto Gallo (eds.) P. Dalla Vecchia and D. Restani, 355–381. Rome: Edizioni Torre d’Orfeo.
Moraw, S. (1998) Die Mänade in der Vasenmalerei des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., Mainz: von Zabern.
Osborne, B. (1997) “The Ecstasy and the Tragedy: Varieties of Religious Experience in Art, Drama and Society”, in Greek Tragedy and the Historian (ed.) C. Pelling, 187–212. Oxford: University Press.
Perrot, S. (2022), “What Makes an Image Sound? The Ancient Greek Point of View”, Music in Art 47, 5–22.
Restani, R. (1989) “Dionysos tra aulos e kithara: un percorso di iconografia musicale”, in Dionysos, Mito e Mistero (eds.) F. Berti and C. Gasparri, 379–395. Ferrara: Liberty House.
Sarti, S. (1992) “Gli strumenti musicali di Apollo”, AION 14, 95–104.
Vendries, C. (2021), “Un instrument de musique peut en cacher un autre. Réflexions sur l’iconographie musicale romaine”, introduction to the dossier Représenter la musique dans l’Antiquité, Musique. Images. Instruments 18, 12–46.
Wilson, P. (2004), “Athenian Strings”, in Music and the Muses: The Culture of the Mousike in the Classical Athenian City (eds.) P. Murray and P. Wilson, 269–306, Oxford: University Press.
Notes
[1] For instance, p. 122, the kollopes are not pegs (passaliskoi in Greek), but a strip of leather wrapped around the instrument’s crossbar.
[2] The author speaks of lyre or phorminx-lyre for what is commonly called a cradle kithara.