In Pompei There Lies A Gate

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I wanted mystery... A sinister foreshadowing. "Ahah!" I says to myself. "Self, you can get that with Bokeh2 and then use AlienSkin's SnapArt Oil Paint to hold all of the elements together.

And what you may wonder are all of those elements? Well here's another tiring picture of me seemingly lost in deep explanation.... You know, revealing the essence of an astonishing truth? And meantime there's this glow coming from within a room barred off to the public in the very heart of the ancient Roman city. Now how to meld them convincingly onto a story arc?

Meld, weld... whatever. The trick was to pull the two ancient images together seamlessly. And... and.... Well, what you think?

What Izzit?

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Here's a parking lot across the street from the entrance to Pompei. And here's a car that's not as old as the ruins - but, is it new? We were moving along with no time to stop and examine this thing. Now I wish I'd at least looked at its name. It looks like a fun four door. But it also looks as if it could get pretty crowded in there, eh?

Anyone know what this thing is? Or for that matter, how to track it down on the search engines? It looks to be totally illegal in the United States, land of the MONSTER CAR! Many of you know that I drive a VW Beetle. The Beetles I saw in Italy looked like large cars next to things like the one I've posted here. And this wasn't the smallest. There are cars there which have motorcycle licenses and are banned from driving on the turnpikes because, I suppose, they are so tiny?

This one is a honey. I'd trade in my VW for something like this. Only I have no idea what this thing is. Help anyone?

Something Unusual

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So many of you on different forums and in email have commented upon yesterday's image that I decided to do something unusual for me. i'm posting a raw, un-enhanced, right-outta-my-camera, photograph.... YIPES!

This is a slightly different angle of yesterday's image. I was somewhat wrong in my description yesterday. Apparently the water still flowed from left to right down to the pond. But the twin trenches seemed to fill a small lake around this structure. See how the kids could have sat on stones on either side. And see how four, not twin sets of steps led down to the water. I imagine children may have waded into the water around the pool as well.

Remember they had no pumps so this was fresh clean spring water. I do wonder what that projection is atop the structure. It appears to be metal. But someone told me that no metal objects survived the thousands of years that Pompeii was buried. Perhaps it was added in modern times (the uncovering of this city began in the 1700s).

You can also see the liberties I take with my images here. The lighting in this shot was identical to yesterday's. This is a tad like the magician showing how the lady was sawed in two. Oh well, what do you think?

Stairway To

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You'll find this stone structure in the garden behind a home that's been dug free of Vesuvius's wrath. It sits on a grassy island covered by a canopied strip of grass and vegetation that's about 40' long between two channels that are each about a foot deep (marble lined).

At one end up to the left there may have been a small waterfall filling the channels which ran down the length to flow into a fish pond at the right end. This toy marble structure of steps and patios sits halfway between the pond and the waterfall and the steps in the foreground apparently led down right into the water.

How big was it?

Take a look at the dead leaves on either side of the steps. They are not from some mutant giant tree, but normal oak leaves. I imagine children sat on the stones in the foreground, their feet in the water and played with soldiers or dolls on the steps probably loading them into toy boats which would be cast adrift to find their way into the fish pond. It mimics the action toy trains of today. Kids could start their boats on either side of this thing (the steps on the other side of this structure were identical, also leading into the water) or maybe farther up by the waterfall, and watch them flow and sail on the current down to the pond. Maybe they'd race them in the separate canals. They probably had toy furniture that sat on the patios, perhaps this was a wonderful outdoor dollhouse or boy's fort (accounting for some of the scrapes on the decks).

I'm guessing the structure's at least a couple of millennia old. A backyard play set on a lush garden strip under a canopy for the kids behind a warm, seaside mansion under an endless summer sky. You can sense the ghosts of the children who, thanks to Vesuvius, never became adults. Well, I could... kinda... especially in that light. And this garden strip was surrounded first with a grape-trellised patio and beyond that a tiny orchard filled with fruit trees.

It looked so new, as if made for children just yesterday... but it was a long time till that yesterday, huh?

There's a poem here, I wish someone would write it.

SOMEONE HAS...

Incase you missed this in the comments below, Michael McMurma created...

Blogger mcmurma said...

The stone here speaks in whispers
and echoes, full of laughter
of the waters revealing glances
and softened reflections
on the smiles of a hundred children
splashing by.

Drinking water from a common cup
we shared a bread
with the taste of honey
and strolled together
towards the twilight, dancing
in the company of fireflies.

No, they were not her children
or mine
but their smiles are ours forever.

Steps To?

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Around the corner from yesterday in Pompeii, some stairs. Sloppy masonry,no? Do you think that Malvinicus had a slave contracting service? I wonder how many sestares these things set somebody back? I also wonder how old they were when Vesuvius packed them away for our viewing pleasure? Did Romans look at them and say, "Ewwwww!"... old stuff. Or were they new arrivals, hardly used? Judging by the wear on the steps, I'm guessing they'd been around for a while and were part of the morning gridlock. I wonder what a Pompeii traffic jam was like? You think the slaves backed up? You think Malvinicus used traffic as an excuse for getting things done late?

So What's The Deal With Old?

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Here's a street in Pompeii. Old? Hmmmmm...

Suppose I sculpted two pigs out of marble. then suppose I wrapped one of them in plastic, stuck it into another marble, waterproof container, filled it full of those little non-biodegradable plastic peanuts used in packing, and sealed it tight. Then suppose I buried it. Two thousand years from now someone digs it up, opens the box, pulls away the plastic and looks at my pig.

Back to the other pig. Remember, I didn't do anything to protect it, just let the elements age that little cutie. Now, should the digger-upper be able to compare that unboxed, unwrapped piggy... with its twin: which would be older? Which would seem older?

"What difference does it make... the "seem" thing, Ted?"

Glad you asked that. Pompeii was packed in pumice. Some parts of it look about as old as the ruins of the Bayan Plantation's mansion in Hilton Head, South Carolina. They've been crumbling for about a century and a half. I could post a picture of them which looks every bit as old as this Pompeii street. Maybe older.

So, what's old got to do with it? What is the fascination with Pompeii?

"Well gosh Ted, it's like a telephone connection back 2000 years."

And your point is? I mean, what is the romance that surrounds the merely old? Do we need it to invent stories like this one I told a while back?


Why are we surprised that people who were biologically identical to us were able to build streets, walls and doorways? Of course I felt a certain reverential awe on that street in Pompeii. But the stark juxtaposition of this radiant modern sign against the walls which time and pumice scoured almost free of color caught my attention more dramatically than the street itself.

So... what is the lure of things that seem old? How do they speak so grippingly to the human condition that we stare... the same way we stare at zoo animals? Is that it? Are Pompeii and the battlefield at say Gettysburg sort of like giraffes that we can visit? Or is it the people who we imagine walking down this street who are really the giraffes?

Perhaps it's amazement that attracts us to old things. Are we amazed that they left buildings which look so much like things we can build, or are we amazed that they stopped building them? Or do we sense that there are answers here to questions we find hard to ask?

Fact is the Roman Civilization failed. We have rebuilt their burnt out culture. Have we done a more permanent job? Or will our ghosts be someone else's giraffes or scuplted piggies in a time long long to come, and far far away?

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GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 10/03/07:5:14 pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 26mm, Exp 1/60%5.6, ISO 200, Metering Mode: average, Expoure bias 0, Camera RAW

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Does Everytime Face A Vesuvius?

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Is there a Vesuvius always waiting just down the lane? Is there a force so potentially dreadful which some gentle Summer day might erupt over all or any of us? Does it wait over there looking mellow yet very very large?

On that August 29th in 79 AD this view was abruptly different. That mound at the end of the lane burst upon every plan, dream, and aspiration in Pompeii. It causes us to wonder whether there’s a force so potentially dreadful that some peaceful day can erupt all over any of us? Does it wait somewhere overlooked until it stops time? Should we concern ourselves with what we cannot possibly control?

And even if a personal Vesuvius lurks somewhere, does that lessen our responsibility to control what we can? To create, prosper, share, and succeed even in the shadow of inevitable things?

You wonder about that as you look down this ancient street at a primal force so massive, yet so wickedly calm.

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 10/03/07:4:38pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 56mm, Exp 1/12@f/7.1, ISO 200, Metering Mode: Pattern, Expoure bias -1, Camera RAW

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NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Temple Of Isis

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Multi flavored adoration was as much for sale just off of the streets of Pomeii as in any modern city. It was hard to walk more than a block without finding a different brand of faith. Is there something within us which simultaneously hunts for a divine solution to our challenges but demands that our personal solution be different from the suspiciously superstitious beliefs of the next guy?

The religious wars apparently flourished in Pompeii and exotic foreign faiths like this temple to the Egyptian diety Isis sat close to churches channeling the gods of the Romans and Greeks. Today in the West there seems to be a more consistent agreement upon which god to adore, but now the devil is in the details, eh?

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NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Claudio Marcello's Font

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In 67 AD a massive earthquake jiggled the prosperous city of Pompeii, cracking walls and massive marble columns leaving debris everywhere and challenging its people and the Roman empire to begin a major cleanup and restoration job. It was still underway on the mid day of August 29, 79 AD. See the repairs to the walls in the back ground of this image, and the gouges in the columns?

On that day in August Pompeii’s name became inextricably linked with another name… Vesuvius. Along with the smaller city of Herculaneum, Pompeii was startled at first then buried in layers of silt which carefully preserved its history up until 79 AD.

Over the last three centuries excavators have revealed places like Claudio Marcello’s gift to his city of a public square.
>I know it was Claudio Marcello from this curiously preserved marble plaque with his name as its patron (note how the plaque’s carver ran out of room on the right). Marble work which matches this font is once again basking in the mid-day light about two thousand years after the still smoldering Vesuvius stored this vessel away for us to enjoy.

By the way, Vesuvius will erupt again, and if the winds are the same, Claudio Marcello's square will get packed away once more.