Milette Gaifman

Aniconism: definitions, examples and comparative perspectives

ABSTRACT This introductory essay to this thematic issue on aniconism argues for the value of considering various forms of aniconism side by side. It summarizes briefly the historiography of the terms ‘aniconism’ and ‘aniconic,’ noting that they originate in the work of Johannes Adolph Overbeck, who coined the expressions anikonisch and Anikonismus. It considers current definitions and proposes ‘aniconism’ be used to denote divine presence without a figural image in religious practice, in the visual arts, and in visual culture more broadly. It then discusses three instances of aniconism from Greek antiquity: the cult of Aphrodite in Paphos, the pillar of Zeus depicted on a 4th-century BCE vase, and the seats of Zeus and Hekate on the island of Chalke. These examples illustrate some of the challenges that face the student of aniconism, particularly the difficulty in assessing the nature of an aniconic monument. The discussion then turns to the manner in which the terms are deployed and understood today. It notes the strong association between aniconism and the earliest phases of a particular visual tradition, the view of aniconism as a lesser mode of denoting divine presence, and the perception that aniconic worship is connected with an increased spirituality. Finally, the article highlights some of the common themes that emerge from the contributions to this thematic issue, including the need to consider various forms of aniconism and to expand the range of phenomena that can be regarded as aniconic.

Timelessness, fluidity, and Apollo’s libation

in manipulating slippery materials, whether clay on the potter’s wheel or glazes and slips. The entire procedure was dependent on the degree of malleability of the raw material, which was determined by the ratio between the wet and the dry. Different degrees of dampness allowed for different actions. For instance, in order to shape a pot on a wheel, the clay must be wetter than when articulating silhouettes of figures on the formed vessel prior to firing. This may seem a trivial point, yet the interactions between wet and dry elements during the production processes determine the material nature of ceramics at the most basic level. This trait of the materiality of vases underscores their affinity with works made of molten malleable materials, such as bronze statuary.4 Indeed, it is not surprising to encounter an entire class of Greek painted vessels, known as plastic vases, that incorporates sculpted elements.5 This observation is an important reminder against the tendency to view Greek painted vases as analogous to two-dimensional paintings, as when Johann Joachim Winckelmann, the father of the discipline of art history, stated that a collection of these vases is a treasure trove of drawings.6 Along similar lines, Greek pots are often seen as reflective of developments in Greek wallpainting,7 whereas Sir John D. Beazley’s foundational contribution to the study of Greek vases is derived from the connoisseurship of painting.8 There are clear affinities This special issue of RES invites us to view artworks as portals to a lost affective life, and confront the problem of their unknowable origins.1 It calls upon us to think metaphorically about our objects of study as sources, streams, or fountains rather than as dry traces of the creative process. When we accept this challenge, and attempt to consider Greek painted pots in this light, the metaphorical brings to mind the literal. Many if not most Greek vases were containers of liquids, at least potentially. This possible function shaped not only their form, but also their affective force and viewers’ interactions with them. More than that, the creation of Greek pottery was dependent on the interactions between wet and dry substances. In this paper I take a closer look at some of the ways in which the dynamics between fluids and dry matter impacted the visual experience afforded by Greek vases. My primary focus is a well-known vase, currently on display at the Archaeological Museum of Delphi (fig. 1),2 yet I begin by considering some features of Greek pottery relevant to the subject. Let us turn the potter’s workshop. As we imagine mounds of clay, pails of water, slips and glazes, the wheel, and the kiln, and consider the dynamics between the wet and the dry, it becomes almost self-evident that the making of vessels involved a gradual and complex transformation of malleable, moist substance into a firm pot.3 The creation of any given vase required great skill Timelessness, fluidity, and Apollo’s libation