“In Dreams Begin Responsibilities”

“I woke with this marble head in my hands; / It exhausts my elbows and I don’t know where to put it down. / It was falling into the dream as I was coming out of the dream / So our life became one and it will be very diffi cult for it to separate again,” wrote George Seferis about his relationship with art from antiquity (1). Traversing the edges of time has long been the domain of artists and poets, who view history as a continuous process not to be fragmented and labeled “ancient” as if somehow interrupted or expired (2). “The art of [marble] sculpture is much older than that of painting or bronze statuary,” wrote Pliny the Elder (23–79 CE) (3). Early sculptors worked on marble with point chisels, punches, and stone abrasives. Repeated vertical blows shattered crystals deep into the stone, altering the outer gloss. Because statues were painted, the opaque surface benefi ted pigment application. On the Acropolis, the fi rst marble statues appeared more than two thousand years ago (4). They were votives, mostly maidens called kores but also young men, kouri. Some were inscribed with the names of artists; others, with dedications. They represented the donor or a deity, a renowned athlete, or the deceased if intended for a gravesite. They dominated art of the archaic period (750–500 BCE). Thousands have been excavated from various sites. Neither gods nor mortals, kores and kouri embodied physical perfection accessible to both. They were free-standing, the earliest such examples of large stone images of the human form in the history of art (5). Their arms were separated from the torso, the legs from each other. Tense and fi lled with life, they had various faces and expressions, their individuality foreshadowing portraiture. Their large eyes stared directly ahead, and they were injected with emotion, the stylized “archaic smile,” signifying not happiness but emerging humanity. They wore fl owing garments, carefully delineated, and appeared refreshed and carefree, as if suddenly become aware of themselves. The best-known of these fi gures, Moschophoros (calf-bearer), on this month’s cover, represented the donor, a nobleman named Romvos as inscribed on the base. The fi gure, found in fragments on the grounds of the Acropolis near the sanctuary of the Temple of Athena, has none of the masklike quality of earlier kouri. Though he has their usual left-foot-forward stance and stylized tufted hair, Moschophoros is not a youth but a mature man with a beard. His fi tted cloak was likely painted in vivid colors as were the lips and hair. “The hollow eyes ... once held inlays of semi-precious stones (mother-of-pearl, gray agate, and lapis lazuli) that would have given the face a strikingly realistic appearance” (6). Romvos is carrying an animal for sacrifi ce on the altar of Goddess Athena, a formidable fi xture of the Hellenic pantheon known for its temperamental deities and countless demigods and their descendents. Their origins and relationships with humans were fodder for myths and art through sculpture and elaborate iconography. Gods gave gifts and favors. Humans offered votives as thanks, atonement, entreaty, or worship. Sacrifi ce (from sacrifi cium [sacred] + facere [make] = to make sacred) was a central part of religious practice during festivals and feast days. The ritual was performed in well-defi ned space within a temple sanctuary. Some feasts were Pan-Hellenic and included processions and athletic competitions. “There are sanctuaries of Hermes Kriophoros,” wrote Pausanias, describing the city of Tanagra. “... Hermes averted a