Pompeii No.56: The Tympanum

In Pompeii No. 41, I showed the pediment above the kitchen door thusly, asking my readers whether its interior should be left plain or ornamented. The unanimous response was that the tympanum (properly identified by Jim of The Road to Parnassus) should be ornamented, and so by popular demand, that's the project for this week.

click to enlarge

My first tympanum drafting was "A," but the more I looked at it, the more those leaf scrolls reminded me of a Victorian furniture design. So I redesigned the tympanum as "B," which has a more graceful and authentically Greek feel to it. (The Pompeians were looking to ancient Greece for inspiration.) Incidentally, all parts of the mural have been worked out in tracings like the examples above.

www.buffaloah.com

The architectural decoration above is called an akroter, and is found at the apex of gables on classical buildings, especially Greek temples. Within the typical akroter is an element called the palmette, which I'm incorporating into my own design.

Ercolano-Green by Richard Ginori  |  www.klatmagazine.com

This handsome plate also features palmettes.

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The finished tympanum — a look one doesn't often see above a kitchen door. Thanks to my readers for encouraging me to add it!

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Pompeii No.23: The 4 Styles

Pompeian murals fall into one of four styles of decoration, and I thought this would be a good point in the Pompeii Room project to stop and talk about them. I'll do an abbreviated description of the four styles, and then you can determine for yourself how my own mural would be characterized (bearing in mind that it's still a work in progress).

The earliest Pompeian murals were meant to appear as a rich masonry, though they were in fact faux granite and marble in stucco relief. The wall below was scored in three dimensions, and what remains of the trompe l'oeil marble is almost lost.

studyblue.com

Below is another example of the First Style (also called Masonry Style).

www.accla.org

Grand Illusions  |  Phaidon  |  Cass  |  Leighton  |  1988

Above is a detail of a 1982 Art Deco wall by the great contemporary muralist, Richard Haas. Some of Pompeii's First Style surfaces probably looked a lot like Haas' rendition of marble.

The Second Style (also called Architectural or Illusionist Style) was an artisitic revolution. The Pompeian rooms, which usually did not receive a lot of light, were now painted to bring the outdoors inside, and to give the illusion of opened space. The home of P. Fannius Synistor (which is the inspiration for my own room) included a bedroom (cubiculum) with an imaginary cityscape, below.

click to enlarge  |  Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, spring, 2010

You can see a landscape in the background of Synistor's room, and some of the Second Style murals carried that one step further, with lovingly detailed gardens, like the one below.

click to enlarge  |  Pompeii: The Last Day  |  Wilkinson  |  2003

An important element throughout the Second Style was trompe l'oeil details. Bowls of fruit, vases of flowers and musical instruments abounded. Below, the scroll, ink pot, wax tablets and piles of coins were a not-too-subtle reminder of the homeowner's education and wealth.

click to enlarge  |  The Art of Pompeii  |  Magagnini  |  de Luca 

Another facet of the Second Style was the depiction of monumental figures, and there's no better or more famous example than the Salon of Mysteries, in the Villa of the Mysteries, below.

sites.davidson.edu

The Third Style (also called Ornate Style) was a reaction to the open vistas of the Second Style. The Pompeians were ready to reclaim and flatten most of the wall space that they had once opened up.

Pompeii   |   Coarelli   |   Riverside  |  2002

Typical of the Third Style were pictures mounted on candelabra, small paintings centered on blank panels, and fantasy architectural details that were thin and elongated — all shown above.

click to enlarge  |  www.boundless.com  |  monm.edu

Walls of the Third Style were often barer and more stylized than my first example, such as these two. In the Third Style, the colors red, black and deep yellow predominated.

The Fourth Style is the culmination of all the previous styles, and probably because so much of Pompeii was rebuilt after an earthquake in 62 A.D., it's the style most often found in Pompeii.

Pompeii   |   Coarelli   |   Riverside  |  2002

The Fourth Style incorporated all three previous styles. Walls were usually divided into three or five panels of flat colors, but some vistas opened up, revealing fantasy architecture with elongated forms. Both of these handsome rooms are from the House of the Vetti, and in the bottom room you can see a wainscoting that's a nod to the First Style.

Pompeii   |   Coarelli   |   Riverside  |  2002

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The Finest Cafeteria in the South

"The Finest Cafeteria in the South." So says an early postcard of St. Petersburg's Tramor Cafeteria, built in 1929.

A prime example of Mediterranean Revival architecture, the interior was designed to resemble the patio of a Spanish hacienda, complete with arches, balconies and a condiment station that could just as easily be a fountain. The ceiling is a painted sky, just as it was in 1929.

Back in the 1930s a small band would play on the balcony seen below. I wonder if lunch patrons ever danced to the music? I'll bet they did.

In 1980, the St. Petersburg Times (now the Tampa Bay Times) bought the Tramor and renovated it. The Tramor reopened as a staffer's cafeteria in 1985, and I've had many meals there. For a little privacy, the balcony area was always a good choice (below).

The publisher requested that I design a sign for the entrance, and I created this image, which is about five feet wide, maybe a little wider.

I wanted to convey a 1930s atmosphere, so I used a typeface called Mona Lisa. It was originally designed by Albert Auspurg in the 1930s, and updated for modern use in 1991 by Pat Hickson.

You'll notice that there are no people in these photographs and that this wonderful landmark looks quite bare. That's because financial strains have caused the newspaper to put the Tramor up for sale, and there are no takers in sight.

The Tramor is still open to newspaper staffers, but this is the only food served there these days.
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Falling in Love with Architecture

My recent postings on the Biltmore Estate, and an Internet conversation on children's building blocks, got me to thinking about my own set of childhood building blocks.

When I was about seven, I bought a very colorful set of wooden building blocks that came from Japan. That was back in the days before Japan had geared up to become an industrial and technological giant, and when most of their exports were to be found in dime stores. I did in fact purchase the building blocks with my own savings at a dime store.

For me, the deciding factor in making the purchase was that the set had windows through which one could actually see. The frames were made of wood, and the glass was a ruby red acetate that backed onto orange paper panes. I thought the effect was stunning, and I still do.

It didn't hurt that the set included turned wooden columns, painted a shiny red suited for Pompeii or the Forbidden City.

Very soon one set wasn't enough, and I supplemented the original blocks with additional sets. And suddenly, like George Washington Vanderbilt, I imagined great buildings.

And now I want to make an observation about the value of such simple "building blocks" in today's digital world.

When I see young children and even toddlers consumed by digital games and digital imagery, I really believe that they're being shortchanged by not being encouraged to create with their own hands, and in three dimensions.

There is an interesting challenge and benefit in playing with simpler toys, which is that more imagination is then required. Fantasizing with simple 3-dimensional materials is a valuable process that engages multiple senses while also often teaching the rewards of delayed gratification. That in turn teaches us to be aware of the here and now, where we often miss beauty, inspiration and solutions.

Mark D. Ruffner   |   bootsandpaws.co.uk

Where do small flights of fancy end up?

You can also read my posting
on Anchor Building Blocks, here.

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A Visit to Biltmore

Mark D. Ruffner © 2013

Mark D. Ruffner © 2013

I recently visited the Biltmore Estate with my friend Sandy. I'm not sure if it's still the largest house in the United States, but it is certainly the grandest. First, a quick look at the Vanderbilt lineage . . .

commons.wikimedia.org  |  cigarboxlabels.com  |  1.bp.blogspot.com

Cornelius Vanderbilt (1794-1877, left) borrowed $100 from his mother and turned it into $100-million by investing in steamships and railroads. His eldest son, William Henry Vanderbilt (1821-1885, center) inherited the bulk of the fortune and within a decade nearly doubled it, becoming the richest man in the world. William Henry's youngest child, George Washington Vanderbilt (1862-1914, right) spent his life traveling and collecting — and building Biltmore.

nps.gov   |   voiceinverse.files.wordpress.com

George W. Vanderbilt relied on the expertise of two brilliant designers. Richard Morris Hunt (1827-1895) was Biltmore's architect. Among his other accomplishments are the facade of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty. Frederick Law Olmstead, Sr. (1822-1903), the father of American landscaping, designed the grounds of Biltmore. He's probably best know for designing New York's Central Park and for consulting on the preservation of Yosemite National Park. Vanderbilt, Hunt and Olmstead became a great collaborative team, all working closely together.

visite-au-chateau.com    |   freeimages.co.uk

Hunt was somewhat of a father figure to Vanderbilt, and together they toured Europe to look at great architecture and gain inspiration. Biltmore was primarily inspired by three 16th-century French châteaux. One can see how Chenonceau (above, top) and Chambord (above, bottom) inspired building materials, Biltmore's roof line and details like the elaborate dormer windows.

brittany-ferries.co.uk

Without a doubt, the clearest inspiration for Biltmore is the Chateau de Blois, above. Below are details from Biltmore.

Mark D. Ruffner © 2013

Mark D. Ruffner © 2013

Work on Biltmore began in 1889 and the house was completed in time for a Christmas 1895 celebration. Onsite brickworks produced a staggering 32,000 bricks daily, and Indiana limestone and Italian marble were delivered by a specially installed rail line. There was an onsite woodworking factory and eventually a 300-acre nursery. George Vanderbilt was still in his 20s at the time.

biltmore.com

My favorite room was George Vanderbilt's own bedroom. The bed is Portuguese, and Richard Morris Hunt designed other pieces of furniture to match it.

biltmore.com

I'd like to call your attention to two details. First, notice the Italian marble bathtub with claw feet, reflected in the mirror. Second, take a look at the gold leafed wall covering, which is burlap. I thought that was strange until I realized that the nubbiness of burlap is of course a superb surface for adherence. I love it when materials usually considered as lesser are turned into luxe.

romanticasheville.com

Vanderbilt's favorite room was the library, which at 10,000 books, actually housed less than half of his collection. Hunt designed the room to fit the Venetian ceiling painting by Giovanni Pelligrini (1675-1741). Vanderbilt had seriously collected books since his childhood and in fact had a library adjoining his childhood bedroom in New York. He encouraged guests to borrow books during their visits, and made the library accessible from the second-floor bedrooms via a door behind the over mantle — you can see the door at the upper left of the above photo.

To read more about this library and George W. Vanderbilt's love of books, I direct you to an excellent article by Samuel Todd Walker, here.

More on Biltmore

in the next posting.

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